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Just within a hair’s breadth of dodging branches, burning chunks of wood splintering – keeping her focus steady by staying her grip around the hilt of her blade, refusing to let it slip even in the slightest.

Her legs tried breaking into a violent sprint, or even lunged just the smallest inch forward to go faster, but the sinking snow and the debilitating pain forced her to trudge a narrow bloody trench that only continued to pull her deeper within as the raging winter continued to pour evermore.

But there were humans scouring within the smoldering plains, the red roamers were here, a terrifying nightmare manifesting as reality... it was them, it had to be them – they set the skies ablaze, rained down the deafening roars, and enormous bodies of winged-creatures down onto the earth. They were the cause of everything... and she would not allow them to also be the sole cause of her sister’s untimely demise.

Before she had even realized it, Eshwlyn had found herself stumbling beneath a familiar place, a familiar verdant stained with the same stark red of burning flames, yet even as the rest of the plain lay engulfed and broken, not a single tree bore any signs of ruin, not a single leaf catching fire... as if the entire forestland itself simply refused to bend in submission.

Velania Trees, she remembered that woman human calling them. The Divine of strength, of resilience... and of love.

A fitting title – she found her thoughts thinking, wandering... fading...

.....

And it was here, as her strength momentarily left her knees, that she heard a rustle in the treetops, the stifled thump of battered snow, and to her immense relief – a familiar voice.

“Eshwlyn!”

Lenora bolted from under her hiding spot, from a cluttered space perched in the tallest tree, and managed to hold her sister upright a single moment before she collapsed, sparing only a single second’s worth of an embrace, before the little Elf noticed the severity of her sister’s wound, the dreadful smell of fresh blood heavy in the air.

“Wen’nna ful... Eshwlyn... mil! Milanul ful, Eshwlyn!” She tried to say to her, but Eshwlyn could not hear, could not speak... could not even stand... buckling, falling... tiny hands desperately pulling at her paling skin. “Don’t die, don’t leave! No, hold on, please hold on! Wrenner solivaldur fa’n... I’ll save us, I will, I promise – just help me move you! There are humans here, Nen’ma afalfur! We must hide... cestusa – please, sister!”

Hide. Humans. Yes, they needed to hide again. They needed to go someplace far, run away again... find another distant, strange land to call home... just as they had done many times before.

A blur, a whirl of colors and heat tasting bitter on her lips, her legs choking on their own weight, walking, falling, walking, falling... and a warmth comforting. Lenora’s warm hands clung to her tight, pulling her, so full of life, of vigor, unharmed... she was still safe, she had to keep safe.

She had to keep her safe.

A sharp glint seared at her eyes, the silver of her blade frozen in her grip mirrored the red of the fog around them, behind them... and the more she stared, the more destruction she saw within its blinding gleam... then slowly, faintly, like omens’ manifest, she could see sinister figures emerging from the fog.

At once, a sliver of her strength returned to her, and disregarding the effort, the paralyzing pain, and everything else, Eshwlyn coiled her arms around her sister, and ignoring her shocked protest, threw them both within a deep snowy trench off to the side.

The fall alone momentarily blackened her senses, and when she gradually came too, dulled and dazed... she found herself forced into a cramped huddle beneath the roots of a tree... her heavy breathing subdued by the pressing weight and grime of her sister’s shaking palm, whose fearful stare reflected back within only mere inches of her own, her silent expression pleading to keep still and quiet.

Then, she started to hear it – voices... from somewhere, anywhere... close... too close... eclipsing somehow even the sounds of flames and the continued tremors of the earth...

Instinctively pulling her sister close, the two Elves sat quietly in place, left with no other choice, alternatives... but to stay and listen.

“Thirteen good men dead, or otherwise, missing, including one of your own overseers... and if it’s to my keen understanding, this was all under your direct supervision, yes?” spoke the cold, detached voice of an older man, the lowly growl of a horse resounding after him. “You listening well? I do hope you are able to grasp the magnitude of this utter tragedy before us here.”

Responding back, echoed the voice of a woman, speaking firmly, bluntly, and yet also just as empty. “Master, these men died of their own undoing. I have given them strict commands to adhere to... commands that they’ve completely disregarded. The victims of tonight’s unfortunate incidents are not of my blame.”

“So they are mine, then?”

“I did not suggest such a thing, Master.”

“No, no, perhaps it is... perhaps it was against my better judgment to put you at the helm of the assault in the company of such addled-minded fools,” The man let out a sigh, the clack of horse hooves rippling in the snow. “And the results now affirmed me a damned fool too, the biggest of them all... can’t even set aside their prejudice for a single night to save their lives...”

“It is indeed a most regrettable turn of events, Master.”

