Description

Personality

Personality: Briena needed to mature at a very young age due to the violent deaths of her parents and all but a few members of her village, and in that maturity, a young leader was born. She is the kind of woman that people tend to gravitate to in times of need and stress. Becoming Queen of the Elven Kingdom upon her Grandsire's stepping down, has elevated that pull. She is strong, but with that strength comes a tenderness, and a need to protect her people. Briena is not without a temper, though it's less easily riled. She savors any solitude she can find, due to days filled with Queenly duties. A good long ride through the woods, or perhaps just a day spent in the stables with the horses, and the stress melts away. To strangers, she is reserved, sometimes aloof, until they prove that they are friends and not foes. If they prove to be a danger to her people and friends, you can bet that they will be chased from her kingdom. Her hot temper has changed to an icy one, and it's far more comforting to hear her yelling, rather that that calm, quiet voice coupled with an icy deep blue stare.

Briena's healing abilities leave her with an intense need to heal the injuries, even of a stranger. She is a selfless individual, throwing her own life, or lives, to the wind if a friend is in danger. Her knowledge of herbal medicines and all healing techniques is massive, due to being unable to use her own healing blood and touch abilities on herself.  

In battle, Briena is vicious to her enemies, but not without her honor. If an opponent backs down and surrenders, he, or she, is left unscathed. It is not in her nature, truly, to hate. Her mother was a gentle woman, and this is a part of Briena's mentality, though she will bury it if she must.

She loves music, like any Elven individual, though due to her younger years as the Elder Princess (And therefore the Heir to the throne in place of her father; a very desirable marriage prospect), and her grandfather's constant attempts to find a husband for her to take his place as King, she isn't extremely fond of parties or dressing up. Flattery won't win her, particularly if it's false. Honesty, hard work, and loyalty, with a heavy dose of honor are what will gain her respect and trust. And a healthy respect for her personal space will keep a man from being injured where it hurts most. She is unmarried, having finally won out over her Grandfather's attempts to marry her to a suitor. When she finds the man who she feels is truly a good match for her, she will marry.

She loves singing, as well as dancing.

Briena is an amazing judge of character, and has a way of gazing into a person's eyes in such a way that it seems she can see right through that individuals soul. Quite unnerving if you've done something wrong.

Equipment

Abilities:  Briena has several abilities; natural, magical, and gifted to her from various deeds. I will list them below.

Healing Blood: Briena's blood has a unicorn-like trait. If consumed, it will heal internal injuries and sickness, though, for some reason, the healing stays inside, and any external injuries will remain. This ability is particularly draining to her, which is to be expected of giving blood in excess. *She has died once from this giving, which brought her a very special gift from her feline anthro friends' deities. <see Nine Lives> Her blood also will dilute poisons, whether they were ingested, injected, or carried on the blade of an attacker's sword, knife, or arrowhead. This means that while she won't die from poisons, usually, she will still become terribly ill, depending on the severity of the poison's nature. A light stomach ache, perhaps, for a minor poison, while outright nausea and bodily agony might ensue from a powerful poison.

Healing Touch: This ability is the second wave for treating injuries. It will heal the injury she touches, but will leave a scar. It won't heal the entire body, but it nabs the outer injuries pretty darn good. It is slightly draining, particularly with the more serious injuries.

Nine Lives: A Gift given for a great deed. When she gave her life's blood to heal a dying friend, she received a rare Gift from the Gods and Goddesses of her feline friends. Nine Lives. If she dies by a stab to the heart, for instance, she will come back to life after a few hours. Note: Decapitation will be a permanent death, no matter what life she's on. You cannot come back without a head. She may have nine lives, and a chance to come back from death, but that by no means she's reckless. Dying isn't exactly an enjoyable experience.

Shifter: Briena's inherent ability to transform into any creature imaginable save for Human, Vampire, and Elven.  These transformations are painless after the first change to a new form, and even with a first shift, there are only mild twinges. She is the first female shifter in the royal line. Her grandfather is the last living male with this ability. Generally, it is passed down through the male line; however, it skipped Briena's father and she instead  was born with the ability. She's quite the natural, too.

An Invisible Form: At around twenty years of age, Briena discovered her ability to take on an invisible form. This form is also excellent for stealthy work. In this form, she makes no tracks, has no scent, and the magic in it muffles her sounds. No one knows exactly what this form would look like if visible. Not even Briena herself. Due to the way she tested this new form out, it's been nicknamed as her "Prank Form". Kanixillo the Lycan was the unlucky  friend to be the test subject. He's never enjoyed sleeping alone under trees since then.

Ghost Form: This Form is transparent, and no solidity. An object can pass through her body without leaving an injury, though she will feel it as an uncomfortable sensation of coldness where it passed. She can also pass through things, unless there is a magical barrier within it that she doesn't know how to unravel or break. She doesn't enjoy this form, and doesn't take it often.

Of course, Magic: Nearly every Elf is born with magic in their veins. It is a rare elf indeed that doesn't have some amount of magic in his/her blood. Briena has an unusually large amount of magic in her veins, and over her two years of having been wandering, she has learned to tap into those deep wells, though it's still taxing to her.

She has a natural ability to tune in with the forest, and in that manner, the ability to "listen" to the goings on in a forest, her range expanding to a good 200 mile radius. *Since her coronation Ceremony, her range has expanded immensely, able to reach all edges of her kingdom. However, this ability does not work beyond her ruled land, and returns to the original 200 mile radius, or even less over seas beyond her borders.


Briena is a master at riding horses, whether they be winged or normal. She can speak with animals, and this gives a deeper understanding for her mounts; they can inform her of a saddle cloth being rumpled and uncomfortable, for instance.

She is a master swords-woman, both from natural ability, and training from the age of five. Her natural nimbleness and agility, as well as her grace and speed, lend her the upper hand in any fights she encounters. This skill will only grow as she ages.
Weapons: The thing she is almost never without, whether she's in a dress or breeches, is the light leather belt and silver tooled scabbard, containing the sword passed down from her father to her, a week before he died. It was a graduation present.

The blade is made of a special metal almost exclusively used by the Lycans of Calraida. You are a very lucky person indeed if you can procure this precious metal from the Lycans. Very lucky indeed. This metal is very light, and a lovely color of blue, nearly the same color as Brienas eyes. The pommel is silver, inset with the colors of the Skysong crest. Sapphire, Emerald, Diamond, and Amethyst. The grip is leather wrapped, the cross-guard silver with intricate engravings throughout. This blade is as much a part of Briena as one of her fingers. The only way she would part with it is by her final death, or to pass it on to her child. Should she have one.

The scabbard is made from fine, light leather, tooled with intricate silver details. Birds suspended in flight ride high against the top, while horses and wolves bound and leap along the length of the scabbard, to meet at the silver tip. The belt about her waist is from the same light leather, with holes added for a smaller waist. Silver tips the end of the belt strap, and the leather is engraved with beautiful detailing, horses prance and leap until they reach the point where the holes are set. The buckle is made from the finest silver, engraved with delicate swirls.

She carries a bow during hunts, or perhaps during sieges, and naturally, she is an excellent shot, due to training, and being from a race that handles bows and arrows as though they were born with them attached. The bow is made from a redwood, imbued with magic for strength and repelling water. It's elegantly carved with gentle swirls, much like visual interpretations of wind currents. She keeps it well oiled and polished, and despite it's magic, she does her best to keep it from getting wet, though there are times when that's unavoidable... falling into a river, is one of those unavoidable circumstances. The horse she was riding tripped on a stone and sent her on an unexpected swim.

The strings are made from the sinews of the moose, and strands of hair from the manes of horses in the stable, and are also imbued with magic to repel water, and to keep the strings strong and resilient.

The arrows are made from straight pine (we would call it Lodgepole Pine. Beautiful trees, even when dead.), tipped with arrowheads made from Lycan Metal, like her sword blade. As such, these arrows are valuable , and she tries not to lose them. Successful so far. The arrows are fletched with the feathers of the Royal winged horses of the Elven Kingdom. These are feathers that have fallen out, never pulled or clipped. The arrows are light, and like the bow and strings, they are imbued with spells for water repellent, and strength.

Two small daggers slipped into her boots when in her regular clothing choices, made from a light steel procured from Crescent Sable City. Made by the Dwarves, the engraving is that of a powerful stag on one blade, a graceful doe on the other. The handles are made from a rare wood found deep in the Lycan Territory. The wood is snowy white in color, resembling ivory, which gives the trees their names. Ivory Wood. Inset with silver at the pommel and the cross guards, the handle is wrapped in comfortable white leather for a firm grip. The daggers are imbued with magic to prevent breakage and chipping, though Dwarven forged steel is not known for ever chipping.

And of course, there are the natural weapons given by nature. When she takes the form of a big cat, for instance, she will have size, weight, teeth and claws at her disposal, and a much higher intelligence, so she will devise a more efficient way of using those weapons. Don't make her angry while she's in Dragon form. It won't feel good.

She is also an excellent hand to hand combatant, well taught and versed in the use of hands and feet, as well as the rest of her body in a close encounter scuffle. She has learned street fighting from thieves in the minor towns she's visited, and how to use the forest to her advantage in a chase, whether she's the hunted or the hunter.

Garments and Jewelry/Accessories: Her garb consists, usually, of soft, supple doeskin leather breeches. A silk shirt left open to about the upper breast, usually dyed an earthen tone. Though, when she's wearing the breeches, she will accept to wear soft leather boots up to her knees. They are usually dyed black, or another earthen tone. Her last usual clothing item for this particular outfit is a thick cloak dyed a shade of brown or green. All to help with the blending process.

She prefers to wear the aforementioned garments, but of course, she must wear formal clothing to court, and to the parties required of being Queen. That she doesn't enjoy wearing these clothes doesn't mean that she doesn't look absolutely stunning in them. She has the natural body to make any fashion model from our world green with envy. The gowns for the parties are illustrious silk, and she will completely refuse to wear any garish colors, leaving that to other ladies of the Kingdom. Whites, greys, dark blues and greens, and as modest as the dress mistress will allow. Who says a Queen has free rein to do whatever she bloody well pleases with her life? The sleeves are off the shoulder, usually, the neckline low enough for two inches of cleavage, though Briena will usually cheat and tie a shawl just so, to hide that tidbit, and cast a glare somewhere toward the seamstress' quarters... No real anger in that look though. The skirts are resplendent, falling to the floor in a graceful sweeping flow, the fabric at mid-hip and up through the bodice fitting to her form.

There are undergarments, but no lady, or Queen, shows those parts of her clothing to public eyes, so I will not list them.

Her nightwear consists of soft, white silk gowns. The neck has an enclosed lace, for adjustments. It can be an off the shoulder position, or a more modest set. During the summer, she tends to take the former. Winter will see her in the best cotton fabric.

She also has an outfit that I call her Wild Garb, or Lycan garb. Soft, soft leather makes a breast bind, wrapping around her chest and tied securely to prevent slipping. The rest of her body is bare, save for the feminine loincloth type skirt often seen on Lycan females. The front and back fall to her mid shins/calves, and are beaded in tribal designs and patterns. She wears this outfit in summer, whenever she feels the need to run uninhibited through the forest.

