The air hung heavy in the quiet twilight as natural Rimstone alighted the forest floor. Ancestral trees, whose roots were as old as Gilia itself, ran like mountain ranges and valleys through the meeting place of the elves. Many had come.
A meeting of Wood Walkers was underway.
Near the foot of the largest and tallest tree in the Uthin gathering, a circle of thrones was arranged. These chairs were unlike those sat on by those who called themselves the Noble elves. Stone and metal were bent and twisted and marred to create their monstrosities. Hammer and chisel murdered the guardians of the earth to conform to whatever selfish whims were in the mind of the destroyer. No mineral or root would be damaged here, or anywhere else in the land of the Walkers. These thrones were nature's alone, borrowed for a time by the Walkers until they moved on but the trees remained.
Elen and Eren knew them well.
Though brother and sister, many would not be able to tell from their appearance. They shared the same bright blond hair and green eyes, but that was where their similarities ended. Elen was strong and prideful, a hard worker and an undaunted tracker. Her brother, Eren, was short for his race and gaunt. He hardly ever pushed himself physically, choosing to think instead of act. Had she wanted, Elen could easily break him in two.
The thought had crossed her mind more than once.
But even though she thought her brother weak and inferior, she had always held back her urges to cause him harm. It was against the way of the Walkers to harm any living creature.
Including brothers.
Familial ties aside, Eren was also the last leader of their group, the oldest of chieftain blood in the small gathering of Tacot elves here. Elen and Eren shared a father, but not a mother. He, Etet was a stout leader of Tacot and highly respected in the company of other Walkers. But after Eren was born weak and with no visible signs of health, Etet blamed his first wife for the weak offspring.
To have strong offspring was every chieftain's desire. Etet was a man who valued the way of the Walkers too much to cause his newborn son harm, but he no longer loved his bride. He found solace in the arms of another, Elen's mother. The scandal was great and the female elf was sent away by all of the other leaders in Tacot. Elen never even learned the name of her biological mother. Whoever she was, she must have been strong.
Raised side-by-side and constantly reminded of her birth order, Elen worked tirelessly to prove herself strong and capable, despite the mistakes of her father.
And strong she was.
But despite being of the same blood as the chief of her gathering, her father's adultery prevented her from being a leader. And so she sat with her brother, loathing both the ease he clung to as a right of his proper birth, but also his inherent ability to lead.
While Etet was more a fighter who wished to sway others by show of force or strength, Eren was an elf who could outwit any who would give him their ears. That fact alone had saved Eren's life just one moon cycle previous.
Etet had led a group of Walkers out to find out more about the creatures that had been killing the animals of the forest without mercy. Eren had insisted Elen stay behind to protect the elves that remained. It was a fateful decision. The bodies of Etet and his companions were found a week after they had left Tacot.
With no other chieftain descendants to lead, Eren took over the Tacot Walkers.
And so here Eren sat. He was among leaders much more capable, wise, and experienced than he with Elen at his side as chief adviser and bodyguard. It had always been this way. Eren played the leader while asking Elen for her opinion and to protect him from harm.
The only difference now was that Etet was no longer there to guide them both. Though she would never say it out loud, Elen missed her father. Rough as he had been with her, he was the only family she truly loved. Now she was alone, or at least as close to it as she had ever felt.
At the head of the circle, in front of the largest tree and sitting atop the highest root, was Ferinan, oldest and wisest of the Wood Walkers. She was the one they looked to for wisdom and strength in times of uncertainty. It was her counsel they sought now.
Her hair was white, though wisps of red strayed here and there from her short cut. The hair on her head stood nearly on end and was no longer than a hand width. Though many Walkers preferred long braids, Ferinan was known for her short hair that was said to have been as red as a flame in her younger years. The flame, though nearly gone from her hair, had not died out from her spirit. Her hair now resembled the white colored clouds that sailed above the treetops, reflecting her many years of wisdom and experience.
“Are we all gathered?” Ferinan asked in her high, clear voice.
From her perch atop the root, all who were present must have been easily visible to her, Elen thought. She suddenly felt small, being looked down upon by the great elf leader. Instead of bringing her eyes up to look at the formidable counselor, she looked around at the others who had come.
