[center][h3][color=yellow]~O~                                  [/color]
[color=98ff98]Illyd Dyll[/color][/h3][/center]

[hr]



	Returning to the hammock he strung up in Antiquity, Illyd Dyll shifted the broken flute though his fingers. With the expert fall of a true sloth, he collapsed over the lip of his hammock and right into the pouch. The thick smell of grass poofed out of the fabric as he got comfy in his cocoon. He shuffled and shifted until his harp was in the crook of one arm, the flute resting in his lap.

	He could hear the various conversations taking place in the area, the vast reunions, the splendid introductions. The many voices, paired with his first glimpse at Galbar and his own inability to access not only such a world but his own past lead a forlorn muse in his chest that then vibrated out to his arms and eventually to his fingers. 

	Slowly he began to pluck his harp, trying to match this feeling. It was like a cloud balled up into a fist, settling in his upper chest -- itching to get out. He cleared his throat, finding a voice in between the gentle strums of his instrument. 

[center][color=98ff98]”Beyond bittersweet graves and fenny fens a harvest came early,
Fields bygone slaves to the tree a single grain was planted sorely,
Oh, what can two feet do when they wander upon a land too soon?
Make haste and find the end of the start, sun replaced by moon.

No wheat will grow here, the light is gone.
No happiness will sow here, the light is gone
Join the harvest of the past, where a smile may last.
“[/color][/center]

	Illyd took a long and sorrowful pull off the flute, letting it echo by his harp strings before continuing.

	[center][color=98ff98]”Beyond bittersweet graves and fenny fens a harvest came early,
A duo braves an end written before their start with guilt portly,
Oh, what can two feet do when they wander upon a land too soon?
	Make haste and find the answer, so says the crow to the moon.

No wheat will grow here, the light is gone.
No happiness will sow here, the light is gone
Join the harvest of the past, where a smile may last.

“[/color][/center]

The god dropped his harp and picked up his banjo, quickening the pace of his song.

[center][color=98ff98]”Beyond bittersweet graves and fenny fens a harvest came early,
The end was in sight; a child of the unseen with eyes pearly,
Oh, what can two feet do when they wander upon a land just in time?
Make haste, figure of justice -- and undo the crime.

Water the fields, the winter is over,
Shed your coat, the winter is over,
Join the harvest in fervor, with a smile for and ever.
“[/color][/center]

Strumming fast, the song began to change completely.

[center][color=98ff98]”Pumpkins, apples and pears!
New friends and awkward stares!
Barley, hops and wheat!
Oh so many people I want to meet!
“[/color][/center]

His strings furrowed he hit the wrong note, causing him to flinch. He giggled to himself, [color=98ff98]”I’ll have to work on that one.”[/color]

[hider=Summary]
Illyd Dyll returns to the hammack he set up in Antiquity and plays a little ditty to himself.
[/hider]