White Bark

Chapter 1

The young elf played mystically and skilfully with his flute, more than any his age should be capable of. He wonders what might be for supper as he peacefully watches the suns go down. He flicks away the dark, parted hair on his face as he plays, revealing his bright, golden eyes.

"Tir'veyn!?!" the elf hears a female voice shout out.

The young elf is so startled that he drops his flute and it begins rolling down the side of the roof. The elf panics and jumps to catch it. He feels relief wash over him when he catches it mid-air, it is a short feeling however when he slips off the edge and starts plummeting to the ground. He clutches onto a vine at the last moment to stop his momentum. The vine snaps and he falls onto the ground with a hard thud. Though lucky he was not as high as before.

"How many times have I told you not to climb on the roof?" the same voice as before asks him.

The young elf looks up to see an angry expression on his mother's face. Her hands on her sleek hips and her contorted face complemented by her dark, neat hair. She appears young and beautiful but the young elf knows she is at least two centuries old, barely middle-aged for an elf. The boy ignores his mother and instead inspects his flute insuring it survived the fall as well as he. "Well what do you have to say for yourself?" the she-elf asks, "Tir? Are you even listening to me?"

"Yes of course Mother." Tir'veyn says in a cheery tone, standing up to be as tall as his mother and brushing the dirt of himself. "What were we talking about?"

The elven woman scoffs and smiles at the boy's cheeky response. "Supper is almost ready." She says, "Wash you and your sister's hands."

"Of course, Mother!" The young elf rushes into the hut.

An even younger elf girl sits on a chair playing with a small, carved, wooden manticore. The elf girl could only be at most three years old.

"Sivah, Maira!" Tir'veyn says in a cheery tone at the elf toddler. "Come, we must wash our hands."

Tir'veyn takes the toddler's hand and leads her over to a small bucket filled with clear water. The boy washes his hands quickly then helps his kin do the same. The children sit at the dinner table, eagerly awaiting their supper. Tir'veyn made funny faces and sounds at Maira, which amused her greatly. Each time she giggled a slight smile arose on their mother's face. The children's mother put down multiple bowls of soup onto the table and the kids wasted no time. Tir'veyn dug in and Maira was assisted by her mother. A good deal of time into their meal, a muscular, bearded elf enters the hut.

"Yuaka, my love!" he exclaims as he kisses Maira and Tir'veyn's mother on the cheek. "And how are you my son?" he asks Tir'veyn as he sits down and grabs some soup of his own.

"Fantastic Father!" Tir'veyn says in an excited tone. "I mastered the song you taught me!"

"Then you will have to show me later eh?" his father says in his deep, jolly voice.

Tir'veyn always admired his father. He knew he was a great warrior, as he should be since he was head of the protectors of the village. He father never spoke about his past though. Tir'veyn had spied him looking at his weapons and pondering for hours at a time before. He had also glimpsed many scars whenever he had rolled up his sleeves or his shirt was a bit unlaced. Tir'veyn thought he might have been a soldier or some such but could never know for sure. He knew his father to be at least three hundred and fifty years old, and not many elves get to that age without fighting.

"How were the forests today Himgil?" Yuaka asks in a somewhat worrisome tone.

"Fine, fine my love." He says in an unconvincing tone. "No signs of monster or human activity."