Once, long ago, there was a forest shrouded in a darkness of shadow and despair. Amidst the holly-harks and
umbershrooms the passage of time lingered in a mist of foreboding regret, and the last wisps
of a dying age slowly faded from the memory of the woodlands.
But these winter-wind doldrums could not reach their ways past the Willowbrook, the ancient riverbend
that washes away the sorrows of the dark forest. Here lies a land bathed in the sunlight of peace and
forgetfulness, where the Flycatcher's call whistles and darts through the golden canopy, where the open
fields bruskly shine an orange timbre in the evening twilight, where the crisp air is tinged with the scent of
a springtime bloom. It is in this land of purity and whimsy that we find a young Sprig, a forest sprite born
of the moonlight and autumn stars, a ward and keeper of the woodlands.
Her name is Cinnamon.
Resting quietly atop a giant mushroom she calmly awakens to her new home, yawning as she smilingly
remembers an ancient dream...
