The dream begins like this. He’s standing at the roots of the Tree of Mourning. He is not an adult yet. He yearns to be old enough to run free, and yet he shies away
from the idea of leaving the safety of the nest. His hair is short about his
face, and nubby horns that could branch into antlers if something was
different sit acrest his head.
There’s a small hand in his, soft and familiar.
The sun shines in shafts through the tangle of branches, warming his face. His
eyes flutter shut from the glare, and he stands, simply letting the heat soak
into his bones.
He’s missing something. He’s forgetting something.
There’s a bird, high, high above in the tree. He can’t see what it is, but he
knows he has to get to it.
Come down, he thinks, come down.
It doesn’t.
Leviathan summoning a giant, stone manatee (akin to stone thresher familiars). Haven’t worked out the specifics yet, but the main nature clan has moved to the back of this stone giant. It’s back is covered in dense jungle foliage, which obscures most of the buildings the clan use, only a few wooden lair cages, a mage tower and the primary tree are visible from above.
In the depths of the sea resides a creature said to be as old as the gods themselves. When this great keeper of the water passes by, mortals shudder, though they rarely understand the cause. And in its presence the leviathans whisper, ‘Mother.’
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