Worship of Corellon always began with joyful songs and free-spirited dancing. Most of his priests were gifted artists and sculptors.
And any elf who dared sing before the statue of the Father of Elves was an exceptional vocalist.
The crescent moon softly lit the night sky. Listening to the moving song, Hill suddenly understood what it meant for a soul to play without restraint and a heart to soar free.
Hill suddenly forgot the clothing that had made him uncomfortable. The elves might have taken self-expression too far, but their joy was enviable—wild and free, sincere and uninhibited.
He leaned against the stone wall and watched the elves dance as the song soared.
Above the invisible dome of silver-blue light overhead, moonlight and starlight cast down beams that formed a natural stage through magic.
The dancers stepped into the shafts of starlight, while the crescent moon quietly illuminated Corellon's statue and the space around it.
Alessio did not sing. He solemnly carried an Oil Painting forward, knelt on one knee, and gently placed it on an oak table surrounded by colorful roses at the statue's feet.
Many other elves were creators like him. One after another, they came forward and piled their works on the large oak table.
The Protector's devoted followers offered their gratitude through music, song, dance, and the sacrifice of their finest creations.
Hill paid little attention to that. Looking at the roses everywhere in the Temple of Corellon, he suddenly realized something: when the Elven God-King had given roses to the God of Space-Time, he might genuinely have meant to show his sincerity.
After all, Corellon liked the flower.
Hill remembered Aglaia's delighted laughter when she told him the story and decided to bury this realization. He would simply count it as another foolish thing the