Elariel turned as his nephew approached, his sharp green eyes softening briefly at the sight of Ivan. “We’re ready then?” he asked, his voice low and measured, betraying none of the lingering exhaustion he felt. He dipped his head toward Catori in a gesture of goodbye as Koa appeared.

He motioned toward the shadowed treeline, the dense canopy of branches above casting dappled light across the ground. “We’ll take the path through the grove,” he said, his tone firm but quiet, as though unwilling to disturb the tranquil stillness that lingered over the clearing.

With a glance over his shoulder at Ivan and Cornaith, Elariel started toward the trees, his movements fluid but purposeful. The air grew cooler as they approached the edge of the grove, the sunlight fading into a softer, more diffuse glow beneath the dense foliage. The earthy scent of moss and damp wood filled the air, mingling with the faint chirping of hidden insects. Elariel paused just inside the grove, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings, taking in the familiar shapes of the towering oaks and the scattered shafts of moonlight filtering through the canopy. A faint mist hugged the ground in patches, swirling gently around their ankles as if guiding them deeper. The grove felt alive. In all his years, he hadn’t felt energy like this before.

“This stretch should be quiet,” Elariel murmured, his voice a low, measured hum, barely audible above the faint rustle of leaves overhead. The calm in his tone belied the caution in his words, each syllable deliberate, as though he were speaking directly to the grove itself. His sharp green eyes, catching the dim, light filtering through the canopy, shifted towards the other two. ”Stay sharp. Even familiar paths can hold surprises.”

As they pressed deeper into the grove, the air grew cooler, and the shadows thickened. The sunlight that had dappled the ground near the clearing was now a memory, swallowed by the towering trees and their interwoven branches. The trunks stood like silent sentinels, their bark darkened with age and dampness, while the underbrush grew denser, brushing against their boots with every step.

Elariel paused briefly, tilting his head upward to observe the fading shafts of light. If not for witnessing the sunrise with his own eyes, he might have sworn they’d wandered into night’s domain. The pervasive dimness cloaked their surroundings in an otherworldly hush, broken only by the occasional crackle of twigs underfoot or the distant chirrup of unseen insects.

“Let’s keep to the left fork,” he said after a moment, his voice cutting softly through the quiet. His hand raised slightly, motioning toward a trail marked by faintly trodden earth and overgrown roots. “It’s the quickest route to the northern ridge.” Without waiting for confirmation, he pressed forward, his focus sharp and unwavering as the grove’s shadows seemed to deepen around them.

Small, glowing orbs of soft, golden light drifted lazily through the thickened shadows, like tiny stars fallen from the sky. They hovered and swayed, their faint illumination casting dappled patterns onto the forest floor. Occasionally, one would drift closer, pulsing gently as if alive, before floating away to join its companions in the quiet dance among the trees. Blooms of pale, luminous flowers unfurled from the underbrush, their petals glowing faintly in shades of white, blue, and lavender. These blossoms seemed to thrive in the dim light, their radiance creating a dreamlike contrast against the dark, gnarled roots and moss-covered stones. Each step brought a new wave of fragrance—hints of jasmine, honey, and something else entirely, a scent both foreign and comforting, as though the grove itself were breathing life into the air.

The grove had always been a quiet haven, a place of stillness and familiarity, but now it felt alive in a way that set his nerves on edge. The air was heavy, not with menace, but with the weight of something ancient and unspoken, as though the grove were holding its breath, watching them pass. Elariel’s jaw tightened as he tried to make sense of it while pushing on. The forest’s energy was neither welcoming nor hostile; it simply was—a force unto itself, vast and unyielding.

The first light of dawn filtered through the canopy, painting the forest floor in soft shades of gold and green. Eryndor stirred at the sound of distant birdsong, a gentle reminder of the day ahead. He stretched, feeling the cool morning air seep through the cracks of his modest home, and rose to prepare for the tasks awaiting him.

Outside, the village was beginning to wake, the faint clatter of tools and murmured greetings breaking the silence of the early hour. Eryndor stepped into the crisp air, the lingering scent of woodsmoke and dew sharpening his senses. Adjusting the strap of his satchel—packed the night before with tools and supplies—he made his way toward the forest’s edge, where he would begin his morning search for fresh herbs and small game.

