The last time Lynch met him, he had already experienced the Great Druid's eccentric personality. Anything unrelated to Heather, the Druid would never pay attention to. He would stand quietly aside, stroking a staff made from a branch burned during wartime, his mind filled with thoughts of his elf companions; but once it was related to Heather, even if a single blade of grass turned yellow, he would perk up and personally go to inspect it. Heather seemed to be his everything; that was his life and honor, his source of power to live eternally.
Behind him were some ancient elves, sages of this place, who had endured countless trials and tribulations. Even an eternal race inevitably suffers the erosion of time. All the elves present, except for the Empress herself, had simultaneously developed wrinkles.
