Note: This is simply the first "chapter" of a story I'm writing. It's about an Elven Archer by the name of Saevanna. Please leave feedback, should I finish this or should I abandon it? Thank you!
Preview:
Chapter 1 - An Unexpected Event
Saevanna massaged the lower limb of her bow, as the smell of fresh leaves lingered in the morning air. It was a beautiful morning, as the bright sun gazed down through the branches of the great oak which supported her as she swung her legs slightly with the breeze. She shifted her weight ever so gracefully, to reposition her bow, the leaves above her head shivered. With her free hand she pushed her body from the branch and stood, stroking the thin white feathers of the arrow notched to the bow’s string. With astounding speed she threw back her arm, drawing the bow to its full potential, the nocking point on the string inches from her right ear.
“Still too tight” she breathed, as she lowered the bow. She fell back, leaning effortlessly against the trunk of the dated tree. She rested the bow against her side, and pushed aside a stray, brown hair, tucking it carelessly behind her long, pointed, left ear, which twitched slightly at the detection of her hand. With a silent sigh, she swung her arms up to the branch above her, and pulled her slender body up. Unlike most Elves, Saevanna cared not for fine silk and rich gowns. She clothed herself in simple black, with a dark green travelling cloak. She had used the same cloak for many a year, yet it wasn’t stained, torn or worn in any way.
She threw herself deftly against the trunk and kicked backwards away from it again, propelling her body, arms outstretched to snatch the next branch above. She continued climbing the tree, her speed alone gave away that she was an experienced climber, and knew every inch of the oak. She walked along the thinnest of branches that protruded from the cloud of leaves around her. The branch neither strained nor bent as she strode lightly to the very edge. She took a long deep breath, and closed her eyes as her hair whipped around her face. There was much more wind in the higher regions of the forest, however Saevanna found the strong sway of the branches she was standing on rather relaxing. As she exhaled, her lips curving to create a smile which progressed to a slight giggle.
Her ears twitched, her eyes flashed wildly as she heard a low grunt beneath her. Panic rushed over her, and she lost balance and fell from the tree . She writhed in the air, clutching desperately at the branches for aid. She caught herself on very fine branch, no thicker than a sword hilt, and lowered herself onto a branch where she could stand. She brushed her thick brown hair out of her eyes and continued to slide down through the branches of the tree much faster than she had ascended, her quiver rose and fell against her back with every drop, emitting a light clunk of wood and leather clapping together. In her haste, Saevanna dropped down onto the branch where she had left her bow, only to be greeted by the loud crack of a bow string. The wind whistled as an arrow flew through leaves towards her. Not a moment too soon, she dropped to her stomach, and rolled down from the branch, gripping it with one hand and grabbing her bow with the other. The arrow had penetrated the bark of the oak, and sunk in to a great depth, it would have killed her if not for her impressive reactions. She realised that she wasn’t looking at a normal arrow; it didn’t have the fine, smooth finish as most arrows did, nor did it have a clean, sharp head. It was stained wood, cracked, brittle with barely a feather, it was a wonder it flew at all. She shook these thoughts out of her head, and dropped silently to the soft ground, lowering into a crouching stance. She instinctively drew her bow, slid an arrow from her quiver and locked it in place. She scouted her environment with her keen, sharp eyes to find the source of the danger.
Her heart pounded in her ears, and her long, thin fingers shook with fear. She risked a glance back in the direction of the Elder Tree, but she could only just see the very edge of it through the thick ceiling of leaves that spread for miles around her. She heard a crack of a twig to the left of her and swung her bow in that direction. She heard another rustle behind her and repositioned herself again. It soon became clear that there were more than one of whatever was hunting her, and they were toying with her. With a deep, shaking breath, she closed her eyes and placed the bow on the ground beside her. She raised her shaking hands into the air.
