Ihrnbri Dewdrop Toner

Young Kiri adjusted her wide-brimmed hat and followed her grandmother’s soft footsteps through the white-leafed forest. The bells on her hat chimed gently with each step, a sound that would have meant death in the deeper parts of the Vale where the Vallestalf hunted, but here in the familiar paths near home, it was merely music.

“Hush now, little bell-ringer,” her grandmother, Nyss, whispered with fond amusement. “We approach the Verdant Circle.”

Kiri’s amber eyes widened as they crested a small hill between the pale, ghostly trees. Below them spread something that seemed impossible in this world of white and silver - a pocket of vibrant green that pulsed with life like a beating heart.

“The Myst has flowed so freely recently...” Nyss observed, her own obsidian eyes reflecting the unusual sight. “See how the veil has grown thin here? The otherworldly essence seeps through like honey through cheesecloth.”

Indeed, the air above the green oasis shimmered with an almost invisible distortion, as if reality itself had grown gossamer-thin. From this thinness, a fine mist descended, not the choking fog that sometimes plagued other parts of the Vale, but something pure and vital that made the very air taste of spring rain and blooming snowdrops.

They descended into the verdant hollow, where ferns unfurled in impossible spirals and flowers bloomed in colors that had no names in the twilight world above. But most wondrous of all were the dewdrops that formed on every leaf, every petal, every blade of grass. They were larger than ordinary dew, each drop perfect as a crystal bead, and they seemed to hold light within their depths like captured starglint.

“Now, watch carefully,” Nyss said, producing a collection of tiny vials from beneath her midnight-blue cloak. “The dewdrops must be gathered as they form, never after they fall. Once they touch the earth, they lose their potency and become mere water.”

She demonstrated the ancient technique, her gray-furred hands moving with practiced precision. Cup the leaf gently, tip it just so, let the dewdrop roll into the vial without ever touching skin or tool. Each movement was a small ceremony, a dance between harvester and forest.

Kiri tried to mimic her grandmother’s grace, but her first attempt sent a precious dewdrop spattering onto the moss below. “I... I’m sorry,” she whispered, her round ears drooping slightly.

“Hush little one, it is alright. Don't apologize to me,” Nyssara said gently. “Apologize to the forest. It gave that drop freely, and we must honor the gift.”

The young Ihrnbri placed her small hand on the moss where the dewdrop had fallen and whispered her regrets to the earth. Almost immediately, she felt a sense of forgiveness, as if the forest itself had rustled its leaves in acceptance.

They worked in comfortable silence as the eternal twilight deepened around them. Other Ihrnbri families moved through the green spaces like shadows, their children learning the same ancient skills. The harvest was both practical necessity and sacred ritual - these dewdrops would nourish their hidden gardens, invigorate their textile fibers, and provide the cleansing baths that kept their fur lustrous and their spirits bright.

As Kiri’s vials slowly filled with the pure liquid, she asked, “Grandmother, why do we leave some vials in the hollow trees? Why not use them all?”

Nyss paused in her work, considering. “Because, little one, the forest provides for many, not just the Ihrnbri. There are travelers who struggle through the white woods, lost and afraid. There are others like us who need the Myst-touched water to survive. We take what we need, and we share what we can spare.”

She gestured toward the edge of the clearing, where an ancient oak stood with a hollow at its base. “Your great-great-grandmother carved the first of these caches. She said that kindness given freely returns threefold. The humans who find these gifts may never know we exist, but they remember the generosity of the forest.”

As if summoned by her words, a figure emerged from the white-leafed trees—another Ihrnbri, but one whose silver cloak bore the deep hood of a Watch-warden. He moved with the careful silence of one who had learned to avoid the threats of the deep woods.

“Myss sends word,” he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “Those Seeker fellows have been asking after our people again. They wish to visit our settlements”

Nyssara’s ears twitched with what might have been amusement. “Do they now? And what do they think they might find in our villages?”

“They craft tales of mouse-folk in the shadows, but they know nothing of the truth, but wish to know. I know not their purpose...”

“Hmm” Nyss said, sealing her final vial with a stopper made from white-wood. “Let them keep their stories. Stories will suffice to keep the curious at bay for now.”

As they prepared to leave the green sanctuary, Kiri took one last look at the dewdrops still forming on the leaves around them. Each one caught the pale light like a tiny world, holding mysteries she was only beginning to understand.

“Will I be able to find the thin places in the veil when I’m older?” she asked, her eyes glinting with the light of curiosity.

Nyss smiled, her black eyes twinkling. “The veil calls to those who listen, little bell-ringer. You will find your own green spaces, your own dewdrops to gather. And perhaps, if you are very wise and very careful, you will learn to tend the thinness itself, to help the Myst find its way through to bring life to the pale world.”

Together, they climbed back up into the white-leaved forest, their vials full of liquid dewdrops and their hearts full of the forest’s ancient wisdom. Behind them, the Verdant Circle continued its eternal dance of mist and growth, while in the hollow trees, small gifts waited for desperate travelers who would never know the names of their benefactors.

In the perpetual twilight of Moonvale, the Ihrnbri kept their secrets, tended their gifts, and ensured that wherever the veil grew thin, life would flourish in the spaces between worlds.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​