Briena isn't much for jewelry. But there are the required accessories a Queen must wear to her duties. The circlet, passed down through the ages from Queen to Queen, just as the King's Circlet is passed from King to son, down through the line. The last Queen to wear the Circlet was Briena's Grandmother, Erania, beloved wife to her Grandfather, and well loved by the Kingdom in her time. The Circlet is made from the finest yellow Elven gold, and is set with rubies, sapphires, and diamonds. At the fore of the crown, the Skysong Crest sparkles in Sapphire, Emerald, Diamond, and Amethyst gems. (Still haven't decided what the crest actually looks like yet.) The gold twines about the head of the wearer in vine like swirls, and knots resembling the Celtic knots of our world. At every knot, a golden rose is set with rubies for the petals, diamonds for dew, and sapphires behind as a backdrop.

A pendant of glittering opal set in a silver setting resembling a wolf's head hangs about her neck, the pendant glittering just above the beginning of her breasts. The opal hangs below the wolf's chin, rather as though the wolf is holding the jewel against it's furry breast.  

On her right hand, she wears a ring set with the Skysong colors, made of elven gold, the band resembling twined vines.

There are various hair ornaments as well, too many to name.

As for other accessories:

A large pouch for gathering herbs when she manages to get out for some quality alone time. It's made from soft deer skin leather, beaded with elegant tribal designs. Given to her by a Lycan she saved during her travels.

She has many other accessories, but they're too extensive to list.

History

Under much revision, so is incomplete as of yet:

When Lorican Amos Skysong, son of King Lionel Terrish Skysong and Queen Erania N’temya Golmurin-Skysong was young, his mother often told him stories of falling in love at first sight. Of love that lasted through the ages and never ended. His father told him stories of courageous past kings and fine battles. He was trained by the best warriors, and became a fine young warrior himself. He was handsome and strong, bearing his mother’s fiery red hair and deep blue eyes. Young women hoped desperately to be chosen for a betrothal to the future King of the Elven Kingdom. And indeed, one of them was chosen. Young Aleena Greylark. However, this was not to be.

At the young age of a hundred and twenty-five years, he was riding along the borders of the Kingdom, and there he stumbled upon the most beautiful maiden he had ever seen. And it was then that he knew the stories his mother had told him when he was young were true. His heart leapt, pounded and yearned. There was a problem, however. This beauty was human. Not only was she human, but she was also the sole daughter of the Human King, Tadmius The Kind. For thousands upon thousands and thousands of years, The Elven line of Kings and Queens have been pureblooded Elves. It was forbidden to take a human as a wife and to sully the line with human blood. It was rather the same on the Human side. But when they saw one another for the first time, Prince Lorican Amos Skysong and Princess Callania Ellen Aura Whiteblade would care nothing for these rules.

Lorican guided the young Callania back, and watched her go with a yearning heart. Three years later, and at last they met again. This time, Lorican proposed, and was overjoyed as Callania accepted his offer. But when he came home, euphoric to have found the true love his mother always told about, his father was enraged to learn of his sons choice. Despite Eranias pleas, Lionel cast his son down, disowning him from the family.

Furious with his fathers rejection, hurt by his rage, Lorican swiftly gathered his favorite horse, his sword, and his clothing, Lorican packed his saddlebags and left, followed by his dearest friend, Darenello. He left for the Human Kingdom, determined to have his love at his side. In three weeks, he had reached the place they knew best, and to his surprise, she was waiting. She had met the same reception with her own sire, and like her love, she had run, though been saved the heartache of being disowned. Together, with Darenello at their sides, they turned inward and made their way through the Elven territory, until, three months later, they arrived at Elvenwood Village, and fell in love with it.

For one year, the newlyweds made their home, Lorican quickly becoming the leader of the population, while Callanias skills at needlework and stitching earned her a living as a seamstress beside the present seamstress Anatta. Darenello quickly became the new Swordmaster of the Village, his skills with the blade and other forms of combat, and gentle way of teaching being popular with the young men of the village. And at the end of that first year, a child was conceived. A daughter. In the mid spring of the year, she was born, and this is her tale, for every Legend begins as a small seed, before it grows to be great.

Briena Erani Skysong was born on a starry mid-spring night; a healthy baby girl with a full crown of wispy red curls and delicately pointed ears. It was clear straight away that she would be a devastating beauty when she grew into an adult. Her parents could not have been any happier than they were on that night, with the stars twinkling in the velvet black night sky far above the world. Darenello was overjoyed to be named the baby girls Godfather, and bequeathed to her a gift; a pendant given to him by his late mother. An opal jewel in a fine silver setting. The setting resembled a wolf, with the jewel seeming to be held to his furry breast.

Time seems to fly so swiftly, does it not? It seems as though no time at all had passed before their blue eyed little girl was crawling and exploring, sticking her hands into everything that caught her attention. And as though only a moment passed before she was walking and learning to speak. The little redhead learned quickly, often needing only one teaching before the word was memorized. Full sentences came quickly, and at the age of four, she had mastered the common tongue, for her mother knew only a little of the Elven native language.

It was at the age of four and a half years, that Brienas shifting abilities began to show themselves. Cats were a common sight in the Village, and one morning, Lorican and Callania woke to find a strange, dark fiery red cat with deep blue eyes sitting on their bed. A moment later, the surprised parents were faced by their daughter, sitting exactly where the cat had just been, giggling merrily at this new game. Lorican was puzzled but proud that his daughter would be the one to gain the ability that until then, only the men in the Royal Elven line were able to shift into any creature at a mere whim. He himself had been skipped by this ability.

It was soon apparent that Briena was a natural at transforming, taking forms that fancied her most. Cats, dogs, and other small animals were her first forms. With this ability, also came the ability to understand the animal languages. The innate ability allowed the little girl to make a great many friends among the animals in the Village. However, other children were a puzzling thing to the child.

As Briena turned five years old, Lorican began taking her for walks through the woods bordering the Village, teaching her about the plants and how to identify each one. Seeing her interest, he would teach her the uses for every one she pointed to, until she had them memorized. Once something was memorized by the child, it was never forgotten. Her round child’s face would grow serious, intent eyes watching him speak, until a bright smile would tell him she had it down. He also began teaching her how to survive out in the forest, should she ever need to fend for herself. He taught her how to hunt, how to fish, both by hand and by string and hooks fashioned from sharpened twigs.

The girl took to the forest like a duck to water, and taught herself how to hunt in other forms as well as her birth form. It was at the age of five that Darenello began teaching his Goddaughter the art of the sword. As with the forest, she took to the blade just as swiftly, happily training with her fathers best friend in a private glade.

Just as she was turning six, Briena met the wolves that made the wilder parts of the forest their home.




Briena padded on small feet along a path, following it deeper and deeper into the woods. Farther and farther from the Village. The small girl knew she was supposed to wait for her father to take her out, but it had been too hard to resist the call of the forest shadows and lush greenery. So she had drawn an arrow in the dirt directing him to where she had headed, and taken off. Her long red hair was spangled in dapples of sunlight filtering through the canopy of trees, childhood curls bouncing against her back. Round face turned to and fro, gazing at the lush green foliage, with splashes of bright color marking flowers here and there.

The sweet, heady smell of the flowers her father called Bleeding Hearts reached her nose, and the child stopped to savor the smell. Her eyes closed for a moment, before they popped open and she skipped a few paces on nimble feet bare of shoes or slippers. She hated the feeling of the shoes that she sometimes had to wear, mostly around the horses that her father bred. They would never purposely step on her, they said, but they couldn’t always watch every step. It was the horses and her mother, that had coaxed her into wearing the hardened leather boots for protection around sharp horse hooves.

Briena bounded up a small slope, eyes sweeping the bushes before she uttered a small delighted squeal and scampered to a bush heavy with ripe wild blackberries. She wore a light dress that her mother had made her for outdoor play and forest meanderings. It was a soft forest green, and made of a sturdy material that her mother called linen, from flax that her mother grew herself and spun. It wasn’t the highest quality there was, but it served it’s purpose perfectly. The young child gathered up the hem of her skit into a basket, and began picking the ripest berries she could find, to take home.

A rustle in the bushes to her right made the small girl look about. Deep blue eyes grew wide with awe as the biggest dog she’d ever seen stepped from the plant life. He was massive, standing at a good forty inches at the shoulder, and was white with black points and muzzle, with large golden eyes. She’s never seen a dog quite like him, nor smelled one quite like him. He smelled wild and musky, and purely of the forest. His head was regally lifted, tail raised above his spine, and she recognized the display of dominance. She spoke to him in the language of the canine. “Hello, dog… I’ve never seen you before.” Her voice was sweet and clear, that of a child who loved to sing songs that she only knew the words and rhythm of.

The ‘dog’ blinked his great golden eyes, ears flicking back in dismay. “I am no dog, little pup. I am a wolf, as you can very well see. I have seen you before, though you have not seen me. I am Redmoon, King of Whitemoon pack. And you, little two pawed pup, are in my territory.” There was no real malice in the wolf Redmoons tone; after all, pups would be pups, and pups loved to explore where they ought not to. After two litters with his lovely mate Icetooth, he was well versed on pups.

The child tilted her head, curious eyes taking in more fully the wild appearance of the wolf. “I’ve never met a wolf before. Only dogs. I’m sorry to have offended you… My name is Briena.”

That meeting was the beginning of a long, wonderful friendship.



As young Briena grew to know the wolves of the forest as well as she knew the dogs, cats and horses of the Village, so did she learn their way of hunting, and her first hunt was one of the most exciting times of her young life. The thrill of the chase on four legs, and the pride of bringing down a creature so much larger than herself. Lorican was given a chance to meet his daughters wolf friends, and upon meeting the much spoken of Alpha pair, he allowed his daughter free rein in the forest, sure that his little girl was safe in the wolves’ care.

Elves are a race that is in tune with nature. Thus, when he allowed his daughter to run with wolves, there were no exclamations of shock or disgust. Perhaps, if he had been living in a village of humans, the reaction would have been negative, and judgments would be cast before they truly tried to understand his motives. And his motives were these: His daughter would be given tutelage by the very forest, she would learn how to survive, how to hunt, better than he could ever be able to teach her. And in many ways, she was better prepared for survival than he himself would ever be.

Time seemed to fly, and so soon already, they were celebrating Briena’s seventh year of life. Already she was beginning to master the basics of sword fighting in her lessons with Darenello, her child’s softness beginning to harden into lithe, lightly toned arms from holding the practice swords. Energetic as all children will be, she found the trade caravan visits acutely exciting. New people, new sights and smells and sounds. Often there would be storytellers and singers, and a young man named Samias from the village would join in sometimes.

Her mother would trade goods like the rest of the village, not only selling clothes she had made, but baked goods, fruits, vegetables, and other things. Her father would display the horses he wished to sell, and keep an eye out for fine stock. It was at the age of seven that Briena herself decided to take up a productive hobby. She found she enjoyed bead working on leather. It was something she was skilled at as well, and she reveled in finding new patterns and color variations. The Village Glass-maker would make small beads for her to craft with, using magic, dyes, and sand. Bright colors of blue, like asters. Deep shades of red like her mother’s roses. Bright yellow, like the sun. These were only a few colors that went into her craft.

