--- de lune

One lone, tall hill travels up the left side of their seemingly infinite expanse of land, covered in a multitude of green grasses with more flowers than one could ever imagine. Flowers of every assortment dance within the sea of verdant waves -- daises, Sarithums, shrubs of Avguaway, and so many more, thousands of colors in a variety that makes their hill look like a painting from Celeste, or Bane -- give or take intentions. But what makes De Lune so special is that dead center of the hue-covered hill is a long stream. It babbles sweet nonsense just like a brook, with limbs of trees that arch across the stream as bridges for the balanced. At night, the moon has a way of finding lodging directly above the water, illuminating it a bright pale blue, and lending vibrancy to the colorful items that live under the water's touch. The lunar light gleams off the flowers as though their paint were still wet, silver light washing through the entire setting as though it were palpably water itself. Though that's a vibrancy saved for the heart of spring, summer, and fall. But during the winter snow covers the hill, the flowers peeking through -- still living though by some miraculous gift. Look to the center and find the river frozen to a clear crystal solid, the ice thus illuminated like a crystal -- hold it to the light and watch it sparkle.