Theirs was not the only elf gathering who had answered the summons. Many of the Wood Walker gatherings had journeyed to seek the word of Ferinan. To her right sat elves whose hair was long and braided in many small strands. They wore the furs of the animals who had died in their midst and covered all of their body in the leather these beasts had provided with their deaths. These were the Wood Walkers from the furthest reaches of the south, where even the trees did not shield their protectors from the snows that often fell there.
Three burly and rugged looking male elves sat together on a root, all equal in their leadership of the gathering. Most had their eyes on Ferinan. The one closest to Elen, however, had found her eyes with his own. He puffed up his chest and made himself seem taller. Perhaps it was to impress her. She sniffed at him and continued her gaze around the circle.
There were elves, like Elen's gathering, who were dressed in clothing woven from grasses and vines. Others, like the southern elves, wore leather and furs, though not as thick. One group sat huddled with short hair, cut nearly to the scalp. Elen was surprised to see that even their women wore their hair in this manner. Another group wove vines into their hair and even used it to supplement their clothing.
That practice must have made battle difficult, Elen found herself thinking. Then she realized that in her quest to avert her eyes from Ferinan, she had also given up her attention as well. The leader of the elves was speaking.
“...news you have brought troubles my mind greatly,” she said, finishing what must have been a long and well thought out statement. “There is much to think on, but what matter shall we decide first?”
An elf from the south stood, and commanded the floor. Elen noticed him look at her before speaking.
“We must first decide on the food we need to survive the next season,” he said proudly. “In Hatun, we have sent more of our elders to Denbar this moon than we have in the last year combined. If we continue this, we will begin to send those who are not ready to make the journey.”
Denbar.
The word hung heavy over those who had gathered. They all knew what it meant to those who took the journey and to the community they left behind. Denbar was not a place, nor was it a road to be traveled. It was the end of a Wood Walker.
In those gatherings where food was scarce and the community could no longer grow or gather enough to support those nearby, a ceremony of Denbar would take place. Around a circle of rimstone outcroppings, the center of each Wood Walker gathering, volunteers would be asked to leave their friends and family to take the Denbar journey. Those who would voluntarily leave the gathering would do so to much praise and grieving. This would mean fewer mouths to feed and fewer elves to care for.
Elen looked at the grass at her feet. Most of the time, the elderly and gravely ill were the first to take the journey. In a time before memory, the ancient tradition of Denbar had been to seek out new gatherings where Wood Walkers could continue to thrive and grow along with the forest.
Now, it was a death sentence for those who journeyed in this manner. The gathering was life to a Wood Walker. To leave was to forsake their community’s protection and provision. For the elderly, it meant a prideful, but slow death by starvation. For the sick, it meant dying alone with no one to watch over them.
Elen had said farewell to the only woman she had ever considered a mother when she took the Denbar journey, not two moons before this meeting. The sting of her last words still echoed in her mind.
“I go so that you might thrive, dear one,” Grenol had said. “Make our gathering stronger by my going.”
Elen had watched the old, white haired elf walk quietly into the woods and not look back. She had shed one solitary tear for the friend and mentor before returning to her duties. Denbar was not a path to be taken lightly.
Elen thought it strange. The Wood Walkers' way was to cause death to no living creature in the forest. So committed were they to this cause that no animal could be killed for food. Only those that were happened upon and found dead could be consumed, and only then the strongest of elves were deemed worthy of meat.
Mostly the elves ate what the earth provided. No leaf was ever injured that could be spared. No vine was ever taken down that had not fallen on its own. Theirs was a way of life that ensured the survival of the forest. Elen wondered if, perhaps, in their effort to make the forest live, they would seal their own downfall.
Another elf among his kin stood up to address the crowd. This one was dressed in the most simple of Wood Walker clothes: woven grasses and vines. He looked spindly, but each limb on him was toned with muscle.
Elen knew that there was a hidden strength in this man. One that any who came against him would discover.
“I am Gerlstadt, of Colwe. There have been odd reports from our closest gatherings. We have heard of strange things from the northern Wood Walkers, if they still claim the ways of the forest.”
Murmurs were heard around the trees. Elen did not think these comments were well received.
“Smoke burns to the north of us as often as the sun rises,” Gerlstadt continued. “We see animals no longer journeying to the north, but rather fleeing to our gathering. They bring tales of trees being felled by axes. They say that our northern kin are killing the forest and using the new and ancient guardians as homes to live in.”
New and ancient guardians. Some of the elves who held to the most ancient ways of the Wood Walkers still called the trees the guardians of the forest. Some could even learn to commune with the animals who dwelled among the wooden sentinels of deep forests.