The young child had grown, standing at a slim four feet, child’s body already strong and willowy. She was strong in her legs, due to having been plunked upon a pony’s back as a toddler every day by her father, while her mother watched anxiously, as mothers will do. As such, Briena, at the age of seven, was a fine rider already, showing promise to become ever better. Along with her private fighting training, Lorican was training her body strength by horse. In that back paddock, he would set up small jumps, and she would go over them on a steady horse, Darenellos mount. At the beginning, she was allowed to hold on to the mane, until she was sure of her seat, and then he began to work n her balance.

Over the jumps the seven year old girl would ride her mount, gripping only with legs and thighs, with her mount telling her what adjustments to make. Heels down, straighten your back, move with me. At first, her arms would be out, ready to dart forward and grab mane if she wavered in balance. But as the months went by, they would fold across her chest, or behind her back. Eventually, Darenello combined the riding with sword training, having her go through a series of motions with the practice blades, or a pole as she rode around and around, over the small jumps, which had been raised slightly over the months.

With this training, the girl learned the double focus, to keep in motion with the horse while also paying attention to the maneuvers of the blade or pole. As she turned eight, Briena had become quite accomplished at these exercises, performing them efficiently, with only a few minor mistakes that would be smoothed away with practice. Despite being the youngest pupil Darenello was teaching, Briena was the fastest learner, eager to take in all the knowledge he, her father, and her mother had to give her. Cooking, mending and sewing, and bead work from her mother, who, despite growing up as a princess, had been the kind of girl who couldn’t stand having nothing to do with her hands, and had often snuck into the kitchens to learn how to cook meals, as a hobby; and after all, a girl never knew when her life could be turned upside down by a war, and it was good to be prepared, right?

From her father, she learned riding, herbal healing, and small spells to repel rain from her clothes, and shield the fire from water. She learned forest survival, tracking and hunting from her father, as well as Redmoon and his pack Elders. But it was from the next creatures that she met in the forest, while exploring deeper in the other direction, that she learned even more about healing with plants. They were the Alaarri, a race of small anthro felines.




How did one child manage to get away with so much? It was a question, one of so many, that ran through the red haired girl’s mind as she slid along a barely visible game trail, bare feet finding silent purchase on the soft moss. Altarenn was a year older than herself, and yet he acted like a toddler sometimes… If he pointed at something he wanted, and whined loudly enough, his mother would get it for him, with an embarrassed, pained look on her face. Briena frowned. Why whine for something when you could easily earn it? And today, he had wanted something, and his mother had not been around to get it for him. It was a small thing, really; an apple. She had seen him take it, without asking Iruibaela at all.

Briena had wanted to do something, but what could an eight year old girl do, really? Scuffling was against the rules if it was done in actual anger. Save your anger for a time it is truly needed. Her father’s rule. Here, her father’s direct word was law. And he never passed rules that were unfair or harsh. Altarenn would get his due when Briena got back from her exploring. Her father would believe her, but he was out on a hunting trip, to bring meat in to dry and store for winter. But he would be back by nightfall, hopefully with several deer, or perhaps an elk.

Bare feet padded over the moss, before she paused and looked around, feeling the hair at the base of her neck prickling. It was the feeling of being watched, and she wasn’t sure if it was the good kind of watching or the bad kind. The feeling grew, until a slight, small figure dropped from the tree branch above her, hissing. Briena gave a surprised squeak and jumped backward in time to avoid a paw-full of sharp claws aimed at her knees. Of all the time to trip over a root, this would be the worst. However, this though sailed through the girl’s mind as the back of her heel hooked about a raised root and she went tumbling backward onto the mossy ground.

The creature was on top of her in an instant, snarling, and she was faced with a pair of lantern yellow cat eyes, narrowed in anger. In fact… Almost everything about the creature was solely feline, except for the facts that the size, some of its shape, and the upper torso were very different from the timid house cats in the village. If her father were standing beside this creature on flat ground, it would come no higher than perhaps his lower thigh. Black fur was puffed out to full extension, making it look even bigger. The jowl area of this creature said it was a young male, whiskers fanned out and lips lifted in a snarl that showed off sharp cat canines.

The cat creature snarled, uttering a quick string of angry words in a gravelly yowl of a voice. “You trespass! Surrender or be taken prisoner by the Alaarri!” The front of her dress was held in a paw like fist, the fists partner held spread, claws extended, against her neck. The girls mind raced, trying to find a way out of her sticky situation. She wasn’t exactly fond of the idea of submitting, nor was she quite keen on the idea of being a prisoner of a whole group of these strange, hostile new creatures. Maybe she could talk to the creature? The cat creatures language sounded like a mix of cat and something she didn’t recognize, but due to her ability, she was able to decipher what he’d said. It was her first time dealing with an unfamiliar language, and so she spoke in the closest approximation of it that she could. She used the cat language, hoping he would understand her, and that he would be willing to listen.

“Please, I wasn’t aware that I had trespassed. If you let me free, I will go back the way I came.” The cat language was a mixture of soft trills and mewling, along with expressions and, in this situation, minimal eye contact. She wouldn’t fight if she didn’t have to. But if she did, she would fight hard. The snarl fell from the cat creatures face, yellow eyes gaining a surprised look. His whiskers twitched, as though he were trying to think of a response. Then…”You… Know cat language, little trespasser?” It was spoken in common feline, a language she had no trouble at all speaking or understanding. “Yes. I know it… Will you let me free?” Her parents would be worried out of their minds if she didn’t come back before night fall. Usually, she was allowed out after night, but only if she let one or both if her parents know. Today, she hadn’t intended to stay out, so hadn’t told her mother.

She heard a soft swishing noise as the creature shifted his weight a little, tail lashing with indecision. Eventually, he stepped off of her chest, releasing her dress front. “You may go. But go quickly, my watch patrol will be coming through, and they are not so merciful.” Just as he said this, the bushes rustled and two forms slid from the greenery. One was a dark orange tabby, the striping thick and swirling a deep umber brown over sunrise orange fur. Large blue eyes made a startling contrast in the triangular feline face. The other was night compared to the other’s day. Black with tiny white specks dappling her sides; and it was a she, for her physique was slender and elegant to the other twos muscular male builds. Burning gold eyes swept the scene, narrowing as they landed on the first male. He lowered his head, ears flattening.

“What do I see here, Talorran?” Her voice was high and lyrical, as narrowed golden eyes bore into the cowering male. He raised his pale yellow gaze a fraction, and Briena watched as his tail curled under his belly, almost like a dog or wolf. His head lowered a fraction, eyes dropping as the females pelt fluffed slightly. “A trespasser… She has agreed to leave if she is allowed.” The words came in a strangled mew of a voice. Briena was beginning to get the feel of their language, enough to pick up inflections and tones, and to understand those nuances. The female was obviously in charge here, and the male, Talorran, was a low ranking member. Where did the orange tabby stand?


Those sky blue eyes were resting on the young girl, slightly narrowed, as though in thought. They left her after a moment, landing to stare at the young male who was cowering under the angry golden gaze of the female. They softened, twinkling with something akin to amusement. “Let him be, faelah Arromia. He’s young, he will learn. He left no mark upon the trespasser to tell of our existence to the populace.” The blue eyes swung to Briena. “You will come with us. I have an odd feeling that you are just the one we need.” The female, Arromia, swung around to stare at her companion. “What!?” The word came out as a strangled screech, like a cat who’s just had her tail trod on. Her fur fluffed out like any angry cat, she glared at the large sunset orange tabby creature, whiskers flared. “We do not bring strangers into our midst! Sunrraven, you know this.” Paw like hands were thrown into the air before her, her golden eyes flashing.

Sunrraven’s long tail flicked, one hind paw taking his weight as he leaned back slightly, forearms folding, one paw hand resting nonchalantly under his feline chin. “I do know this. But those times are ending, sadly enough. The elders have been having their dreams… And they don’t see a good future in staying in the shadows.” Arromia gave a low, angry yowl. But she didn’t fight her companion further on the subject. Dropping to all fours, she cast Briena a dirty look that spoke volumes and stalked away, tail in the air and fluffed out to the maximum proportion. Sunrraven watched her go, flicking the tip of his tail. “She’s got a temper, but she’s a good faelah. And a fine fighter.” The words were mumbled to himself, though Brienas sharp ears caught them. By now, she had managed to figure the language out. It was close enough to the cat language that it was little trouble to unravel the rest.

Dropping to his fours, Sunrraven gave his tail a wave to Tamorran. “Go on, youngster, continue your rounds.” Tamorran glanced at the red headed girl, then slipped away with a rustle of leaves. Sunrraven watched the youngster’s tail vanish from sight, then turned those sky blue eyes on Briena. “Come, let me introduce you to our Elders.” With that, the orange tabby dropped to his fours and led the girl through the forest, further and further away.

As the golden-orange light of sunset filled the forest, they broke from the trees into a wide clearing lined with hide tent-like structures. Feline figures froze as the two crossed the clearing to the largest structure, eyes wide with surprise at the stranger among them. Briena thought she saw Arromia glaring toward her from a small knot of other cat folk near the edge of the forest. Tamorran stopped outside the structure, uttering a loud yowl, asking for admittance. A rusty chorus a growls and trills answered. “Come in, Warrior. Bring your guest.” Tamorran beckoned to Briena, stepping inside. The red haired girl ducked under the entrance and straightened, looking about covertly.

The ground under her bare feet was layered with squirrel, rabbit, and mouse furs, soft and plushy after the springy moss and rough dirt outside, and the smell of old cats permeated the single room. The light was provided by a shallow stone basin filled with glowing coals, just enough for her to see the ten gray muzzled Alaarri Elders seated against the wall of the room. They wore badger pelts draped over their shoulders, and mouse skulls strung on thin sinew cords about their necks. What fur she could see that was theirs was caked by colorful mud in patterns resembling runes and zigzags. Some wore hedgehog or porcupine quills in their ears.

The largest, a tom by the looks of him, rose, whiskers twitching as he looked the red haired girl over, taking in the dress, the hair dappled with loose twigs, the large deep blue eyes, and finally, her feet, peeking from under the hem of the dress. “You have brought us a child of the Elves, Tamorran. We could have used an adult.” Tamorran bowed his head, ears flicking back, one paw fisted over his chest. “I know, but this child can speak the cat language. I do not think the rest of her kind can.” The mud caked around the Elder tom’s brow whisker pads cracked slightly as they lifted, the tom’s luminous green eyes surveying Briena with more interest. “So this is the cat speaker our dreams told us about. My apologies, Tamorran; it seems your choice was not wrong after all.”

Tamorran’s ears rose under the apology, sky blue gaze flicking to Briena momentarily. The girl glanced back at the tom, then looked back at the elders. What exactly did they want of her, she wondered. She supposed that she would find out soon enough. Her assumption was confirmed as the elder tom who had been doing the speaking studied her, before speaking again. “You are of great import, young Elf child. You can grasp our language, and thus, you can help us. Our kind is beginning to die out. We are a secretive, private race, keeping apart of all but our own kind and kin, the cats you would be familiar with. Our proposition is this, young Elf Child. You can teach us your language, and introduce us to your kind; the humans, elves and the like. In return, we can provide our own services. Like the wolves, we know every place and thing of this forest, and have contact with the few remaining Tribes in forests beyond these. We can provide early warning of danger to your encampment, and aide in times of need. Our hunting skills are some of the best, and our shamans are some of the most knowledgeable healers I know of.”

