The Wandering Haar
"There's a rock on your left."
"Thanks." Haar extended her staff and sure enough, there was a large, hard thing to her left. She walked toward it and bent down to put her hand on the rough surface. When she was sure of its size, she sat down atop it.
"Is there anyone around?" she asked.
There was a pause before the other voice replied, "None out here."
Haar tilted her head. "There's a loud rustling sound, like wind in the trees, but I don't feel any breeze at all. And it sounds like there are voices. Are we near the Spirit Woods?"
"As smart as always, Haar," the voice chuckled.
"Is there anyone in the woods? Alive, I mean."
"Oh yes. At least five," said the voice.
"My goodness, has the Spirit Woods become some sort of vacation spot?" Haar muttered.
"Only the most suicidal one, of course."
Haar laughed softly and pulled her hood lower, shrouding her face in more shadows. (She hated the burning feeling of too much sun on her skin.) She felt for her satchel and opened it.
"Well then, I suppose they wouldn't mind me singing them a dirge."
"Oh please, Haar," the voice said, and Haar only laughed again. She pulled out her harp and plucked a few notes.
"Poor spirits in the woods,
rest, rest in peace.
Too many years
wand'ring the world.
Now it's time to sleep . . ."
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