olivanderr

 In the Dark Woods of Old, there resided a lone wolf, crying to the moon each night, his song rippling in the winds. His song was of the hollowness his heart held, isolated from the family he once had. His song was of mystery and of the eerie rivers, travelling and carving through the trees.  A fisher’s son, born of lily white hair and eyes of the dawn’s light, was curious to see the wolf. His feet lead him to the forest, the path wrapping through the undergrowth and beyond hills and down the valleys. The boy held his dagger at hand, and found the source of the song. But alas, it was no wolf, but a dirty boy of dark red hair and