The Old King walks the lonely paths of the old wood. He looks into the darkness, into the stars, remembers a world to which none now can venture. Faery lights dance among the trees, the boundaries between worlds are thin here. He is bound to the earth, to the trees, to these strange lights, to the hill in which his ancient from was once laid to rest. When the sun rises he will sleep again.
This is based on a myth I made up myself influenced by various stories. I tried something a bit different with this illustration (something i ought to do more often), using watercolour straight over a shaded pencil drawing rather than using black ink for the lines. I think it worked really well, I'll try it again at some point but I always seem to end up stuck in a routine of the same techniques because it's safer.