[Video]
[At first, it's just dark - shifting, out-of-focus shadows vaguely reminiscent of pale leaves moving in a light breeze. Aisling sounds contemplative and drowsy, like she's waking up from a pleasant dream.]
That.... festival. Is it held every year? It was nice. I didn't even mind the city. I'm always pleased to come back to my forest, though.
[Instead of the gut-clenching ride from her last video, this one is a calm, smooth, slow panorama across the silver-edged leaves of the forest canopy. The great, whispering trees roll and swell over the hills and slopes like the sea, cloud shadows giving it the illusion of movement. There, on the far-flung edge of the mountain ridge lies the sleeping volcano - but even it has a gentler, more romantic look. Its shadowed bulk rears high into the night, backed by the shimmering, star-spattered sky. A little further, and there is the distant ocean, glimmering with the light of the nearly-full moon, low and immense. It looks close enough that you could simply reach out and pluck it from the heavens, and it would be a soft, firm, warm globe in your hand, like a sun-ripened fruit. Clouds foam and run, painting silvery paths among the brilliant stars. They occasionally drape the moon in filmy radiance, a thin veil across its faintly golden face. A soft wind flows across the jungle, stirring the trees into a remote susurration - something with the hint of words in it, if you but knew the language. Faint mist waves and curls, drawn up to dance with the breeze. Shifting and swirling in the background, not intruding, but merely enhancing the vision, is a sibilant chorus of tree frogs, insects, and the calls of nightingales.]
Everyone should have a place like this.
That.... festival. Is it held every year? It was nice. I didn't even mind the city. I'm always pleased to come back to my forest, though.
[Instead of the gut-clenching ride from her last video, this one is a calm, smooth, slow panorama across the silver-edged leaves of the forest canopy. The great, whispering trees roll and swell over the hills and slopes like the sea, cloud shadows giving it the illusion of movement. There, on the far-flung edge of the mountain ridge lies the sleeping volcano - but even it has a gentler, more romantic look. Its shadowed bulk rears high into the night, backed by the shimmering, star-spattered sky. A little further, and there is the distant ocean, glimmering with the light of the nearly-full moon, low and immense. It looks close enough that you could simply reach out and pluck it from the heavens, and it would be a soft, firm, warm globe in your hand, like a sun-ripened fruit. Clouds foam and run, painting silvery paths among the brilliant stars. They occasionally drape the moon in filmy radiance, a thin veil across its faintly golden face. A soft wind flows across the jungle, stirring the trees into a remote susurration - something with the hint of words in it, if you but knew the language. Faint mist waves and curls, drawn up to dance with the breeze. Shifting and swirling in the background, not intruding, but merely enhancing the vision, is a sibilant chorus of tree frogs, insects, and the calls of nightingales.]
Everyone should have a place like this.