Aurora Borealis

There was once a town swathed in mist. Visible on most maps if you searched long enough.
The laughter on the wind swayed the flags strewn among the lampposts. Windowsills held offerings of milk and bread crusted in honey.
The rivers are said to have been made by giants as they made their way to the sea long ago to travel back to their realm. Tidepools formed where their feet had crushed the rocks and on a clear day there was the promise of gold hidden between the coral.

The forest was the realm of the Folk who lived in harmony with the creatures around them: owls who sang death prophesies or new baby names; stags who had riddles written on their horns; mice who slept underneath mushrooms. It was ruled by the Erlking whose eyes were green as burnt emeralds and wise as the trees were old.

The moors was the realm of spirits and myths. Willow’o wisps who lead travelers to stone circles hidden in the moss. Runes in the rock and prophesies on the wind. It was ruled by the Maidenmoor, Queen of traditions and stories of old.

On some nights on a full moon wild singing carried on the wind as a fire winked in the distance.
The twin rulers feasted and laughed, their magic taking to the sky in what the locals called the Aurora Borealis. It was the dawn of new things and it was indeed a new thing that was driving into town on the morning sunrise…