The world around her teemed with life, the emerald forests stretching out as far as the eye could see, showcasing their enchanting splendor. Towering like sentinels that had witnessed centuries of life and death, the trees adorned themselves in a magnificent tapestry of green. The forest floor mirrored the untamed and wild essence of the creatures that lived within.
As she drew her bow, the forest seemed to hold its breath, anticipating the inevitable. With a swift, predatory motion, she released the arrow. TWANG! The arrow sliced through the stillness like a bird of prey seeking its target. Her heart raced as she watched it find its mark, hitting the buck right between the shoulder and sternum. Triumph gleamed in her eyes as she whispered, "I got it!"
Adorned in the traditional attire of the Elves within Tir na Douar, crafted from rawhide and fabrics woven from a variety of leaves sourced from the vibrant forest surrounding her. Her hair was elegantly bound with a band made of leaves, adorned with gracefully attached feathers. With her deep emerald eyes, Gwenitha Leafsong embodied the very spirit of the forest she called home.
With a muffled thud, the buck succumbed to the force of the arrow, coming to rest on the untamed forest floor. Beside the still-breathing buck, Gwenitha knelt, drawing a dirk crafted in the likeness of a giant thorn from her boot and mercifully ended the majestic beast's suffering. In a prayer-like whisper, she uttered, "Repoù bremañ," as she closed the creature's eyelids.
"Friota!" she called out into the woods. "C'mon, where are ya, girl?" After a moment, Friota emerged from the woods, a magnificent Ibex with resplendent horns twisted and curled, forming a living work of art. Friota reared up next to Gwenitha and her kill. Gwenitha carefully secured her prized game on Friota's broad back "C'mon girl we're going home now." She said with a soothing tone.
In the distance, Gwenitha surveyed the plumes of smoke gracefully rising from the moss-covered stone chimneys adorning the cottage. Encircled by a captivating garden, the surroundings boasted soft, lush green grass and an array of flowers, each differing in shapes, sizes, and colors. The cottage itself appeared to be crafted from the very plants of the forest, featuring walls reminiscent of grass and a roof adorned with river stones enveloped in rich green moss. As she drew nearer, an overwhelming sense of nostalgia enveloped her, embracing the cherished memories of her childhood.
"Prydwen!" Gwenitha's voice rang out, and a boy with a striking resemblance, no more than ten years old, emerged from the cottage. His vibrant red hair framed his youthful face, and his eyes, a vibrant shade of green, sparkled with youthful vigor. Clad in humble garments like his sister's, his growth was evident in the way he now stood nearly as tall as Gwenitha herself.
"Took you long enough," Prydwen quipped with a mischievous grin. Gwenitha playfully rolled her eyes. Prydwen had a knack for light-hearted banter. Together, they released Friota from her load and began the task of preparing the game they had brought home.
Prydwen lent a hand to her as they transported the buck inside. "Bout time you showed up!" Celyn quipped with a mocking grin.
"Ugh not you too, I just told Prydwen...I got the buck that's all that matters ain't it?"
"I guess so sister!"
Celyn, an imposing figure resembling his siblings, he towered over them, with arms and legs resembling sturdy tree trunks. In stark contrast, Gwenitha was a foot shorter with a slenderer build. While Gwenitha embodied agility and grace, Celyn exuded an aura of raw, deliberate power.
Gwenitha marveled as her brother effortlessly lifted the hefty buck, handling it as if it were a fawn. Celyn gently placed the game onto their rustic butcher's table, expertly preparing it for the evening's feast.
"Come the morrow's eve, this fine catch shall grace our tables," Celyn noted, his tone carrying a hint of advice rather than criticism. "You've returned too late today, dear sister, for us to enjoy it now. It must hang overnight."
"I would've returned more swiftly, had I not missed my first shot, forcing me to bide my time through the morn' until a second opportunity presented itself."
"What? You miss?." he said his tone dripping in sarcasm.
"With all that is graceful in this grove, shove your words where the sun doesn't touch."
Celyn laughed, trying to catch his breath. He offered an understanding smile and nodded, saying, "Well, as our ancestors have taught us, 'Tis better to arrive late than not at all.'"
"Where might our esteemed leaders be, then?" Gwenitha inquired, her curiosity matching her boldness.
"They've gone to meet with the other kin," Celyn replied, "Our father spoke of tidings from the southern lands."
"Aye, as is often the case," Gwenitha responded, her gaze fixed upon the distant horizon. Her parents were regular riders across the Glade, fulfilling their roles as Mathair and Athair of the Leafsong clan—the very heartbeat and essence of the Leafsong clan.
Gwenitha entered the family's cottage, carefully hanging her bow and quiver on the designated hooks mounted on the wall. "Ahhh...finally," she sighed with relief,
freeing her feet from the confines of her boots and relishing the sensation of being barefoot on the moss-covered cottage floor. She proceeded to wash up in a bowl crafted from a solid leaf, perfectly shaped to cradle water.
The cottage itself consisted of a single room; following elven tradition, there were no bedrooms. Instead, it was customary for the elves to sleep beneath the stars, in harmony with the plants and creatures of the forest. A central table, adorned with six chairs crafted from branches and various plants, took pride of place. The tabletop, made of solid wood, featured intricate carvings depicting the heritage of the Leafsong clan.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, the siblings concluded their supper—a delightful combination of elven bread infused with nuts and fruits gathered from the forest, complemented by a tea carefully blended from an assortment of herbs, instilling a serene sense of calm and mental clarity. Like a content fawn with a belly full of milk, Gwenitha gracefully reclined on a soft patch of grass just outside the cottage, her gaze fixed upon the wondrous cosmos overhead. The celestial expanse pulsated with life, mirroring the vibrancy of the surrounding forest.
