The Elder Tree does watch, perplexed,
When comrades inflict upon their own distress.

Such things the Tree has seen before -
Violence, blood upon the forest floor,

Round Thedas wide, for it had wandered,
And oft on Small Ones it had pondered.

The long branches of its fingers shake,
And the breeze a quiet rustling makes,

A sigh of remembering, summoning thought.
Did it recall a bard? It ought...

"Ah," it starts, nodding to those gathered hence,
and then its poem does commence.

"The bard, yes, so often singing,
When with shrieks of horror these woods were ringing.
'Poisoned,' said he?" A look to where the mages were,
Though the Tree spares comment, avoids a stir,
"A most unhappy malady."

Humming and musing, the Elder Tree considers,
eyes its audience for any jitters.
The two elf maids, he thinks, more likely
To take the offered knowledge and hold it tightly.

"Stella atrae and rotten meat,
These are the cause of thine mood's defeat?
They can be found, of that I'm certain.
Beyond the old were's curtain,
A barrier that kept them safe,
And beyond it, a ruined elvhen place."

And after that, a laugh and wheeze,
The sound which might cause some disease,
"As for Minstrel Leaf, you see,
The only source for that is me."