Briena’s head cocked, the light from the hot coals catching her red hair as she considered the old tom’s proposition. Could she really do all this? What if introductions to the outside races went wrong? Elves, she knew, would never do such a thing as harm a race that was just beginning to poke their heads out for the first time in their known history… Granted, she didn’t know all their history. Her eyes gazed into the large green gaze of the old Tom. “I can try. But… Can I know more or your race past? Have your kind ever tried to interact with humans or Elves?” Her young voice was alight with curiosity, but her words were given in a manner that spoke of her maturity; maturity helped along by her father and Darenello’s teachings of honor. The other children were allowed time to be children, but Briena’s faster aging process meant that she would be taught the rudimentary basics and intricacies of honor, courage, and respect early in life, and have them hammered into her until she couldn’t forget them even if she tried.

The old Tom’s green eyes glittered in the light of the coals, and one of the other elders reached over and tossed a pawful of dry sticks onto the hot coals. The sticks blackened, smoked, and caught, brightening the lighting in the small structure, and the old tom spoke, tone pondering and thoughtful. “Our history with humans is vague. It was before my own time. Long before even my great grand-tom had breathed his first. It was in the time of what we call ‘The Time of The Long Winter’, where the snows lasted for three seasons. From what I can recall of the stories passed down from those times, our kind tried to live along side humans. Our Tribes were more numerous back then, perhaps two hundred across the whole of the continent. Large, and strong, and full of hope. However, the humans did not wish to live peacefully with our race, and a war broke out. It decimated our kind, many tribes wiped out by the humans, who were merciless in their attacks on us. Kittens, Queens, and Elders were killed without discrimination. So… The Alaarri fled into seclusion, and we have been in hiding ever since.” The old tom’s words finished, he peered at Briena with a shrewd stare.

“I imagine it was, for one thing, the language barrier between the two races. I have heard that Elves have the innate ability to speak with the land and all races, but we had such a poor experience with the humans, our race memories were so traumatic, that we haven’t even tried to make ourselves known to the Elves.” The shabby, mud cakes tail twitched, then curled around his haunches, tip twitching. “It is time our kind stepped out of hiding, and tried once more to become a known part of the world.” He sat back, luminous eyes on the girl, watching her face.

Briena contemplated the information she’d been given for a moment. So… She doubted that she would ever come into contact with many humans. But she could start with her own village, and maybe on the first trade trip to a larger town her father allowed her to go with him on, she could maybe spread the word… But only after she was sure of her own village. “I will try. I can’t promise any luck with humans, since we don’t happen to be very close to their borders… But I think my father will listen. I can try to teach your race the common language… And teach your language to other races.” It was a big undertaking for one her age. Her eyes lit up as a thought occurred to her. “You said your race is knowledgeable about healing?” The old tom nodded slowly, ears perked. The girl went on, excitement sparking in her chest. “I’d like to learn everything your race knows about it. My kind is advanced in healing, but it’s mostly with magic and alchemy, and I’d like to know the simpler knowledge… Using my magic makes my head ache…” Her young brow furrowed in a pout that spoke of her young age.

Of course, she was unaware of how deep her natural well of magic strength went, and part of that alarming depth of strength meant that uses of magic that she was only beginning to learn control of, was headaches and tiredness. And the girl loved the idea of healing others, of making hurts better. But the minor healing spells her father and the village healer had taught her wore her out, and left her feeling achy. So she gazed at the old tom while his whiskers twitched at the seven year old girl’s eagerness to learn. “I don’t see why not. It will be a fair trade of services. Perhaps you can also teach us your kind’s number figures and writing.” His large eyes squinted in that universal cat expression of contentment. Tamorran, who had been silent throughout the exchange, straightened his shoulders and uttered a soft rumbling meow of attention. “It grows late, Honored Elders. This kittens parents may be worried if she does not arrive home safely before full dark.” Briena blinked, wondering how much time had passed throughout the exchange. Had her father come home yet? The tabby warrior was right about worried parents if her father had come home by now. The old Tom nodded. “Then you must, of course, escort our young guest home safely. Be off, and prowl safely.” The Elders lifted their paws over their bony, aged chests, a gesture of farewell as the brawny tabby and the lanky seven year old child left the structure, and headed off into the forest.




So the lessons of language and healing began, an exchange of knowledge between races and species. When the seven year old girl child arrived home with her escort leaving her at the edge of the village, she had hastened home, running into her father in time to assure him that she was well, and regaling him with the story of her day. The initial introduction of the two races went well enough, with the girl playing the role of translator, her bright eagerness hard to resist. And her training in riding and fighting would continue, and her teaching of politics would begin. How Lorican managed to teach his red headed, intelligent child politics of the Elven kingdom, and keep the fact of their lineage unknown is anyone’s guess. Her mother’s lineage was kept behind proverbial doors as well as Callania taught her daughter about human politics as well.

As Briena’s knowledge of fighting with swords grew, and her training in mounted sword fighting continued, her stability on the horse’s back continuing to grow, both her father and Darenello began to introduce her to archery. The girl took to this like any pureblooded Elven child would; like a duck to water, and a bird to flight. It was as natural as breathing. However, even with natural ability, training is needed. So she was taught with the same intensity as the riding and sword training. Starting with a simple practice bow of limber willow and simple string. They worked with her, training her accuracy, improving the steadiness of her hands, the position of her elbow and hands, feet and back. The straightness of her back. Gradually, as she caught on and learned, and improved, she moved up through bows and power of pull.

It took her not long at all to be an adept archer on the ground, and once her father and godfather were content with her ability on the ground, they moved her up to mounted archery. Like with her mounted blade work, they moved through stages, only moving on when she had mastered each step. Down a straight path, with targets placed at strategic intervals, and at a walk, was the first stage, a slow, easy beginning for her to get accustomed to the new positioning needed to shoot an arrow from a bow on horseback, while moving forward. As she reached her eighth year, she had moved up through the stages, able to hit the targets while riding at a canter.

Her knowledge of plants and herbal healing progressed swiftly with the teachings of the shamans of the Alaarri tribes, and along with the healing training, she was receiving lessons in Alaarri fighting style. The cat-kin had many styles, usually preferring the basic manner of claws and close combat brawling. However they were also adept at fighting with slim spears adapted for their paws, and dual wielded knives. The cat folk were lithe and agile, flexible, and it took a great deal of training to master the different style.

With her eighth year came a minor growth spurt. Within a two season span of time, she gained a half a foot of height, bringing her lanky frame to stand a still more lanky four feet and a half. Her young muscles were defined from the activity of training in so many different styles of fighting, and the daily riding. As well as the runs and hunts with both Alaarri and the wolves.

Darenello’s continued private training of the Elven sword fighting style progressed, and with her more intensive private training between himself and her father, Brienas skills began to rival that of some of his best publicly recognized students. Darenello was beginning to run out of things to teach her, and thus focused on what she had already learned, building her skill, reflexes, speed, and strength in the moves, drilling her through them daily. As a manner of preparedness, he began running her through different combinations of the moves she already knew, adding in random changes, teaching her to read body language in a fight, something she was already innately adept at.

The girl was intuitive when it came to reading the faces of those around her. The changes of expressions and the miniscule details and movements were a fascinating thing to the child, and she would often spend an hour or so in the Elvenwood Inns common room watching travelers and locals interact. During market days, and the exciting days when Caravans would pass through and set up shops for a few days, she would watch the trades, quietly making notes of the traders faces when the citizens of Elvenwood would haggle for a lower price, watching their faces when they made their sales pitches about their wares, watching the tics in their faces that told truth or lies. Briena showed the same intuitive grasp for values in trade goods; a strong sense of the true value of an object, whether it be a jeweled necklace all the way from the Human Capitol City of Tyrinius, or a silk shirt from the ports of Crescent Sable. Where she got this intuition from was anyone’s guess, though Callania seemed to possess some of the same innate grasp of sale and value, nearly always managing to sell her own wares at the prices she set.

Briena’s knowledge of herbal healing continued to progress, until she was assisting the Alaarri shamans with their injured and sick, her hungry mind soaking up every experience, and committing to memory every trick they had to give her, then making her own leaps and bounds of knowledge, finding more effective cures for illnesses, or a more clever way of setting a broken bone. Relations between the village and the Alaarri tribes grew stronger as time went by. Likewise, so did the relations of the wolf pack with the Alaarri and the Elves, as they assisted in hunts, receiving shares of the kills, while the village got the meat they needed for the winter. The conditions of these alliances were that the wolves were not to be hunted for their pelts, though the Elven race was not one to hunt predators for this use.

As winter drew close in Briena's eighth year, preparations for the cold months ahead came into full swing, groups of the village members going out into the forest to gather late season berries, nuts, seeds, roots, and herbs. Hunters made frequent excursions with the wolves and Alaarri to bring in game, elk, moose, and stags to stock the larders and cellars. Crops were harvested of corn, wheat, barley, rice, pumpkins, squash, and many other fall produce and fruit. Orchards were harvested of their apples, and stock that were raised for meat slaughtered and cured to last. Elvenwood Village was a prosperous little town of hardworking people, led under a gentle hand of a good leader, Brienas own father. From Loricans many, many years of teaching about crops, taxes, and general care of people he was once to be king of someday, he was a natural choice to lead the population of the village. He was a man the village citizens gravitated to for advice, and for comfort when something went wrong. From him, Briena learned these ways of gently guiding others through hard times, and from him came her natural ability to lead.

The winter of her eighth year of life was a surprisingly harsh winter for the Elven Kingdom. The lands possessed by the Elven race, from the first few feet within the entirety of their borders were always more lush, gentle climate, even if the land directly on the other side was a harsh, blasted steppe, or a dark, foreboding forest filled with flashing eyes and ominous growls of hungry, wild beasts. For whatever reasons, however, this winter was a hard one, even for the kingdom of the Elves. For the other two factions, this winter was the harshest in living memory for the humans, though for the Lycans, this winter would not match match the worst the oldest of them could remember. The Lycan territory was harsh, by anyone’s standard, in any case. Humans feared it, and Elves respected its boundaries, and those who lived within those boundaries.

As the first snows fell upon the small Elven town that was Brienas childhood home, her mounted training was brought to a temporary halt. As the snow continued to fall, so the people of the town retreated to their warm homes, falling to indoor winter activities.

It was during this winter that, far away in the capitol of the Human Kingdom, Callania’s elder brother exacted a plot that would throw the Human Kingdom into its darkest age in both living and written history. The young Prince, who had always been dark at heart, and highly jealous of his sister, for whom his parents had never stopped loving despite her breaking of the rules of the line, he, at thirty-six years of age, murdered his aged mother and father through the poisoning of their evening wine. This was not his only crime, nor his first or last. King Tadmius the Kind died at the age of nearly sixty, a ripe old age by human terms for a King who had seen many battles and won several wars with foreign invaders, and had never, in his reign, sought war with the neighboring Elves. His wife and Queen was buried beside him, having lived to the age of fifty-seven, and borne three children, only two of which still lived.

