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Three apparitional Sylvan Elves, hugging the practically non-existent night-time shadows, ghosted themselves along the indistinct shoreline of Rushing Creek. Norwin reached out and gently restrained both of his fellow accomplices from proceeding. In unison, the threesome slunk secretively up against the riverbank. After taking a moment to reconnoiter, they ascertained that there were no watchers in their vicinity. Norwin released the arms of his companions and cautiously crept forward. His trip-sisters, Salacia and Solonia, guardedly and silently, tiptoed furtively in the footsteps of their trail-maker. Upon reaching their goal near the northernmost curve of a small peninsula jutting into the brook, the trio unsheathed their wand-fingers and immediately set about their preconceived task of re-arranging a cluster of pebbles, small stones, and rocks - according to a pattern, upon which they had mutually agreed. After stabilizing their gravely creation with riverbed clay, Norwin skillfully uncovered and threaded the leading hair-root from a nearby sycamore seedling into the midst of their innovated conglomeration. The lone sycamore's main feeder root branched out and entwined its way around the obstructions in the soil. During the ensuing decades, the roots strengthened, and the tree grew. The tree enjoyed a long, richly fulfilled life on the shore of Rushing Creek. However, the sentinel of the forest was well beyond its prime. On one fateful day, the long-term, undermining flow of water, combined with a strong west wind, easily toppled the once-stately sycamore. It fell into the creek; partially uprooting itself in the process. With the passage of more time, the tree died and partially decayed. Among the resilient roots, many of them remained intact, but some of the others detached from the main root-ball. A peculiar-looking root segment, formed long ago because of Norwin, Salacia and Solonia's mischievous meddling, was now laying near the surface - very patiently awaiting its formal debut.
