31 Harvest, 385 - Greysdale, Hartslund Plains, Charan

The table beneath her was hard, but surprisingly comfortable. She was wrapped in a thick quilt and curled almost in a ball in the center of the table. Alessandra opened her eyes and unleashed a jaw-cracking yawn as she sat up. The movement didn’t bring pain, but it brought more than a little uncertainty. She was in the main room of a very small cottage. There was a banked fire in the hearth and the grainy smell of porridge filled the room. The dirt floor of the cottage was well kept and reeded in most places except around the table. The table itself was sturdy and well made, the top absolutely smooth and free of splinters. A window opposite the hearth looked out over a small town square.

In all her life, Alessandra had never left the forest. Most sylvans lived their whole lives without leaving, though occasionally someone left for long periods of time. Alessandra had never been interested in leaving the forest. She was satisfied with her life in the village, not necessarily with her task as a hunter, but her people must eat. Alessandra shook her head, putting her face in her hands. Her mind was wandering down all these familiar roads to avoid travelling down the roads covered in spilled blood.

The sylvan wanted to cry, to weep for her people, but she found her tears burned dry. There was nothing left within her able to cry for them. Clearly Nuk had taken her instructions to heart and taken her to a healer on the plains. How he found a healer, she wasn’t quite sure. Dawn had only just begun to shine upon the world and Alessandra couldn’t hear anyone else in the cottage stirring. Her stomach rumbled at the thought of porridge or really anything to fill the suddenly yawning gulf within her calling out for food.

She slipped off the table, her bare feet landing lightly on the soft, moist soil of the floor. Just the texture of it beneath her feet felt comforting and she stood for a moment, wiggling her toes. How could simple dirt feel so soothing? Shaking herself from the thought and trying to steer her wandering mind toward something important, she wrapped the thick quilt around herself. She could see her filthy, bloody clothing piled next to the fire. It was as though her host wanted to burn them, but at the last moment had decided to ask first. Alessandra lifted up her tunic and saw the split seams where her host had removed them and she lifted one shoulder. They were irredeemable: torn, stained, and reeking of rot. She blew out a breath through her nose as though to clear it of the foul scent.

Was that stench me? She wondered as she paced over to the window to peer out. She had prepared herself for it, but seeing the vast stretch of blue sky with no towering trees in sight was almost shocking. The little square was empty at this time of day, even the most determined farmer on market day wouldn’t be setting up his stall at the very crack of dawn.

A warm, aged voice broke into Alessandra’s meandering thoughts. “Good morning, child. I see you’re up and about. Are you feeling alright?”

The sylvan turned, her green-ish colored skin brightening as she stood in the sunlight from the window. The woman who spoke was short, barely five feet, and nearly as broad as she was tall. Her face was about the color of the meat of a walnut and just as filled with wrinkles, but her brown eyes were warm and friendly as she looked Alessandra up and down. “I’m okay.” The sylvan answered, wrapping the blanket more tightly around herself. “Are you the healer?”

“Lorelai Swift at your service.” The woman gave an airy curtsey as she introduced herself, as well as a brilliant smile.

“Alessandra at yours.” The sylvan bowed, clutching her blanket tightly. “Thank you for healing me.”

“You are most welcome, I am quite glad I could help. I have questions though, about your injuries. Shall we have some breakfast first? I can’t just go about questioning you freshly healed and likely half starved. Come here, dear. Sit, sit. I can fetch you a simple dress for you to wear for now, it’ll be short and a bit loose on you, but it’s better than a blanket.” The woman was like a tornado of hospitality and she swiftly had Alessandra sitting at the table in a loose, short, calico dress in front of a warm bowl of porridge covered in berries and brown sugar. “Eat, eat. We can talk later.” The healer said, settling down to her own bowl of porridge.

Alessandra ate almost mechanically, filling the yawning emptiness inside with warm, sweet porridge. She could barely finish the bowl and almost as soon as she set the bowl aside, the healer put her spoon down.

“Feeling a bit better now, child?” The old woman asked. The concern in her voice was genuine. “Can you tell me what happened?”