No sooner than he had gained his ill gotten crown, the now King Axelander began to destroy all that his father had built for the Human Kingdom. Axelander, like many humans, held prejudice against Lycans and Elves, and soon began plotting war. He brought about new laws, allowing the raiding and slaughter of Lycan and Elven families, and the enslavement of both races young and old. The once white castle that stood guard over a prosperous, thriving city of Tyrinius, began to decay, a black fungus swiftly taking hold of the stone, turning it a slimy black. Taxes were raised, strangling the profit of the villages and towns and smaller cities, and as his own coffers grew in wealth, so the coffers of the others waned. Trade routes that had been generally safe, became dangerous as honest men turned to thievery to try to feed their families in a harsh winter that sapped animals and men alike of strength and health. Bandits of the less honest type swarmed the forests around the caravan roads, pillaging any caravans that passed through, thus ruining the trade for the human kingdom.
~
The murder of his parents was, as said before, not his first despicable crime. He was guilty of the rape of a young Elven woman from a village bordering the Human Kingdom. She was graceful, beautiful, as befitted a woman of her race. Pale blond, willowy, with eyes of cornflower blue, she had gone into the forest around her village to gather wild berries. Young Ellainnei Crystal Greyveil would have her life ripped apart that day, eighteen years ago. Axelander, on one of his lone wanderings in the kingdom that would be his, crossed the borders knowingly, and came upon the Elven maiden as she gathered the berries that were to have been that nights dessert in her family. He saw her there, vulnerable, alone, beyond the earshot of any who would come if she cried out for help, and her took his chance. Overpowering the maiden, he forced himself on her, and dragged her away, toying with her emotions and body, forcing himself upon her any time the urge arose. For a week, he made her his play thing, until he finally left her, battered and bloody, in a ditch, far from her home and family.

Ellainnei would never be seen by her family again, and after a season of her not returning, they finally gave in to heart break, believing her dead by some unknown means. Ellainnei, meanwhile, wandered, mind shattered into madness, for months, eventually managing to pass into Elven territory once more, and as the months passed by, even her maddened mind could see she carried the child of her attacker. The full nine month term later, she fell into labor at the edge of a small, peaceful Elven town, winter snows falling thick and fast, and was taken in by a forester there. On the cold, dark night, a boy was born to the maddened woman, and she gave him a name; Mhorvanjus. “Demons Wraith”. Mhorvanjus was a black haired baby, with the hints of the angular features of the elves, and the blunter features of his sires race. It was clear from the beginning that he would be a good looking man.

Ellainnei tried her best to raise and love him, however it was hard to see past his resemblance to the man who had attacked and defiled her. And his personality began to promise the same resemblance to his sire. Sadistic, cold, vicious, hot headed, he showed none of his mothers sweetness, and all of his fathers hatefulness. A boy who relished killing things for pleasure, and showed an aptitude for violence and battle, Mhorvanjus quickly gained the village’s fear and hate, and soon Ellainnei was turned out with her son as he gained the age of ten. They traveled, eventually arriving, after eight years of aimless wandering from town to village, village to town, taking whatever hospitality would be given to a madwoman and her dark son,, at Elvenwood. Ellainnei gained a small house at the edge of the Village, renting it by trading her spinning skills for room and board for her and her son.

For a while, Mhorvanujus’ troubling nature was hidden, the livestock found bloodied and tortured never connected to himself, as his cunning nature made it easy for him to direct attention away from himself. The eighteen year old was promising to be destined for the homicidal path of a serial killer.
~
Mhorvanjus and his mother arrived to Elvenwood in Brienas eighth year, in the dead of the harsh winter, as snows fell deep and heavy all through the lands, save for the northern desert of the Lycan Territory. His lineage was unknown, as yet, though Callania was unnerved to note the similarities between the eighteen year old boy and her own brother. The news that her parents were dead had not arrived as yet. The news would be delayed until spring, when the snows would melt away to give way to the riotous color and splendor of flowers and green leaves.

For now, firewood was used sparingly, magic being used to further the burning time. The people of Elvenwood used the time indoors to produce the arts and crafts that would be sold in the warmer months when Caravans passed through. Indoors, Lorican continued Brienas schooling in the maths, politics, strategy, and many other subjects, including maps of Calraida, particularly focusing on the Elven Kingdoms lands. But he shied away any time they drew near to the detailed symbol of the Elven Kingdoms Capitol, Skysong City. When she asked why they had the same surname as the city, he would fall silent, then jump to a new subject that he knew would distract the girl. Such as art. Briena had a natural talent for arts such as music, dancing, painting and drawing. Horses and deer were one of her favorite subjects to capture on canvas and parchment, and the eight year old nearing nine years of age would spend hours a day, that cold, hard winter, drawing away, bringing life to simple drawings with splashes of color.

Winter at last began to recede, and as spring came to life across Calraida, and Briena’s ninth year began, thus her training with the sword, mounted battle, and Alaarri weapons and style, as well as the fighting style of the wolves, returned in full swing. Any rust the winter had laid upon her skills was beaten off with relish, and Darenello had found several new moves and strategies for her to learn from the old scrolls found in the small towns library. Moves lost to the ages were relearned by the new generation he taught, soaked up by those wide deep blue eyes, and that ever hungry mind.

Briena experienced yet another childhood growth spurt, gaining a lanky height of five feet, making her one of the tallest girls of her age group in the little town, though most of them were three years her seniors. In her Alaarri training, she was quickly gaining on the higher level trainees in skill with the dual knives, and her father began adding his own training with the Elven long knives after seeing her aptitude for it. As the Elven knives and style of use were more in line with her body, his daughter once again took to the weapons given to her like a bird to the air.

Briena’s first encounter with Mhorvanjus was one where instant enmity was born. The tall, darkly handsome young man set her teeth on edge, and she wanted nothing to do with him, despite what her parents said about giving people a chance. The way he looked at her, with dark eyes of cold calculation, as though judging the best way to eviscerate her and spill her blood upon the ground elicited both fear and a deep, cold anger that she didn’t exactly know how to explain. So she took to the forests as soon as her training would be over and her chores finished, meandering further and further out, until she at last met the equine point of the wild triangle of friends in the forest. The forest horse herd, led by the red chestnut mare, Messilisa, and protected by the black tovero stallion, Toprasune. The language she had already mastered with the domestic bred horses in the village was taken to new levels as she integrated with the large herd of thirty horses. Seventeen mares, each with a colt of filly at her side, Toprasune, a few young sons nearing the age at which they would be forced out to find or create their own herds, and Messilisa, with a new daughter born that spring.




He had been staring at her again. Those dark, nearly black, slate grey eyes had been glinting with malice that she could feel from the other end of the street. She’d ducked out of sight, slipping into the forest, and taken off in a random direction, intending to visit the pack and see the new pups, but instead ending up meandering with her thoughts. She hadn’t realized how far she’d gone beyond her usual stomping grounds until she’d broken out into a wide meadow and the sunlight had blasted her full force in the face. She squinted, shielding her eyes until they adjusted, then started forward with some caution. Her nose, more sensitive as she shifted her senses slightly to the sensitivity of a wolf, took in the scents of wild hay, and a strong smell of horse.

That was before a thunder of hooves and a wild scream of an angry stallion shattered the air, and she whirled in time to dodge flying hooves and snapping teeth. A stallion she had never seen before spun on his hocks, black ears pinned, sky blue eyes rolling as her charged toward the little intruder once again. His head snaked low, ears flat against a black and white mane and neck, and Briena yielded, giving the angry horse ground. “Stop! I’m not a threat.” The stallion skidded to a halt, more from the surprise of hearing the equine language coming from a creature that neither looked, nor smelled like a horse. He stood, ears still flat, tail slashing side to side as a foreleg lifted, considering the option to strike out at this interloper. Finally, he decided to speak, baritone voice harsh. “I am Toprasune, king of this herd. Why are you here? Are you trying to steal my mares.” The white head decorated with a black medicine hat tossed as the horse half reared, body language telling her what he would do if she were in fact there to steal a mare.

Briena relaxed her muscles, striving for a non-threatening posture that was neither submissive nor threatening, inwardly glad that the stallion had the patience enough to speak, rather than trample her into the ground. “No, I am not here to steal your mares. I was… Lost in thought. I didn’t realize I had wandered into your grounds, great Toprasune. I am Briena, an Elf from the town south of here.” Where had this horse and his herd come from? The stallion before her carried no brands of ownership that she could see. She didn’t try to look at him too hard, as that would be seen as a challenge of his leadership. But he was a wild looking beast. Tall, rangy, standing at around sixteen hands at the withers. He had fine conformation, with straight legs and a deep, wide chest that spoke of stamina, and though his eyes were a bit wild at the moment, they were large, and would likely be kind when he wasn’t defending his herd against strange creatures.

The black tovero stallions ears flicked forward, then back, confusion evident in the lines of his face, and the slight cocking of his head. “Elf? What in the name of Equus is an Elf, little creature? And a town?” Briena blinked, then glanced at the medium sized herd watching from a distance. Careful not to look too hard, she studied them. None of the mares, colts, fillies, or young stallions carried marks that told the identity of their owners. They all watched her warily, as if she was the first of her kind they had possibly seen. Even the older looking mares. Then it dawned on the girl. They were wild. Untamed, and untouched by the two-legged races. Though, maybe not unknown? Now that she thought back, she could recall her father talking about wild horses that wandered the lands; of all breeds and sizes. She looked back at the stallion. “You are wild?”

His head jerked up, his expression of body and face, ears and tail looking affronted. “Of course. What other way is there to be?” A two beat drumming approached from the herd, and the tovero stallion snorted, turning as if to snake the red mare who approached away, but she glared at him, and he recoiled slightly. It was clear that this mare was the Queen in this herd. The chocolate brown eyes of the mare as she looked over the creature that had invaded the quiet meadow and interrupted the mid-day meal were alert and shrewd, but not unkind. Large and intelligent, they set well within her face, in a dished face that spoke of fine breeding far back in the line. She was sturdy, stocky, but graceful, and the little sorrel tobiano filly showed Toprasune’s legginess and blue eyes, with the refined face of her dam.

The mare’s head was held high as she regarded Briena, and spoke. She had a pleasant voice, gentle but firm. “You remind me of the creatures I once saw sitting upon the backs of my kin. Smaller. Are you a foal of their kind?” Briena studied the mare. “You could say that. I am an elf, and those you saw on the backs of your kin were maybe elves as well, or maybe humans, a similar race.” She was careful to keep the relaxed, unthreatening pose of her body as she answered the mare. The mare lowered her head, snatching a bite of grass and chewed thoughtfully, tail flicking. “What is a town, little one?” She finally asked, chocolate eyes curious.

Briena pondered her answer, trying to figure out a way to translate elven terms to horse terms. Finally, she began. “A town is… A town is where a herd of many of my kind live. We do not move to new pastures with the seasons. We stay in one place, and grow the grazing that we need to survive. We make shelters, instead of standing under trees in rainy weather and hot days.” She glanced up to see if this made any sense to the two adult horses, but the filly by the mares side snuck up unnoticed, and soon, Briena had a whiskery little muzzle thrust into her face, hot foal breath, rich with milk, sweet from sampled grasses, wet with the usual equine slobber. She resisted the urge to raise her hands and pet the filly, as she would with the foals at the town in her father’s breeding herd, instead allowing the filly to explore her face with questing nostrils, trying her best not to giggle at the inquisitive whiskers.

