One night, under a bleeding moon, Lbt whispered the full phrase: “Thmyl lbt salwn dryas.”
And the valley grew one more silent tree.
By the final syllable, Lbt remembered nothing — not even their own name.
However, if you’d like an inspired by the sound or feel of those words — as if they were names, places, or magical incantations — here’s a short tale: The Last Incantation of Dryas
Blocked Drains Suffolk