The shadowy saplings swayed in the moonlight at the edge of the grove.
In front of them, willowy wheat rippled across the plentiful fields.
Behind them, standing menacingly in the shadows of the night, was the great forest.
And blanketing the surrounding area, was a shimmering veil of moonlight.
The Pale Face reflecting a brighter beauty.
And basking in that silvery aura was a young boy of around nine years old.
Sitting on the edge of fields and the grove.
His legs were crossed, and he was twirling a blade of grass around his fingers.
Time seemed not to pass, as this serenely beautiful scene took place.
For the Pale Face ceased to travel the heavens.
The boy slowly rose to his feet.
He looked around briefly, before heading towards the forest.
To a now very visible path covered by the intertwined arch of two trees.
The ground was covered with a lush, springy grass, and his feet left little indentations behind him.