The mare snaked her head forward, applying a gentle nip to her daughters rump, and the filly started backward with a small buck, to her mothers side once again. “I like her. She smells nice. Mother, can I play?” The mare’s chocolate eyes were amused and warm, but she nosed the filly away to the other foals and mares. “Go play with the other fillies, Rabine. I’m speaking with this filly right now. We’ll see.” Rabine scampered away on long legs, kicking and leaping her way to the other foals, and the mare turned back to Briena. “Well, your explanation makes some amount of sense. I don’t think you mean us any harm. Toprasune, thank you for your guardianship, but this little one is safe. I think she can have a great deal to teach us. It would be good to know about the other… races.”

Toprasune looked as though he was still considering the idea of chasing the small creature out, but the mare lightly stamped a hind leg, and he sauntered off, dropping his head to graze, but keeping one ear cocked toward his lead mare and the girl. Satisfied that the stallion would stay out of the way, the mare turned her head back to Briena, ears pricking. “So what brought you so far from your town?” Briena had almost forgotten about the reason she’d been wandering so far away. Now it came back in a rush. Her eyes dropped to the grass between her feet. “There’s a… young stallion… A man, as my race calls them. He… I think he’s bad. He looks at me like…” The mare’s nostrils flared, her head jerking up, ears pinning. “Yes?” She prompted gently.

The nine year old girl, like any horse crazy female, felt a trust for the equine species. The horses at her village were privy to all her secrets. They were non-judgmental creatures, who listened to everything she said, and gave sound, steady advice. So she spoke with no reservations. “Like he wants to kill me. Not just me, but most anyone he looks at.” The mare snorted. “Drive him out. If he is a threat to your herd, he must go.” Briena sighed faintly, sitting down in the soft grass. “It’s not that simple, unfortunately. Our customs are different from that of the horses. There are rules. I’m just a child. What is one child’s word against a nearly grown mans?” There was doubt in her voice though. Lorican, she knew, would listen to her, knowing her innate ability to read facial cues and body language.

Callania had expressed her unease over Mhorvanjus as well… And ever since he and his mother had arrived, livestock had been found, mutilated and tortured to death, just beyond the edge of the town. Never before that. “I suppose father would listen…” The mare’s ears flicked forward. “He is your lead stallion?” Briena nodded slowly. “You could say that. We have a few other terms for a leader in our language.” The mare studied the girl quietly, the skin on her shoulder twitching absently at a fly. “I am Messilisa, by the way. Queen of the herd here. You are welcome in our range any time. And any time you need help, you need only to call.”




Briena would take up Messilisa’s offer, often visiting the herd. She would also bring up the subject of Mhorvanjus with her father, who, in turn, would speak to the man’s mother. Ellainnei could only despair, but said that if her son was forced to leave, then so she would have to leave. Lorican could not, in the kindness of his heart, cast out a woman who had been given such a hard turn in life already. And so, Mhorvanjus would stay.

Briena tried her best to understand her father’s decision; she had met the mad mother of Mhorvanjus. She had liked the woman, who, despite her madness and ever sad eyes, was sweet, kind and gentle. She had some knowledge of healing, as well, and taught all she could to the intelligent nine year old girl. These were perhaps the happiest moments for the mother of Mhorvanjus, and slowly, a change came to the woman. Some of the madness fell away, revealing fascinating facets to her personality to the girl and the girl alone. She proved to be particularly resourceful, and braver than anyone would believe. And she hid the bruises left by her own son well, but not well enough to avoid the sharp eyes of a nine year old with an intuitive sense for when someone was in pain. However, there was little Briena could do for her friend, other than make salves to apply to the injuries.

Meanwhile, her training in battle, tactics, swords, mounted fighting, archery, and hand to hand continued. To her father, she was everything a man could want in a daughter; a man who liked that sort of thing in women, that was. Callania could sometimes be heard remarking on what her father would have thought of his granddaughter’s skills in violent subjects, rather than focusing on the gentler arts, of music and needlework, poetry and reading. While Briena was as skilled in the gentle arts as she was in the fighting, she found learning to defend herself and those around her a more interesting ideal. It was around then that Darenello began to use his magic to provide a more realistic situation for her fights. He would form shadows with his magic; figures of all body types, shapes, sizes, and genders, for the nine year old to interact with and fight, that would ‘die’ when she dealt a correct killing blow. He had done the same for his formal students when they had reached a high enough level of skill. The shadows could deal blows as well, that, while not fatal, or even truly injuring Briena, or for that matter, his other students, would still pack a punch, and enough pain to encourage a student to learn quickly to avoid the real kind of pain that would come from these blows in a real battle.

While it would seem rather harsh, it was a smart manner of teaching, and his students learned very swiftly with this form of teaching. Briena was no exception. After only a few hits each training, the next training with that particular set of moves went far more smoothly. Soon enough, the shadows were unable to touch her, forcing Darenello to bring the level of skill up in his shadows. The same kind of training method went toward her mounted archery and swords. Both foot shadows and mounted shadows began to fall as she swiftly met the challenges she was faced with, and began mastering them. Darenello’s horse, an experienced war horse, was a fine learning partner for the girl, teaching her to let him have his head, encouraging her when she fumbled, doing his best to stay under her when her balance might falter during a particularly difficult ‘skirmish’.

Darenello’s mount was a large, snow and stone colored, dapple grey gelding named Sharmfareet, or ‘Sharp Flint‘. He was what people of our world would call Baroque or Spanish in build type, with a wide brow, and large, expressive, dark brown eyes. He stood at a solid sixteen hands, and had light feathering on his hooves. He was a kind old horse, but fierce in a fight, and ever attentive to his rider and surroundings. He was adaptable, having been through several different riders and two different countries before his arrival into Darenello’s hands and care.

He made a perfect first mount for a nine year old girl determined to learn all she could in the arts of mounted battle. As late summer rolled in, bringing with it the heat and new array of wildflowers, ripening the summer growing fruits, and turning the hay fields golden green, she and her experienced friend were dealing their shadow opponents deadly blows of sword and arrows, teeth and hooves. Very little stood up to the duo. Darenello was running out of things that he could actively teach his youngest pupil in the subjects he knew and was teaching her. So he turned to her father, who was also running out of maneuvers to teach her in knives. Late in the night, one night, while the child was well into sleep, he and Darenello had a private talk, and the decision was made to begin teaching her the stave, spears, and other blunt weapons. Anything to keep her from becoming bored with what she learned. She would also learn the theory of combat formations in a large group, though they were unable to actually replicate the situations, without wide fields fit for cavalry battle training.

Finally, Briena’s chance came to attend the fall caravan to the minor city of Ravenwall, a hundred miles to the south of Elvenwood. She was quite glad to go with the caravan, and thus, as the goods and wares were piled onto the wagons and the horses packed, saddled and hitched, she could be found helping in any way she could. This would be her first real look at the world beyond her small town, and she was understandably excited. Then they were off, with the wolves of the pack keeping a watchful eye from the shadows of the forest. By this time, all the livestock had grown used to the predators, as there was the understanding that the wolves would not attack or hunt the domestic animals. And as Redmoon himself had muttered, why would anyone want such an easy meal when you could prove yourself in a real hunt for a moose or elk?

There must be an understanding that the wolves in this pack were a leap apart from regular wolves. They were bigger, smarter, stronger, and had longer lives than common wolves. Thus it was under Redmoon’s orders that two of the warriors in his pack go with the girl child they had all come to adore, to keep her safe. The Alaarri, too, sent a small group with the Elven caravan, both to protect their allies, and to spread the word of their existence. Briena had taught them enough common language that they could trade what wares they made for herbs they couldn’t get in their area.

About twenty-nine people would set out on this trip to Ravenwall, and during the journey, Briena’s training continued, as both her father and Darenello had come along on the journey. Callania came as well, settled in on of the wagons to finish off a few more pieces of stitch work for sale at the markets. One morning, as they were breaking camp, two days out on the road, shadows swept across the people, and the nine year old girl looked up to see six winged horses with riders soaring high above. It was a new experience for the girl, who had never seen the royal winged horses, and when she ran to her father, he told her a bit of how the two breeds came to be. It took up a good part of the morning travel.

Soon enough, their road met up with another, wider road, and other traffic passed by occasionally. Weary travelers of all races, from humans to centaurs. Briena even saw her first Lycan; a tall, black male, one arm branded with a fascinating rune. When she asked her father, he said that was an Elite. It never really occurred to the girl to ask how her father knew so much about the lands. As any child saw their father or mother, he was, to her, wise and all knowing, so why shouldn’t he know about everything?

At the end of a week, they reached the walls of the small city of Ravenwall. It was all an eye popping experience to the girl, sitting on Darenello’s old charger, staring about in all directions. The city of Ravenwall was aptly named, as the outer walls were built of black granite stone blocks. The walls were solid, strong, the outer gates created out of bright steel, set wide open to admit villagers, travelers, and caravans like that of Elvenwood. Everywhere the child looked, there were bright colors within the walls, women wearing dresses of all colors imaginable, windows hung with bright curtains. Children ran through, laughing, pointing at the newest caravans, playing games. It was all a little overwhelming, but the nine year old girl tried her best to take it all in and absorb all the details.

The wolves and Alaarri too were a bit overwhelmed, the two wolves, Feldspar, and Slate, litter brothers, kept close to their charge, while the Alaarri stayed in the wagon, fur slightly fluffed as their jewel bright cat eyes gazed around at the masses of two legged folk. It was at Ravenwall that Briena would be met with yet another life changing event. One regarding a grey fox Anthro mage, and two gifts that would become part of the legend of Briena Skysong.



The caravan had settled in, her father securing several comfortable rooms for them in one of the more expensive inns. Her father had given her leave to explore, as the city was safe and friendly, and with two forty inch male wolves on either side of her, she was hardly liable to be attacked in then first place. Feldspar padded on her left, pale golden grey fur rippling over muscles well trained in his six years of life, gold eyes sweeping the bustling masses warily, shoulder brushing against the girl‘s elbow. Slate, his brother, ambled watchfully on her right, bluish black grey fur slightly bristled, darker ears pinned slightly at the noises. The girl between the two wolves looked in all directions, wide deep blue eyes trying to take in everything at once. “There’s so much to see..” The murmur was just loud enough to be heard by the two wolves. Feldspar snorted. “And far too much to smell. My nose begins to hurt.”

Slate sneezed in agreement, grey eyes flicking to gaze at several women passing by, carrying baskets on their arms from midday shopping. Some of the women pointed out the two wolves and the girl with wide eyes and exclamations of awe. Clearly, wolves of their size had never been seen in the city before. Probably wolves had never been in the city at all. Briena rested a hand on the large head of Feldspar, and the large male tilted his head, allowing her fingertips to reach the best places behind the ears. “It’s not too bad… At least the city’s clean. Father said a lot of the human cities aren’t cleaned at all, and that they throw the chamber pots out into the streets in some.” And her mother hadn’t corrected him. So that must have been true.