Alessandra closed her eyes and didn’t answer for a long moment. She could feel a gnawing in her stomach, something churning and waiting to be unleashed. “It was monsters.” She said at long last. “They attacked my settlement and several others. I-I tried to stop them, but I wasn’t enough.” She looked at her hands, pristine now, but so covered in blood before. “I couldn’t save any of them. Any of them.” She shook her head, making one hand into a fist. “Those abominations herded my people away like cattle.”

The healer rounded the table and put an arm around Alessandra’s shoulder. “There was nothing you could do. Nothing that could be done.” She squeezed the young sylvan close to her side.

Her head fell heavily against Lorelai’s shoulder and her breath shuddered in her lungs. “I need to go after them. Free them.”

“Shush now, darling. There is nothing you can do alone.”

“I could warn the others, find more sylvans who can help me against the abominations. If they aren’t…”

“It’s alright, child. You’re safe here. Take a day or two and recover your strength, then you decide what you’re going to do.” She brushed the tangled hair out of the young woman’s face. “You’re safe here.” She repeated.

Later, when the young woman was resting in the spare room, Lorelai sat alone at the table with a wooden mug filled with ale. She traveled with the armies as a young woman, mastered her healing skills working on the injured during and after battles. She had seen war, seen chaos and destruction, and had settled in Greysdale for a reason. It was a town on the ass end of nowhere, Hartslund itself wasn’t even a kingdom to speak up, rather a loosely connected sprawl of villages and towns scattered over the fertile lands. No central government to make demands upon her.

“Moments like this are for the young,” she murmured before taking a drink of her ale. “And I am not so young anymore.”

She sipped again. “If I were but a young woman, I would go with her. Help her find and free her people.” She shook her head. “I would do something.”

Again she shook her head, “But I am not a young woman.” She finished the mug of ale. “I am old and my time has passed.”

It felt almost like she was arguing with herself, trying to convince herself that she was much too old for this sort of thing. Quests and battles of good versus evil are for the young. Only for the young.

It was a soft rap on her door that stirred Lorelai from her thoughts. She rose with a groan, hips and knees protesting the motion. The knock repeated by the time she was halfway to the door. “I’m coming, I’m coming. Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

She was still muttering when she opened the door to a rather disheveled Cordelia. The girl’s bright red hair was a matted mess tangled with straw and her green eyes were red around the edges and supported by bags big enough to pack for a trip.

“You look like you haven’t slept in a year.” She said.

Those bloodshot green eyes narrowed. “I slept in the barn. Or tried to.” She glanced over her shoulder and Lorelai was surprised to see the massive palomino horse the girl had been strapped to. It was shifting restlessly behind Cordelia, tossing its head and pawing at the ground.

“What’s the matter?”

“The damn horse has been impossible. Is the sylvan alright? Can he see them?”

The horse tossed his head again, snorting and Lorelai smiled. “I always heard tell that sylvans were close with their animals. I’ll go and get her.”

When the healer brought Alessandra outside and she saw the palomino horse, his coat shining like bright gold in the sunlight, something broke within her. She raced toward the thick legged horse and threw her arms around him. For his part, Nuk nuzzled at her. The sylvan buried her face in his neck and finally let go. She wasn’t loud, by any means, but it was obvious to both Cordelia and Lorelai that she was finally grieving. The two women spoke softly off to one side as Alessandra snuggled into the horse.

She allowed herself a few moments to grieve, but then she pulled herself together. Her breath shuddered as she gulped back the sobs. Nuk leaned into her, offering support. “I have to go after them.” She murmured. The horse snorted and shook his head. “We must go after them.” She repeated, only for the horse to snort and stomp one foot firmly. “I know you disagree, but we must.” This time he just snorted.

“For what it’s worth, Alessandra, I agree with your friend there.” Lorelai said. “Whatever happened it isn’t something you can fight alone.”

Alessandra, her arms still wrapped around her horse’s neck, looked over her shoulder at the healer. “Who?”

The healer shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know. Perhaps there are some sylvans still in the Grey Wood?”

The young woman glanced in that direction, her expression fraught. Fires still burned within the Grey Wood and the evidence of them was smeared across the midday sky. She only shook her head in response to the healer’s question. Her people, at least the ones in the Grey Wood, were probably gone, taken wherever the abominations wanted them. “The healer is right though,” she thought as she pressed her face against Nuk’s warm flesh again. “I’m one halfhearted hunter. A passable shot with a bow, but nothing extraordinary. What good will I be to my people?”