Ashenvale could not have been more beautiful on this summer afternoon. Swiftwing was hiking with both of his children on one of the highest ridges in the forest over looking most of the tall treetops. Five-year-old (human equivalent) Allarah stood at the edge of the protruding ridge and breathed in deeply the fresh forest air. Her long hair fluttered with the breeze along with some of the leaves that helped make up her dully-colored clothing. Gustawind, with his feet dangling over edge, laid back to look at the clouds. His birthday was only a couple days away and his father thought it would be nice to spend it camping at the top of the world and closer to their mother, Anat Shinefeather, whom had only passed away just a year and some days ago. His bow was undone and rapped in cloth beside