They slowly made their way up a gently sloping hill that was covered in soft grasses and vibrant, fragrant wildflowers. The temperate air, carried on its affectionate breeze, the scent of spring and the quiet hum of merry bees making the most of the fading light. Atop the lonely hill, was a beautiful young ash tree, reaching out with optimism toward the purpling dusk sky. A swing that had been there since either of them could remember hung from one of the lower branches. The tree itself had within its trunk a wise and familiar face you might think was carved into it, if you didn’t know the tree was enchanted. It was the muses’ beloved singing tree, where as young girls Musea and Dianthe had whiled away many delightful afternoons, playing on its swing, having scrumptious picnics, telling each other enthralling stories, and of course writing the most enchanting songs and singing them, to whomever had ears to listen.