Gerlstadt and his gathering were a part of those elves. But the attention was not now on how gifted Gerlstadt and his kin were in speaking to animals or their worship of the trees. Were the northern elves really cutting down trees to use as something as profane as axes to chop more? Elen thought.
Trees were never cut down before their time to die. Only after they fell were they used for the most important and desperate circumstances: fire in the winter months and bare shelters for younglings and their families. If it were true, the Wood Walkers of the north had not only forgotten their heritage, they had destroyed it. Eren stood next, startling Elen and causing her mind to come back to her half-brother's side. It was still odd to see him lead.
“Our gathering has suffered much in the last moon,” he began, voice squeaky but carrying. Elen heard the confidence behind his voice, as if he had been planning every word carefully.
“A mysterious enemy we have called the Wrents have come and attacked us several times. Like foxes on two legs, they march into our gathering and burn trees, carry off our food, and kill our younglings without mercy.”
Elen caught herself looking at Eren sideways at this last statement. While it was true the Wrents had come with fire to burn and had stolen precious food, she was unaware of any young elves being the targets of the creatures. Only her father and his hunting party of grown warriors were killed by the new threat. She cast her eyes down as Eren continued.
“Food is scarce and our neighboring elves are misguided, but if we cannot contain this threat that has arisen so close to our gatherings, what good will food and talk of preserving the forest be? We will be dead before solutions can be made. Let us find and combat the Wrents before they come and kill us all!”
There was a general murmuring at this last word from Eren. It echoed throughout those who had come to listen to the leaders of the elves speak.
Ferinan held her chin in her hand, stroking her bones with gentle fingers.
“Food. Forest. Foe,” she said as she stared ahead, not letting her eyes fall on anyone in particular. “Which may we deem most important to our gatherings? And which will we allow to be ignored?”
Many elves stood looking around the roots of the giant trees, some looked down at the ground. Others began to shout their opinions.
“Food!”
“Wrents!”
“The north!”
Ferinan made no attempt to quiet the shouters, but nor did she answer them. Instead, she turned her gaze upward.
Elen looked up as well and saw the quiet twinkling stars through the break in the canopy of trees.
A rustle of noise caught Elen's attention and she spun on the spot, spear held at her waist and eyes narrowed. Five or more elves came walking up to the circle gathering with two figures, dressed in odd clothes and bound by their hands. They were not scuffling now, but on their bodies they showed evidence of a tussle that had occurred recently.
A part in the circle was made and the two were brought forward. Ferinan brought her attention back down from the heavens and looked at the small crowd that now took up the middle of the circle.
“And what is this?” she asked, looking from the middle of the group to those around. “You are not Wood Walkers, but one of you is of elvish decent.”
The two glanced at each other and then back up at Ferinan. For being captured, they seemed quite calm and proud.
Elen had heard of the other settlements that were outside of the woods. Those who cut down trees and forests and carved stone into blocks. These were the humans. She had never seen a human before, but from Etet's description of them to her, she thought she looked at one now.
Both elf and human stood upright and proud. The elf had brown hair that was braided and rolled into a bun close to her head.
The human had dark black hair that was short, not even past her chin. Both wore dark leather and a shiny material on their chests.
Elen had heard of this shinning plate before: metal.
“What names do you go by?” Ferinan asked gingerly. “And why have you come to the forest?”
“To tear down our trees!” shouted an elf.
“Thieves! They've come for food!” shouted another.
“Noble spies!”
Ferinan held up a hand to call for silence. The Noble elves were those who cared nothing for the forest, only for their buildings and their worship of the glowing rock. Though they were relatives of the Wood Walkers, the two elf lines had long departed friendship. One group cared for the life of others. The other only cared for their own selfish gains.
The Noble elves and the Wood Walkers had been mortal enemies for thousands of years. Yet these two did not seem like they were of that stock. Looking around the circle, the brown haired elf woman spoke loudly. Elen continued to hold her spear at her waist.
“I am Wisym of Talgel, and this,” she said, nodding her head towards her companion. “Is Teresa of Thoran.”
A hush fell over the crowd as they listened to this stranger speak.
“Several moons ago we sailed from our homes in Ruyn so that we could begin a quest for an ancient legend.”
She took a deep breath and turned her gaze up to Ferinan.
“We've come in search of a tree.”