The morning mist rose from the road as the sun rose, burning away the night.

The breeze whispered through the leaves that last morning in Velen.

Beyond the window, the forest sits. The green leaves of plants and trees turn silver in the light of the full moon. Dark clouds skitter across the sky.

The path led away from the crossroads, although no board labeled its destination. Shrubs had started to grow over it as it lay forgotten.

Limpid waters hide treasure and more. Serene though they may be.

Dawn in the village is a quiet moment of reflection before the day begins.

Another day dawns and I find myself out amongst the fisherfolk on the shore of the lake.

A breeze blows past the farmland surrounding the village. Birds take wing.

The villages are anything BUT an urban jungle.

As the sun rises, the morning dew creeps up from the river, like the drowned.