Another loud cry rang out through the trees, it was foreign to her ears, and she felt a rough hand slam against the back of her head. Her face was forced down into the dirt as the thing ripped the bow up from the ground. Another voice called out, again in a tongue Saevanna could not recognise, and as her hands were bound behind her back, she glanced upwards in front of her. An assembly of hooded figures approached her as she was wrenched from the ground by her thick, brown hair. Her scream echoed through the forest, unheard by anyone save herself and the men who bundled her onto the back of a fine, black stallion.
Chapter 2 – The Dae’Maethor
“She was here this morning… she walked quickly, and stopped here. There are deeper tracks here, she ran”, murmured Morcion, his hands sliding lightly through the grass. His cousin had been missing for almost three Moons now, and he was no closer to finding her. His eyes shifted quickly, scanning the earth. He could imagine her walking, she was always in the forest, but not normally this far from the Elder Tree, he thought.
Morcion was a tall Elf, with thick arms and a heaving chest. His muscular figure made him all the more intimidating. He was a very isolated soul, Saevanna and his good friend Saeldur were all the company he had ever had, and now Saevanna was missing. His eyes were stained a dark green, almost black, and a thin weaving pattern was tattooed, spiralling up his long, sharp ears, where his hair parted perfectly, and fell to his shoulders.
He glanced upwards, her tracks had stopped, and he saw buried into the trunk of a wild oak, an arrow of shoddy craftsmanship.
Morcion was not a great climber; he would often be out with Saevanna, watching her fly light as rain through the trees, whilst he ran impressively below. He was always faster than her, yet she would always keep up, leaping down from the tree’s full off energy, when he would be breathless and tired. He lunged up with great effort and pulled himself onto the branch. The tree groaned with the weight of the man, as he tugged at the arrow. He wanted it out in one piece. He pulled at it and ripped it from the tree, a hard, splintered hole marked where it had impacted.
Morcion looked around, concern etched upon his face. “Saeldur! Here!” he beckoned into the surrounding trees. A crack of a branch from above, and a figure fell from the sky, landing hard on the warm earth beside Morcion, who had raised his daggers instinctively. Saeldur rose to his feet and dusted himself off, before looking innocently up to his friend.
Unlike Morcion, Saeldur was a slender, weaker looking character. He had thick blonde hair, however it was short and ragged. He had no weapon, he disliked violence of any kind, and spent most of his days exploring the forests, watching animals and practicing his fluteplaying. The Elves had an unnatural gift of being able to influence animals, and Saeldur loved to sit and watch the beasts of the forest.
“Sorry!” he called, “not used to these thin branches.” He felt in his robe for his flute, and groaned softly as he pulled out a splintered tube of whitewood. "That was my best flute! Harrea is so hard to find!" he complained grumpily, stuffing the shards of his flute back into his robes.
“Well, just be careful in future friend, I’m not out here to babysit you." Morcion demanded, sheathing his daggers once more, with a long thin ringing sound. "Look what I’ve found” he continued as he dropped heavily to the ground, clutching the worn arrow.
“That’s definitely not one of hers, she spends days on her arrows, doesn’t she?” murmured Saeldur, taking hold of the arrow, as Morcion began to examine the tree. “Wait a minute…” whispered Saeldur, as his eyes scanned over the stone arrowhead. His eyes flashed as he delved back into his memory, and then he realised: “Morcion! Do you not see it? Here, look!” he bellowed, rushing over to him. “Look at it, see it there?” he whispered, thrusting the arrow in front of him.
“Huh? See what? It’s just a wo… Hang on… Yes I see it, what is it?” asked Morcion, his eyes fixated on a peculiar symbol carved neatly into the stone. It was a circle, and inside the circle was a snowflake, each of its six spines perfecly etched. "What does it mean?" questioned Morcion, as he brought the arrow up to his eye for closer inspection.
“I can’t remember where it originated, but I know what it means” whispered Saeldur. Morcion looked at him perplexed, his dark green eyes glittering in the evening sunlight. “It’s the symbol of the Dae’Maethor.”
