At the firepit, when the Hollow sleeps and the embers glow, a small bird sings its secret song. Its voice is soft, like the hum of a distant bell, and its feathers shimmer with the firelight.
The bird is called the Glowveil Thrush. Its song is said to carry the echoes of forgotten stories, weaving them into the night.
The Thrush prefers the quiet hours, when the Hollow is still and the firepit is the only light. Its song is not for the waking eye, but for those who listen closely in the dark.
Its name is whispered by those who know the Hollow well: the Glowveil Thrush.