Tamaren

Eliriael descended down the long, winding path into the valley. She patted the neck of her horse, Faenaur, showing affection and gratitude to her friend, who had carried her over a long distance for many days. Faenaur seemed to sense that they had reached their destination and gradually slowed her steps to a full stop. Eliriael deftly slid off Faenaur’s back to the ground in one fluid movement. She did not ride unless there was need for she wished as little discomfort upon her friend.

For a while, it seemed as if time moved very fast. The captain proved more amenable to Maltariel's request to leave than either of them had expected, even to the extent of dismissing her from her duties immediately. The following days rushed past in a flurry of packing, of hasty goodbyes and hurried preparations. Maltariel emptied out her house entirely, passing those possessions she couldn't pack among her friends. There was less than she had expected – somehow, what with all the years patrolling the borders and living in outposts, she had avoided really gathering much.

Fire. Burnt wood, turned into charcoal in a blaze of energy. How it should have warmed, yet the flickering of the flames could not pry away the feeling of dread. The night over the once fruitful and lively land had come and gone, leaving its guests scurrying to prepare breakfast, feed the horses and plan for the morrow.