Then, a lighter rumble in the earth steadily approached the pair of voices, accompanied as well by the whinnies and neighs of many more horses, the heavy rustle of chainmail filling the air.

“The dragon’s migration has been successfully disrupted, sir,” spoke a new, slightly apprehensive voice beneath a heavy muffle. “As we speak, my men are extinguishing the grounds, and are preparing transport for the extraction of the corpses.”

“Yet, strangely enough, commander, I do not feel this venture at all the resounding success it was meant to be... do you?” The first voice asked, his tone like the sharpest edge. “Lambast me if I err, but was it not to my recollection that we specifically decided upon this region of the land to initiate our ambush due to its lack of inhabitants... and thus, drastically reducing the risk of casualties to a flat zero?”

“That is... accurate, yes.”

“So why is it now, I wonder... do I have thirteen names deeply engraved into my mind to search for thirteen different families in order to offer my sincerest condolences?”

The sounds of clinking chainmail stifled to a dead silence.

“It was to His Majesty’s understanding that not a single drop from his people’s blood would dribble upon the damp snow tonight, remember?” The first voice continued to frigidly inquire. “Imagine having to deliver and present this news before him – well, would you? Would your men? No, of course, that duty falls directly upon my shoulders to bear.”

“But, Sir...” The third voice tried to say. “Despite of the casualties, the assignment is – ”

“An immense failure of epic proportions, and hold your tongue from saying anymore,” came a firm, dangerous interjection. “The House of Hendrick values the lives of their people, above all else... for a dozen and one taint the earth, and in the way it did... is nothing but a tragedy regardless of the splendor gained from it.”

Sensing danger, the third voice cowered once more. “I... I understand.”

“And just as it was my duty to preserve all your lives... it was also yours and your men’s duty to do exactly as you’re told,” continued speaking the cold and frigid. “And yet, it is to my dismay to come upon the fact that there exists a fair few among your own that did not find this duty of theirs... worthy of upholding... not even for their very lives.”

At that, a fair few more noises could be heard within the vicinity, a stray cough, a faint grumble, a sense of uneasiness permeating the unseen group.

“Orders by men, yes,” rebutted the third man again, seemingly the sole voice for many others. “By men, and my soldiers will valiantly follow. But you instead put us directly under the authority of... of... her... it is not a surprise that some of us... may have found it more than demeaning.”

That tone, that inflection, a spit of hatred more than familiar. Eshwlyn could recognize the bitter taste spewing from the third man’s lips.

“I meant no disrespect in my actions or words,” calmly stated the womanly voice. “I have acted and done for the sake of my Master and the mission.”

“Be silent, Elf!” suddenly roared back the voice in disgust and vitriol. “You might speak like us, but it does not make you one of us!”

“It doesn’t, does it?” inquired the first, a chilling softness to his words “And yet the family crest of Hendrick stands proudly engraved on her chestpiece, marking her as indeed one of you, and if not – then highly above you... more than you can ever comprehend.”

Another tense silence of crackling flames lingered again.

The man sighed. “To insult this Elf, is to insult the House itself. The very same that you and many yours have pledged their lives to. Now I ask, and carefully, I ask you – do you wish for me to have to bear even more terrible news to His Majesty? Myself, I prefer anything but... how about you, hm?”

An audible growl of frustration could be heard, but with resolve faltering, the third voice quietly said, “No... I... please accept my sincerest apologies.”

“Apologies accepted,” responded a harsh callousness. “You and your men are dismissed.”

The sound of galloping hooves shook the earth yet again, a chorus of neighs gradually fading far into the distance until nothing could be heard but silence once more.

But, it still was far from over.

“I sense a disquiet stirring in you, Tilina,” the first man said. “Speak.”

“Master...” a trudge in the snow, and softly, faint breathing, sniffing, resounded. “I have reasons to believe an Elf might be lurking nearby.”

Eshwlyn stifled her breath, Lenora tightened her hold.

“Do you now, and in this place of all times?” spoke the man, almost amused. “Well, it seems your entourage might be of some use, after all.”

“Permission to scour the area, Master?”

“Granted. Should you manage to find the creature, alert me at once. I must go on and survey more the aftermath of this disaster of a hunt.”

Eshwlyn dared a fleeting peek at the source of a conversation, peering her eyes slowly to the side and there, beyond the narrow gaps of tree roots, she saw another of her own – a female Elf, adorned heavily in the bulkiest of shining steel, both hands holding firm a pair of short twin swords, a billowing stream of long flowing orange hair obscuring her expression, her head obscured in a deep bow forward.

Her ears wriggled almost eagerly.

“Very well, Master.”

As quickly as she could, Eshwlyn pulled her gaze back, catching only the briefest of glances at the man, turning away atop a sturdy steed, holding up a hand in farewell.

“Happy hunting.”