Slate butted his large head against her, moving the trio out of the street as a six horse cavalry patrol clattered past, the horses armor glittering under the midday sunlight, the riders sitting tall astride the large equines. The horses were all black stallions, matched in color, height and markings, or lack thereof. The men on the horses were as finely built as her father, and most of the elves in Elvenwood; though with hair colors ranging through black to burnished gold and light silver, instead of her own dark, fiery red, or the slightly lighter shade of red of her father. They regarded her with keen interest, taking in the wolves, then tipped their heads as their mounts carried them by and down the street, the crowd splitting to let them through like shoals of fish in the ocean.

Briena and the two wolves watched them go until the six horses passed around a corner, then continued on their walk up the street. “Do you think I’ll be like them someday?” It was an almost wistful sounding question directed at the two wolves, who glanced up at her as though thinking, then at each other. Slate cocked his head slightly, tail swaying at his hocks. “I think… that if you want to be like them, you could probably make it…” He glanced at Feldspar, who continued, eyes on the girl‘s face. “But.. Maybe wait a few years first?” The two wolves enjoyed having her around, were two of her closest friends apart from Redmoon and Icetooth, who were their parents. They would be sad to see her go so soon, though they knew it would take her much longer than it took them to mature. Still, the idea of it was still worrying to them.

Briena smiled. “Well I didn’t mean right now, silly wolves. I meant.. You know.. In a few years? Maybe ten. I’d be trained enough then.” It was both a reassurance and a goal that she set. The two wolves breathed out soft sighs of relief, ears lifting from their splayed positions. The walk continued, through the main street, to the wide market court, where her caravan would be setting up shop in the early morning the next day, but was currently full of the local produce and baked goods that weren’t being sold in a shop. Briena used her carefully saved coins from all the times she’d sold her own work in Elvenwood to passing caravans to buy a meat pie, biting into the bread, gravy and tender beef strips stuffed into the bread, sharing with her two guardians. While the wolves of Elvenwood generally preferred to hunt their food, Slate and Feldspar weren’t adverse to a few nibbles of the meat pie. They weren’t familiar with the region, and knew better than to step on any local toes by possibly hunting the wrong thing.

As the three were finishing down the pie, they headed out of the market court square, down a side street that reconnected in a short while with the main street leading out into the countryside. Briena paused at the open outer wall gates, gazing out at the forest across the narrow field. “Father didn’t say anything about not leaving the city, did he?” The two wolves shook their heads, and the trio started out down the road, with a warning call from the guards of “The gates close when the sun reaches the trees. Be back before then, child.” Briena waved, saying she’d heard, then headed into the trees.

They explored for a half hour or so, until they came across a small fire, beside which sat a creature that Briena at first thought was a small Lycan. But the build was too light, and the tail too long and bushy. He was clearly male, a soft, silvery ash grey in body, with darker silver points like that of a fox, and a white tip to his tail, with gradients of silver and grey along his underside and chest. A thick ruff covered his neck, and a long mane fell to his upper back, locks of it braided with feathers, beads and trinkets. Wide silver eyes with fox slit pupils gazed at her from over a narrow muzzle and a wooden mug of some steaming beverage. On either side of her, Feldspar and Slate to a step forward, pressing against her, ready to fight if this creature meant harm.

The creature cocked his head, studying the nine year old girl with eyes that seemed to pierce her soul and read her inside and out. “Little warrior. What brings you to an old mage fox’s fire?” He had a light voice, but it seemed to resonate with some deeper power. The nine year old girl wasn’t sure what to make of the ‘mage fox’. The creature seemed to understand, a smile tugging at his muzzle. “Do not worry, little one. I am most benign. I am an old mage, who wanders from city to city, doing what he can to make the world a better place. My name is Amadeus, great mage of the Isles of the Fox.” He flourished playfully with one dark, furred hand, a small spattering of silver sparks trailing after it. Silver eyes settled back upon the girl, one vulpine ear cocking. “What is your name, little adventuress?”

Briena glanced at her two guards, who gave her equally questioning looks. So far, this Amadeus hadn’t threatened her in any way, and indeed, he was very polite. So she answered. “I’m Briena. Briena Skysong. I’m from Elvenwood.” The silvery brow points jerked upward a fraction on the fox creature’s forehead, silvery eyes widening a little. “Are you now, little one? That’s… interesting.” Why it was interesting, Briena wasn’t sure. She was tempted to ask, but Amadeus seemed to sense her oncoming question, asking quickly, “So what is Elvenwood like, now? I haven’t visited it yet these last thirty years. Last time I was there, it was a quaint little village, with very kind and generous people.” Briena frowned, wondering why he seemed so eager to move off the subject of her being interesting, but answered readily.

“It’s grown, I guess. We’re a small town. The people are very nice, of course. My father is the leader of the town. He also breeds the best horses there.” She didn’t miss the slight rise of the brow points as the silver fox creature listened to her mention of her father. “So that’s where he got off to.. Hmm.” Amadeus muttered, seemingly not realizing that he spoke aloud. Briena opened her mouth, but again, he waylaid her. “Sorry, my mind got away for a fraction there. I’ll have to visit again soon, I think. Valeena always did serve the best moose meat stew at the Inn-- I take it she still owns the inn?” Briena nodded, deciding to set the subjects that interested her. It did make her wonder if he knew her father.

Amadeus turned his silver gaze to the fire, reaching absently into a pouch at his side and pulling out a pinch of white powder. He tossed it with a flourish into the flames, which flared white hot for a few minutes, then died down, the color changing from natural flame, to a very un-natural silvery blue. It was a little like the flames that came up from the blacksmith’s forge, when shards of metal managed to fly into the fire, but not at all the same at the very same time. She wondered why he had a fire during the daylight hours, but then again, fire was needed to cook, and he had a small cooking pot hanging on a hook, as though he had been about to swing it over the fire when she’d arrived.

The silver fox anthro stared into the flickering flames, the light reflected in those large eyes. “Hm.. I see… Well then. One thing to do.” He waved a hand over the fire, and it turned at once to the natural colors of a fire. Briena stared at the male, half wishing she might have stayed in the city. Surely her father or mother would be looking for her now? She didn’t like how grave the silvery male looked. “Little warrior, come here. Don’t worry. I am going to give you a gift. Maybe two.” The male held out his dark hands to the girl, who looked at the two wolves at her sides. Feldspar stared at Amadeus. The silver grey fox mage returned the gaze levelly. “I mean her no harm, great wolves.” Feldspar looked up at Briena, one brow point lifting.

Briena went to the fox mage, cautiously taking the furry hands, feeling the pads rough against her skin, like the paw pads of a wolf. He had short claws like any canine might, though his and those of the line of canids were unrelated. The fox mage hummed, low in his throat, a slow chanting tune. Then a pulse of silver light flowed out from his hands, weaving around the linked hands of girl and fox. The silver light turned sharply inward, abruptly sinking into the girl’s skin, and suddenly, a network of glowing lines appeared under her skin, flowing, pulsing up her arms, out of sight under her clothing, reappearing on her face, showing the intricacies of the veins that pulsed life through the young body. Slate gave an uneasy growl, glancing at Feldspar.

The child shuddered. It didn’t exactly hurt… It was almost cold, nearly like running ones hand under the water in the stream. But it was inside her, flowing through her like… She wasn’t sure. It was power. It was gentleness. It was magic. Amadeus spoke aloud, intoning with some soundless hum, and she could not understand the language he used. The glow in her skin brightened to a fierce silver, then flashed into gold, lighting a clearing the suddenly seemed darker than before. But perhaps that was because the light was nearly blinding. The cold in her body turned to white hot power, eliciting a soft gasp from the girl, before she clenched her teeth and bore it in stalwart silence. The light lit her hair, catching the gold highlights hidden in the deep red, bringing a glitter like the finest riches.

The mage intoned a last verse in the strange language, and slowly the light dimmed, but remained in her body, dying out in the veins. The sensations diminished, leaving her feeling tired, but oddly assured of herself. Amadeus released her hands, the silver light around his own flowing back into the furry palms. “Little warrior, you are more special than you know. And so young. And so very, very powerful. You must learn to harness that magic of yours.” Silver eyes gazed into the deep blue, wide gaze of the nine year old child. There was no levity in those eyes, and she could see the years in them. “I will tutor you in this. I am one of the few who can. Now, it’s getting late, little one. You should head back, or you will be too late to get past the gates in time. Run along.” Briena had so many questions, but instead, she jumped to her feet, only just realizing that she’d sunk to her knees during the whole strange thing he’d done to her.

She felt no ill effects; in fact, she felt energized and wide awake. The silver fox mage watched the girl head out of the forest, then turned his eyes back to the fire. “So much on her shoulders, so soon into her life. I just hope she can carry all that weight.” Amadeus reached over, pulling the cooking pot over onto the fire.




The nine year old and her two wolves had reached the gates just in time. Truth be told, the gate master might have held the gates a bit longer than the curfew, as the sun was just disappearing behind the horizon by the time Briena passed under the guard walk into the city. Upon returning to her parents at the Inn, the girl filled them in on her encounter, and wondered why her fathers face grew pale for a moment. Had her father and Amadeus known one another in the past? It certainly felt that way. However her father accepted the fact that the fox mage would be coming to Elvenwood and teaching his daughter all she could learn about magic. And, in a way, he was glad. Unbeknownst to his daughter, Lorican did indeed know Amadeus; the grey fox mage had given Lorican his advanced training in magic, teaching him ways of the craft that the elves of Serenia were less familiar with.

The next week went smoothly, the Elvenwood caravan making a good haul, before they began to pack up on the last day of their stay in the city, preparing for the journey to the next city. The girl had managed to make some friends within the city; a girl by the name of Aleissia, and her twin brother Sigmias. The twins themselves were a special pair, merely for being twins. Though the elves of Calraida reproduced more often than some strains of their kin from other lands, twins were still a rare occurrence, but viewed as a great blessing. They were both slim, and though they looked to be Brienas age of nine, they were in fact fifteen. The age difference didn’t matter. They were fascinated to hear about the wolves, horses, and Alaarri.

When the caravan departed, Briena looked back over her shoulder to see the twins waving from the guarde walk on the wall, before they were shooed from the wall by the gate master. The next stop on the route was an open city sixty miles southwest. It was called Emeraldhaven, and stood sheltered under the banner of the lord vassal of the kingdom, Lord Aldaris Emeraldhaven. The trip took three days, and during that time, Darenello continued to work with the nine year old, honing her reflexes; he would conjure shadows of bandits with no warning, allowing them to swoop in as the real rogues might have. By the third day, Briena was beginning to be able to spot the shadows before they ‘attacked’, much to the relief of the other caravaneers. But it had sparked an idea in both the minds of her father and Darenello.

When they reached the lush forest city of Emeraldhaven, the redheaded child couldn’t help but notice her fathers nerves, as though he thought he would run into an ambush at any moment. To any passerby, he looked confident, regal, and sure of himself, but Brienas sharp eyes could see that his similar blue gaze was never still, always flicking from one thing to the next, and most particularly toward the small castle standing sentinel at the center of the city. It was an elegant structure, built of white marble and carved to resemble a vast tree, with bark like swirls. From a distance, it seemed to shimmer green, like it had magic embedded in the stones, but when asked, Lorican told his daughter that the castle in fact had multitudes of tiny emeralds inlaid and faceted into the marble. As he put it: “Lord Aldaris always had a flair for the subtle effects.” He’d spoken as though he knew the vassal well.

