*You walk up the gentle slope, feeling tired and sleepy. As you retreat to the flatter part you lay down and rest in the soft green grass. Mist plays around your face and sunlight dances along the meadows. You see a small stream ahead of you and hurry to it to drink. The water is sweet and pure. As you move away from the water, you hear a very faint soft voice. Listening closer, you realize someone- or something is singing. The sound is very beautiful and it calms your ears. The song repeats forever, the same beautiful rythmn, and it echoes throughout the hill....* This land was founded by a fairy a few weeks ago. Whenever you do so much as a mere whisper it echoes throughout the hill, by contrast thus its name: Holy Hills. It slopes gently to Otter Waters and to Lake Placid. The stream curves around its edges and slope. The grass is lush and green, it is a pleasure to graze in There is plenty of mist along the bottom... *As you continue up the slope, you hear echoes and whispers...*