The soothing symphony of crickets and occasional owl hoots enveloped Gwenitha in a tranquil embrace, coaxing her into a peaceful slumber before she was even aware of it.
The following morning, Gwenitha awoke to Prydwen's fervent cries, echoing through the air, "Mother! Father!" from the heights of a neighboring tree. Springing up like a fresh blade of grass, she cleared the drowsiness from her eyes. As she stood, the figures of her parents came into view in the distance—her father perched atop a colossal timber wolf with majestic antlers resembling a formidable stag the size of a horse, while her mother rode an Ibex akin to Friota. However, this Ibex boasted horns adorned with a captivatingly unique pattern.
The commotion stirred Celyn from his slumber, and with youthful vigor, he jumped up and started to sprint towards his parents. "Oh, he hasn't grown up at all," Gwenitha thought, matching his enthusiasm as she began to sprint towards them as well.
"Whoah...easy...Conri," he said as his wolf came to a quick stop, sliding in the dirt and panting happily. "Conri!" Prydwen shouted as he dashed towards the giant wolf. Conri's face lit up like a puppy and began licking Prydwen relentlessly as Prydwen giggled just as fiercely.
"Conri...ah by the elven mother I swear if you don't stop it this instant!" Shouted their father from atop his mount. Conri whined as if the words were physical blows, and Prydwen stepped back abashed.
As his father dismounted from his wolf, he towered over Celyn and the others. Draped in a cloak crafted from a wolf with shades of brown resembling the one he rode, the head fashioned into a hood while the rest cascaded and pooled along the forest floor as he walked. He wore a battle harness and a battle skirt of similar fashion to the clothing of his children. "It is good to see you all here," his voice boomed, resonating as mightily as the trees that towered over the forest. His hair was as wild and untamed as his cloak.
Their mother dismounted from her Ibex to greet them as well. "Children, come, come, see your mother," she said warmly and welcomingly. Prydwen dashed to his mother, embracing her waist and pressing his face against her intricate dress made from the plants of the forest. Her hair, as long as the dress she wore, gave her the appearance as if she were a moving plant from the forest itself.
Celyn and Gwenitha patiently awaited their parents in a disciplined manner. "Let us go inside; we have much to talk about," her father commanded, walking towards the cottage.
Once inside, her mother ordered, "Can you make some tea, Gwen?" Without a reply, Gwenitha swiftly prepared tea from the same herbs as the night before.
In a soldier-like fashion, Gwenitha and Celyn sat across from their parents, while Prydwen remained a young boy exploring the forest around the cottage.
"The Leafsong clan is gripped by worry; rumors circulate of the church's forces amassing in the south and advancing northward."
Celyn reacted with a loud exclamation, "What!?" Gwenitha's heart fluttered like a hummingbird, her thoughts racing to the church.
"We remain uncertain about the church's destination; nevertheless, our scouts will venture forth tomorrow in search of answers," their mother added.
"Preparations for defensive maneuvers are underway, considering our glade's vulnerable position along the southwest coast—one of the few paths into our land. The elves of the Leafsong clan have long stood as gatekeepers of the Mistlands." Their fathers face as stern as his words.
"Our number barely peaks over 1000," their father admitted, a hint of shame in his voice. "We will need the help of the other clans beyond Leafsong Glade."
"But father, will they help us?" Celyn's eyes mirrored those of a boy seeking reassurance from his father, hoping for the monsters in the forest to be told to go away.
"We shall see," said their mother in a comforting tone. Gwenitha was still in shock, afraid of what this could mean for them.
"Prydwen will know childhood no more if we are attacked." Saddened by the thought, she was also aware of her parents' obligations. They would put their lives on the line for the clan; there would be no running from this. She would have to fight.
"I can join the scouts," she spoke the words as they came to her. Her father stared into her eyes, his voice as stern as his gaze.
"Why would you want to do this? You are still but a fawn; you have much to learn. I cannot send a daughter of mine into something she is not ready for."
"What about Prydwen? When will he be ready for what's coming?" she exclaimed, her voice as fiery as her hair.
"See, you still act like a child throwing a tantrum when you are denied your way!" he retorted, slamming his fist on the table, his voice booming over the reverberation. Gwenitha felt tears welling in her eyes.
"We should let her go," her mother's words cut through the intensity like a knife through a leaf. Her father was aghast, his face as surprised as Gwenitha's.
"When are any of us truly ready, my love?" Her mother said, placing a fingertip on her father's chin. "The greatest events in one's life are never prepared for."
"You're speaking in riddles, my love. I would not head into battle with no strategy or council," he argued.
"But, my love, you have made the battle plans already," she said with a smirk across her lips.
"What do you mean, mother?" interjected Celyn.
"Why, your father has already assisted in drawing the plans for the scouts. They know exactly what they are doing, and their main priority is to observe and report back, not to engage enemy forces."
"Well, yes, but..." her father fumbled for words.
"Gwenitha, my sweet daughter, are you willing to put your life down for our tribe? For if you perish in this realm, your spirit will forever live on within The Grove."
"Um...I don't know...I mean, yes, I suppose," Gwenitha hesitated, her mind racing with thoughts of her own mortality.
"Good, it is settled then. You will join the scouts," her mother said with finality.
Her father wordlessly excused himself from the table and went outside into the woods. "He will be fine...He will come back when he is ready," their mother said reassuringly.
Gwenitha stood up and left the cottage. She felt a mix of emotions, excitement, and fear. She knew that whatever was to come, she would face it head-on. As she looked out into the forest, she felt the weight of her decision settle upon her shoulders. She was no longer just Gwenitha Leafsong; she was a protector of her people, a guardian of the Glade.