As he passed through the clearing, his sharp cyan eyes caught the patrol preparing to depart for their early rounds. Eryndor offered them a brief nod of acknowledgement, his attention briefly lingering on Catori speaking with Koa at the far end of the clearing. Nearby, Cyrus approached the woman who had stared him down the night before, her posture tense but composed. Further off, Elariel and his chosen companions disappeared into the shadows of the trees towards the Moonlit Grove, their movements brisk and purposeful. The rest of the Clan still lay in slumber, their silence a reminder of the calm before another demanding day.

With a soft exhale, Eryndor turned on his heel, quickening his pace as he entered the woods, putting distance between himself and the morning patrol. His bow and quiver, strapped securely to his back, shifted slightly with each step. The cool embrace of the forest wrapped around him, the familiar scent of earth and greenery grounding him as he began his trek deeper into the wild.

The early light filtered through the canopy above, creating shifting patterns of gold and green on the forest floor. Eryndor’s scanned the terrain, catching the telltale signs of movement—fresh prints in the damp soil, a flash of fur in the underbrush. He paused near a thicket, kneeling to inspect the tracks of a hare. A faint smile tugged at his lips. It wasn’t much, but it would do for the morning's hunt.

He moved with practiced ease, each step light and deliberate as he followed the trail. The forest came alive around him, the rustle of leaves and chirping of birds creating a serene symphony. Eryndor’s focus sharpened as he read the subtle signs of the hare’s path, the thrill of the hunt mingling with his reverence for the life he sought. This was his rhythm, his purpose—a quiet dance with the wilderness that reminded him of his place within the Clan’s greater balance.

Drawing his bow as he neared a small clearing, he stilled his breath, his gaze locked on the hare grazing in the tall grass ahead. The moment stretched, a delicate thread connecting him to his target and the forest itself. Then, with a steady hand, he loosed the arrow.

It was always hard to kill a hare. The keening cries they made as life slipped away sent an icy shiver through Eryndor’s spine, no matter how many times he’d heard them. He crouched beside the lifeless creature, his hands already slick with blood as he worked quickly, his movements efficient yet reverent.

Murmured words escaped his lips, a prayer of gratitude to the rabbit for its sacrifice and to the spirits of the land for their provision. He bowed his head briefly, pressing his bloodstained fingers to the earth, a gesture of offering and balance. The act was more than ritual—it was a reminder of the life he’d taken and the responsibility it carried.

As he finished his task, Eryndor carefully wrapped the rabbit in cloth and tucked it into his satchel. Rising to his feet, he glanced around the quiet clearing, scanning the trees for any other signs of movement. The forest seemed to hold its breath, and for a moment, he felt the weight of its stillness—a quiet acknowledgment of what had just transpired. With a sigh, he adjusted his bow and set off again, deeper into the woods.

The quiet hum of nature surrounded him, though his ears picked up every rustle and crackle in the underbrush. He stopped at a trickling stream, crouching low to rinse the blood from his hands. The cold water bit at his skin, but it carried away the sticky crimson, leaving behind only faint stains beneath his nails. He lingered, watching the ripples in the water dance with light.

Alvaerelle Wyzorwyn

Queen

Mentions: Cyrus (Dir) Other Warriors & Koa (Ind)

Her pointed ears would flicker back toward the slightest sound of blades of grass shifting and the earth crunching beneath heavy footed steps. Her gaze would slip from the gathered warriors catching a glimpse of warning or perhaps concern over her sleep from Koa before drawing her full attention toward the gruff vocals of a familiar male. Cyrus. Her lilac gaze would study him carefully, peering tastefully at the male though her facial expression seemed rather unamused. Offering a neighboring empty seat with the slight of her free hand she’d shift slightly at a minor twinge that had come about in her lower abdomen.

“As well as I can nearing the third trimester I suppose,” she’d begin, “Good Morning, Cyrus. Surely, sleep must have found its way to you after such an eventful evening.” She’d remark, smirking only to shift her gaze from the male over towards the large group that had now began to splinter off. “Shouldn’t you be over there with them? Rather than providing me company?”

She had hoped that her own assault against him was a suitable enough punishment to spare him the embarrassment of a demotion or worse. Though, as of late, The Elders have had very little forgiveness for much. In either case, she shouldn’t be particularly concerned with the state of his welfare. He was nothing but a potential suitor anyhow, if a suitor at all after the event of last night, though he did apologize though it did seem strained. She small huff of annoyance would escape her nostrils at the internalized conflict swirling about in her brain though attempted to draw her attention back upon the male and the conversation at hand.

Her gaze would falter now and again searching to meet Ivan’s own greyish blue gaze prior to his departure, though perhaps being not only a bit late but also slightly winded would be enough for him to hone his focus on the task at hand.