ELIA
When he'd said they were going to the caves, Elia had envisioned cold, hard rock and a yawning, black mouth, with cobwebs and crawling things.
Instead, she walked into a city that looked like it had grown there naturally.
Her mouth dropped open as they emerged from the trees, directly into a large clearing, surrounded on one half by an almost sheer, rocky mountainside, peppered with brightly lit cavemouths and pathways, and on the other by trees so tall, they had to be hundreds of years old. They were widely space, but their branches twisted long and low, thicker than a man's waist, and only curving up to the sky after running alongside the ground for feet at a time.
If Elia had been brought to this place as a child, she would have thought she was in heaven.
