The winds sing between the branches of the great tree. The boundless sky rejoices in its embrace, wrapping all the world below in a canopy of noblest blue. A time to grow, a time to live, a time to thrive, as all the world wakes from the stillness of winter and blossoms once again into life. The bells adorning golden branches ring, reminding all of the memory of those who came before, returning to the roots that they might one day be born anew, and take up the path where their feet left it so long ago.
Flowers bloom atop headstones. The dead become spirit. The spirit becomes life. So the great cycle continues, from the first blossoms of
niwlen, until the last leaf has crumbled and fallen.
In such an auspicious season, one would be predisposed to look favorably upon all new beginnings, bearing hope that the year to come would reward every endeavor fruitfully. One might even be inclined to take such a time to celebrate taking that first step, honoring the sacrifices of those who came before while praying for the triumph of those to come after.
Truly, a noble sentiment -- and utterly without merit.
Of course, I had expected nothing, from the very moment I first set out from the by-now distant Viridian Sea. I had always known that the outside world was a rough and graceless place, devoid of the peace and tranquility I had enjoyed in the days of my youth -- such as I was afforded it, anyway. But no amount of cold glances or silent scorn could have prepared me for the indignities of my arrival into human society.
It was a day's walk from my clan's encampment in the Near Woods before I found any signs of the Menfolk or their civilization. It was well that it took me so long, as I spent much of that time cursing my ill-fortune, cursing the elders, and cursing the weight of the armor which they had so
generously entrusted to me. It was only in a fit of admittedly justified rage that I first touched the spirits inhabiting it, and so realized its utility -- and after that, the process of acclimating myself to harnessing their power was a difficult one, so much so that I counted myself fortunate not to be seen by anyone until I had thoroughly mastered it.
Wind-walking was not so dissimilar to operating the glider-kites that I had so often used to deliver messages for my master in the past, and as such, came surprisingly naturally to me. Though it was rather difficult to maintain my conception of a nonexistent sail surrounding me, my own instincts better served where reason had failed. Or perhaps I was simply overthinking things to begin with. I am, after all, a prodigy -- once I determined it to be possible, it was only a matter of time before I succeeded in achieving it.
So it was that by the time of my arrival at the menfolk's trading post, I had learned to move so swiftly and subtly that they hardly noticed my presence until I was already at their gates. I gave my introductions, met with the chief among their caravan, handed over the gifts that my master had ordered me to convey, and demanded to be afforded passage along with them on their return journey, that I might seek audience with the supposedly-vaunted "Wardens of the Glade" and earn membership in their order.
This meeting, for the most part, went well -- though not without a few uncouth jokes and jabs regarding my age. Apparently, my manner of speaking gave them the impression that I was a Druid myself, of some hundreds of years -- and although I was admittedly very flattered by this, when I corrected this assumption, they had the temerity to
laugh at me.
Just because we do not wither so quickly does not mean we are slow to bloom, yet when I tried to calmly explain this to the man, he clearly did not understand nor appreciate any distinction in such matters. Instead, he merely chided me for "trying too hard to act grown up," and insistently called me "little miss elf" for the rest of our journey. His sickeningly-forced politeness and overly snide, world-wise attitude grated on me far more than I had expected. The elders who had sent me on this fool's errand were fools themselves, but at least they had earned the right to foolish condescension through years of experience. To be lectured by some sapling of a mere 40-some years as though he was a sage himself drove me to such frustration that by the time we arrived at the so-called "Glade" of Atutania, I was quite glad to be rid of him.
Not that my new environs were at all preferable. Clearly, these menfolk knew nothing of the world, to style such an abominable construction a "glade." When I had heard the name of the place to which I was bound, I had held out hope. Even among savages, I might still at least be graced with the company of the spirits, and honored with the noble task of watching over the remains of those who had perished long before in the days of chaos.
Yet what met my eyes was the most sparse, pitiful, debased and desecrated excuse for a forest I had ever seen in all my 18 years. The menfolk's roads of broken stone wound about every which way, choking out what few haggard saplings remained like the coils of an invasive weed. Their towers piled high, blocking out the sun from ever reaching the yellowed grass in their shadows -- where it even still existed. Flabbergasted by this unholy sight, I was forced to conclude that whatever buffoon had contrived this place's nomenclature had never seen a forest in his life, much less a glade.
And as I entered into the stone forest these menfolk called home, I was only further dismayed to see that such ignorance extended even farther than that. Everywhere I went, I found their beady little eyes fixed upon me, always muttering or whispering something, yet retreating the moment I so much as looked at them. One, a mere sprout who might well have been born yesterday for all I knew, even pointed at me and asked his sire
what was wrong with my ears!
Unbelievable! Truly unconscionable! Had they ever so much as deigned to venture outside this barbaric cesspool, perhaps they would have known better. To have only just arrived and already finding myself confronted by such unimaginable ignorance, I was forced to conclude that these menfolk must have been a horribly backward people, who knew nothing of the world, if even I, with my meagre upbringing and few years of experience, so vastly excelled them in my understanding.
So much greater my misfortune, then, that I had no choice but to try and ask them for directions. After all, for all my prodigious intellect, I was still a stranger in these lands, and ill-equipped to comprehend the nightmarish and labyrinthine convolutions of their "city." Yet the moment I would try to approach or strike up conversation, the wily humans would simply make some excuse and immediately dart away -- only to resume their staring at me from a safe distance once they thought I had lost sight of them.
And to be fair, sometimes, they did in fact escape my notice. There were simply so many humans all around, lining the streets in every direction I looked, that it became impossible to tell one from another, where one was coming or going, or even at times where I was. They were worse even than the savage monkeys of the great forest, an innumerable troop all staring and circling and hooting and chattering in such a great cacophonous din that it set my ears to curling flat against the sides of my head in a futile attempt to drown out the noise.
It was only by a stroke of luck that the crowd's pushing and shoving happened to carry me close enough to see a man in a familiar uniform, which I recognized from master's teachings. Seeing my opportunity, I swiftly extricated myself from the man-monkeys' midst and approached what it became evident to me was some form of reception desk. Trying my best to ignore the overwhelming smell of meat coming from the red-haired she-monkey in front of me, I at last made my way to the front of the line, and made report of myself.
"I am Sternwyss! Daughter of Adalyr, and apprentice to Sage Ailín. I have come on my master's orders, to participate in your knightly trials! I ask you, where are the entrance rites of the Order of the Glade to be found?"...As it turned out, the answer to that question was "right over there." An anticlimactic conclusion to an utterly infuriating odyssey -- but by this point I simply welcomed an end to my searching. The sooner I could complete this wretched task and retire myself to any semblance of solitude, the better. This "city" felt fit to soil my very soul, and I desired nothing less than to take part in any sort of community with its uncouth inhabitants.
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