The caravan settled into the city square, which was easily large enough to fit twenty assorted caravans. Briena helped in any way she could, though a great deal of her soul itched to explore, and finally, her father bade her to run off and look around, knowing that with Feldspar and Slate at her sides, and knowing the city was safe, she would be well looked after. “This is one of the rare times where I will let you stay up after your bedtime, little fire. Night here is truly something you do not want to miss out on.” With those words in her ears, the girl and two wolves wandered the city pathways. It was an amazing city. The homes were built within the trees, using earth magic to will the trees to part their cores to protect the families, within, in return being given the strength to grow to sizes that would shame even the most massive redwood of our world. The trees were impervious to flames, and tended with loving care by their inhabitants. Birds sang high above in the canopy.

When night fell, her fathers words rang true. The trees were adorned with millions of tiny white flowers, and as darkness fell around the girl and her wolf escorts, those flowers spread their petals, emitting a soft, star like glow of light. The colors ranged from gold to deep emerald, and it seemed as though the very air hummed with a soft song. Fireflies woke, adding their blinking sparks of light to the splendor as they floated around in the air. The girls fingers tangled in the fur of her two escorts as she watched in awe. But finally, they headed back to the caravan and the inn with its dinner and beds.

They stayed for three days, doing their trading, and Brienas personal wealth grew as her wares sold. By the time they headed home, she was satisfied by her endeavor into the outside world beyond the borders of Elvenwood. The trip home was uneventful, save for the continued training of her skills by her father and Darenello. They had gained a new family from Emeraldhaven. A mother and her two sons, who both had an interest in the training Darenello could provide them. The boys were another rare set of twins, as alike as could be, though Briena quickly discerned a difference between the two. Krolomios was a hair leaner, more serious, though the shoulder-length, wildly wavy auburn hair and bright blue eyes he shared with his twin Solomios gave the illusion that he should have been just as mischievous as his brother.

They already had a great deal of training, but wished to learn more, and would begin training with the rest of Darenellos formal students upon arrival in Elvenwood. Briena kept her distance at first, despite a few friendly overtures from Solomios. But, eventually, curiosity would win out, and she found herself talking with them about like in Emeraldhaven. They were just as curious to learn that she was taking lessons far more advanced than what her mentors formal students were undergoing, due to her insatiable thirst for knowledge and quick learning skills. Despite the fact that they were twice her age, a friendship bloomed. They were easy to get along with.

As the caravan arrived home, so Brienas training began to intensify, for Amadeus had arrived not long before the caravan. The grey fox mage began to teach her in a way her mind could better handle, and the headaches, while never truly leaving, lessened. As Winter approached, the work for harvesting returned to full swing, with the orchards bustling with people as they picked the fruits and nuts. Briena, between her many training sessions and magic lessons, spent a great deal of time out in the forest, harvesting the wild foods, participating in the packs hunts and the tribes own harvests of herbs. The crisp scent of the Autumnal air lent clarity to the girls growing anxiety over the unnerving looks and leers she caught Mhorvanjus sending her way. Why her? But it wasn’t just her. It was her family, as well. Her mother was pregnant with her second child, and was beginning to slow down under the weight of a second lifeform within her. Briena felt a strong desire to protect her mother, and drive out the dark man before he could step beyond leering at her family and actually hurt them.

However, there was little she could do that would not affect Mhorvanjus’ poor mother. So she sank into her training, all of it. Amadeus was a boon, not only for her magic training, but for her training in battle. He braided his magic with Darenellos to advance the girls training with all he knew, and tougher shadows. The grey fox wasn’t merely a great mage. He was once a soldier within the royal army of the the Fox Isles, and had served for more than seventy years. He was versed in fighting styles Darenello was not, and thus yet another fighting style was added to the already large amount of things to learn. He taught her the twin sabres, as well as throwing knives. Again, the child soaked up the information, and began mastering them. It helped that Amadeus was never surprised at how quickly she learned, and easily upped the difficulty as she grew in skill. He never let things become too easy for her.

As well as teaching Briena, the grey fox mage doubled with Darenello to train the young men. None asked why he did this, but with his help the formal students began to improve more swiftly. As Winter fell into place, snow blanketing the ground in white splendor, Briena and her parents welcomed her new sister into the world. Grace Auria Skysong. Where Briena was fire, Grace was the sun in coloring. The nine year old redhead was ever fascinated by her new sibling, and the golden curls that covered her crown. Like her big sister, Grace was a beautiful baby, but took after their mother in every way but her pointed eartips. As Spring rolled in, so did Brienas tenth year, and the physical training such as riding returned in full swing, the muddy conditions being seen as an asset for her training. Darenello, Lorican, and Amadeus all would work the ten year old in knee deep mud through the fighting moves, helping her master the art of not slipping and falling, teaching her how to move in deep mud, while promising the townspeople that the fields they were using would be in perfect order by planting season. The training, once she had mastered mud battle, moved to water, starting at calf depth, and moving to waist depth. They kept her mind active, always trying to find something new to teach her. Eventually, they introduced her fully into the formal training group. It was the first step in the creation of the ring of close friends who would play a pivotal role in the most life changing day of her and her sisters lives.





The vanquished shadow melted into the ground with a deathly rattle around her sword blade, and the ten year old girl turned to look at the three males, two elves, and one fox mage, deep sapphires asking if hse’d performed the fight correctly. Her father smiled encouragingly. “I can’t fault anything. You’re getting…” He trailed off, though his face said ‘terrifyingly good’. Darenello looked at Amadeus. “I’m running out of things to teach. Please tell me you still have things up your sleeves?” The mage chuckled softly, stroking the underside of his narrow muzzle with a thoughtful index. “Perhaps it is time to bring her into your formal class?” The suggestion hung in the air, and the girl felt a small spark of apprehension well in her gut. While she knew everyone in the town by name and face, she only really interacted with her family, her mentors, and the twins Krolomios and Solomios.

However, it seemed she would be joining the rest of the class. While her training was no longer a complete secret by now, none had truly seen her in action. What would the rest think if she was truly beyond any of them in skill. Her anxious sapphire gaze flicked between the three males, before her father rested a hand on her shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. “They aren’t bad fellows. The twins are among them, and they are all good men. They will not harm you, and I think you might even find a few more friends, mm?” The girl studied her fathers honest blue eyes, then nodded. “Alright.”

The three led the girl through the forest, and ahead, she could hear the clack of practice swords, and the clang of blades wielded by more advanced students. Briena hung back, until they stepped into a large clearing. Several young men of all ages sparred in the clearing, or honed their blades. They all looked up, one or two getting thumped by their opponents as they saw the Town leader, their mentor and his co-teacher the mage, and, behind them, the leaders daughter, regarding them carefully. They came to stand in a line, Solomios flashing a wink at Briena, which helped to ease some of her nerves.

“Boys, you have a new classmate. You all know her name. She has been training with myself, Lorican, and Amadeus in private. I hope you and she will have a bit to teach one another.” Darenello announced, emerald eyes flicking to each of the twenty young men and ten younger boys. Alterenn stood among them, grey eyes haughty over his long nose. The girl met his eyes squarely, holding his gaze until he dropped it to the ground between his feet. Briena looked at each male, taking them in, since she would be in more direct contact with them every day now. Once he had memorized each face, she nodded a greeting.

Browen, a fellow with shoulder-length raven hair pulled back into a braid, an angular face and large sky blue eyes, stepped forward, a question on his tongue. “Master Darenello, what can she teach us? Begging your pardon,” he added to the girl, who watched and listened with silent interest, “but she is only nine. She is the youngest here.” He looked slightly sheepish, as though realizing he had made himself sound rather rude, but the question had been asked. Lorican looked at his friend, cocking a brow. Darenello nodded. “That is a valid question to ask, Browen. Perhaps she should demonstrate some of her skill?” He scanned the group. “Gibraltar, you are the eldest and most experienced of the class. Perhaps you would like to test her mettle?” A tall, rangy man stepped forward, looking puzzled. He had an honest, kind face, large green eyes, and a gentle mouth. He shifted his grip on the handle of the large claymore-like blade, glancing from the girl, who stood only as tall as his chest, to Darenello. “Sir, are you… sure? Should I get a practice blade?” It was quite clear the tall elf was worried that he might accidentally injure the child. Darenello flashed a grin. “Oh, I think your usual will do just fine.” There was a ripple along the line of men, mutters. If Darenello wasn’t in the slightest bit worried, what did that mean? Surely a girl of her age and size wouldn’t stand a chance against Gibraltar?

Krolomios and Solomios looked at one another, brows lifting at precisely the same instance. They knew Briena far better than the rest of the men and boys here. Still, they were curious to see how it would turn out. Briena stepped forward, walking lightly on the balls of her feet, watching her opponent as she shifted her grip on the longsword she’d been using for over a year by now. She circled, letting Gibraltar make the first move if he chose to. When he struck, it was a clearly held back attack, and as she met his stroke with her blade, she saw the surprise in his eyes and face as the solid clang of metal on metal rang out. Soon enough, he no longer held back as they crossed swords, the fiery redheaded child meeting him stroke for stroke, and even managing to get several touches on him with the flat of her blade. “Time!” Darenellos voice called out at the same moment Briena switched styles and struck out with her foot, hooking her heel neatly around Gibraltars knee, yanking the taller man off balance before she kicked out a second time, squarely landing a blow on the off balance mans belly and sending him sprawling. As the echo of the mentors call died, Gibraltar looked up over the swordpoint at his throat at the girls calm face.

Silence reigned in the clearing, broken by a whoop from Solomios. Darenello cleared his throat then spoke to the class. “Does that answer any questions about how much the young lady can teach us?” No one answered. Briena stepped back, removing the foot that had been planted firmly on Gibraltars chest and offered her hand to the man. A solid second passed before he took it and heaved himself to his feet. She offered an apologetic smile, and he grinned. “Guess I needed a good beating to tell me where I stand. Do you think you could teach me those moves?” The girls eyes widened in surprise, then relaxed as a grin grew on her face. “I think so.” It was the beginning of a group of friends that would be a strong unit one day.

-:Ten:-

Once Gibraltar had shown his approval of the girl almost the entire class warmed up to her. She gained more friends among the elven race than she’d ever had at one time. Apart from Gibraltar and the Twins, Browen and Samias, the young aspiring bard with laughing hazel eyes and wild red roan curls, began to draw close as good friends, soon after followed by Grevis, a slim fellow with straight mid-back length sandy blond hair braided with an eagle feather on one side, who wished to join the rangers of Emeraldhaven Glade someday. He was one of the students who favored the bow and arrows, yet was abysmal at the blade, preferring a knife. Briena came in useful for him, imparting her knowledge of the different blade styles of fighting.

Soon after, Sirronis; tall, lanky, yet graceful, wearing his long black hair loose over his shoulders, save for a strand of beads braided into a lock on his right temple, settled into the little band of friends that seemed to gravitate naturally around the ten year old prodigy. He was an excellent one handed fencer, with a fine grasp of magic, preferring to keep his off hand free. He had cheerful green eyes and a bright smile.

To be continued.