The wide clearing was frosted with the morning dew. For some months now, a strange, cold mist had descended over the whole forest, sending the deer that used to roam so freely scattering into warmer parts. The deserted spider's webs that stretched from tree to tree glittered from droplets of water which were beginning to freeze in the dawn light. There was no wind. Nothing stirred.
After a while, a small bush shook, showering the ground below with dew. A girl crawled slowly, drowsily from the undergrowth, stretched, cat-like, and stood. She was tall, lean and willowy. Clearly elven, her features were pointed, but not hard, her skin pale and reflecting the early glow. She wore little; brown leaves, knotted together at the stems, had been fashioned into a makeshift dress. Elora usually lived naked, but knew this would not be acceptable where she was going. This would have to do for now.
Stretching again, a shiver ran down Elora's spine. She used her thick curtain of silvery hair as a wrap around her arms, and wrapped her icy fingers around the amulet hanging delicately from her neck. It was warm, as always. Closing her eyes momentarily, she thought of the enormous task ahead of her.
Elora had never known her father. He had not been elven, like her mother. Her mother, Hessia, had refused to ever speak of him. All Elora knew was that they had met repeatedly in secret in the darkest of places, and he had left suddenly one night. There was a fight - bloodshed - a great battle between two tribes of humans in the cities, and Elora's father had never returned. Distraught and pregnant, Hessia had confessed the affair to her Elven tribe, terrified that the child would not look Elven, and she would be discovered. They cast her out, and Hessia took to the Forest of Arache to have her child alone. There, Elora had been brought up.
Hessia needn't have worried. Elora was almost indistinguishable from a pure-blood Elf; the same almond-shaped eyes of deepest green, the same paleness and unnatural height. She had even inherited her mother's healing powers. The tribe may never have noticed that she was not one of them.
But it had not been that way - instead, Elora had grown up alone, knowing of her father only that he had left this amulet for Hessia to keep. Now that Hessia had died, nothing kept Elora in the forest. She had never left it, but knew that she must now, if only to discover who her father had been. Still only with 20 years of age, young for an elf, her bravery matched many of much older than her. With resolve, Elora tied her dagger in its leather pouch around her waist and set off on the dirt track towards the nearest town, Arache, where her adventure would begin.
After a few hours of padding softly along the road, Elora stopped to look around. To her great surprise, she saw the silhouette of a figure on the road ahead...
After a while, a small bush shook, showering the ground below with dew. A girl crawled slowly, drowsily from the undergrowth, stretched, cat-like, and stood. She was tall, lean and willowy. Clearly elven, her features were pointed, but not hard, her skin pale and reflecting the early glow. She wore little; brown leaves, knotted together at the stems, had been fashioned into a makeshift dress. Elora usually lived naked, but knew this would not be acceptable where she was going. This would have to do for now.
Stretching again, a shiver ran down Elora's spine. She used her thick curtain of silvery hair as a wrap around her arms, and wrapped her icy fingers around the amulet hanging delicately from her neck. It was warm, as always. Closing her eyes momentarily, she thought of the enormous task ahead of her.
Elora had never known her father. He had not been elven, like her mother. Her mother, Hessia, had refused to ever speak of him. All Elora knew was that they had met repeatedly in secret in the darkest of places, and he had left suddenly one night. There was a fight - bloodshed - a great battle between two tribes of humans in the cities, and Elora's father had never returned. Distraught and pregnant, Hessia had confessed the affair to her Elven tribe, terrified that the child would not look Elven, and she would be discovered. They cast her out, and Hessia took to the Forest of Arache to have her child alone. There, Elora had been brought up.
Hessia needn't have worried. Elora was almost indistinguishable from a pure-blood Elf; the same almond-shaped eyes of deepest green, the same paleness and unnatural height. She had even inherited her mother's healing powers. The tribe may never have noticed that she was not one of them.
But it had not been that way - instead, Elora had grown up alone, knowing of her father only that he had left this amulet for Hessia to keep. Now that Hessia had died, nothing kept Elora in the forest. She had never left it, but knew that she must now, if only to discover who her father had been. Still only with 20 years of age, young for an elf, her bravery matched many of much older than her. With resolve, Elora tied her dagger in its leather pouch around her waist and set off on the dirt track towards the nearest town, Arache, where her adventure would begin.
After a few hours of padding softly along the road, Elora stopped to look around. To her great surprise, she saw the silhouette of a figure on the road ahead...