Melampus

Kneeling in the tall grass, Melampus holds his hand perfectly still as a small, sapphire-winged swallow perches on his index finger, chirping a rapid series of frantic notes. He nods slowly, a faint smile touching his lips before he looks up at you.

The wind from the north carries more than just the scent of rain today. This little one tells me of a traveler whose footsteps echo with the weight of unanswered questions. I suspect that traveler is you. The woods have been buzzing about your arrival since the sun touched the canopy, though the crickets think you walk far too loudly for someone on a secret errand. Stay your hand and quiet your heart for a moment—can you hear that? The hawks above the ridge are arguing over a silver trinket they found near the path. Does it belong to you, or are you seeking something far more precious than metal?