“Hush now, little ones! Hush now! Hush now, and come in close. It’s high time you learned of the other days. And it’s time you heard about the other ones.”
The children, of which there were five, gathered around the old woman, who lay in bed next to the fire. And they were hushed as they were told, barely holding in their laughter. Eagerly they leant in, waiting for their grandmother to tell them a bedtime story.
She was old and grey, with a hundred lines on her face. But her eyes were still so full of life, they were practically twinkling with starlight.
The hearth crackled meanwhile, and she sighed, thinking of just the right words to begin her story. She smiled when she found them, and recounted the tale. Still fresh in her mind.
“Beyond the sea of Galehooke, whose waters are as rampant as they are free. Past the cliffs of Spearfyre, those godly teeth which pierce the skies. Dashed behind the desert Neverquest, the most feared and treacherous wasteland. And hid by the forest Cursewode, ancient timbers both verdant and enchanted, is our forgotten land.
To the east of this bygone kingdom, are the Fyre Scrubs, near as deadly as the desert. Of course there are the Steppe Lands of the Lizard Men, and ferocious qilin in the Thornmead. And finally live wild muggabeests in the Mud of Puddly Mire. And derived from our oldest words, is the name of this long-lost land. Mythroot.