Of The Line Of Estelondo: Percival's Tale.

Chapter 25: Elorean's Return: Incomplete

It seemed as though the cold breeze followed them from the Bay of Nurhos as they followed the Marellocoilë's path south through the rocky foothills. But even as the autumn chill strained to hold its grip as they descended into the Dale of Pines, it could not reach the members of the party. Although the four heirs were known for their hope, it was their determination that shined through now, carrying them ever onward to their homelands, and the Realm of the Druid Folk.

Faramaureä may have been one of those who had argued against their immediate venture; {admittedly, only Percival had supported it from its onset,} but she now led the pack that descended upon the Dale. Its so beautiful here, she thought, slowing her horse for a moment to look around. The slopes of the dale were long in descent, and the horse seemed to have no issue stopping on the frosty incline. Snow glinted off of the evergreen pine needles, where it lay year-round due to the depth of the climate. Urging her horse forward once again, she rested her hand on a himur tree, and closed her eyes. The chill permeated her hand, but she could feel the warmth of life inside of the tree. She focused, and her mind grew in its awareness of the aspects of the tree. She could feel every inch of every branch; every birds nest that rested in the bough. She could feel every bore hole drilled there by woodwyrms, and every knot that contained the red and black feather of the woodpecker who had made it its home.

The tree moaned in spite of the stillness that rested over the valley, as the wind blew over it, but the moan of the himur was not pained but contented. The tree felt her presence; felt her reaching out, and gave her its mind. A flood of memories hit her, the force of which caused her to exhale a bit, but she leaned into it. Give me your voice, young one. I will not draw away.

"Faramaureä, we really must be going" Percival's voice rang out, drawing her from her mind, but the tree did not cease its flow.

"A moment longer, Percival," she whispered, but she knew he was right. She stayed but a moment longer, seeing the trees entire life flash before her eyes, and then wheeled her mare, casting a farewell glance at the tree.

As they continued through the Vale, soft snow drifted down on their eager entourage. It started off light, but by a half an hours time, it had risen to the knees of their horses. They trudged on, but the cold was getting to them, and it was not long before Faramaureä's horse's shivers were frequent enough to cause concern.

Looking around, she saw a small grove of pines, and it stuck out to her because the grass in the centre was still green and snow-free. Pointing, she dismounted and led her horse toward it.

Rainëwen's voice rang out through the white sheets forming around them. "Wait, Faramaureä."

"What's wrong?" Métimafoa asked, his voice concerned, but that concern was overlayed by his chattering teeth.

"There's some unfamiliar enchantment there. It might be unsafe."

"We need the shelter, Rainëwen. Can you identify the spell?"

"Not from here; I'd have to get closer. Everyone else, stay back until I signal."

She went to advance, but her fiancee sped his horse and stopped her with shaking hands. "I am not going to allow you to risk yourself like that."

She glared at him and shrugged his hand away. "I am my own person, Metimafoa; it's not up to you what I do." She prodded her horse forward, but he grabbed her shoulder again. "You can't stop me, Metimafoa."

"No," he said, letting his hand drop. "But I can go with you."

"To what avail?"

"We are to be one, beloved." Metimafoa spurred his horse passed her. "A threat to you; is a threat to me. We go together."

Still the Maiden of Peace sat on her horse, still as the icicles hanging on the tree branches, and watched Metimafoa ride ahead. Then, she snapped out of her awe and shock, and they descended on the snow-less patch.

As she drew toward it, she first sensed peace; almost to the point of bliss. Which of course made her even more cautious, as she was in fact looking for traps. This isn't natural, but I can't seem to figure out its effects. She looked back at the rest of their party and saw that Percival was holding a small fire that the other two were warming their hands over. We don't have many other options. Only a few hours here, and already we are freezing. She stared at the warm spot, while her horse caught up with her fiancee.

Rainëwen dismounted, catching Metimafoa's attention, and he dismounted to follow her as she dropped her reigns and knelt by the circle in the snow. It's a large enchantment, for a permanent one, she noted, taking in its five and a half unit diameter. Who could have cast this?

"What do you think it is, {my beloved}?" Metimafoa asked, reaching toward it, but she jumped up and grabbed his wrist.

"It's a Faerië Circle," she shouted so that the others could hear.

"It can't be, Rainëwen," Metimafoa said, as the others approached. "There are no mushrooms surrounding it, and the faeries died off years ago."

"They didn't die off; we evolved from them. Who says it couldn't have been divergent?" Rainëwen said to herself