A mighty willow tree, whose branches rose to the sun and then cascaded down to the earth like emerald silk. The tree stood high atop a knoll, far away from many other trees. Its majesty a glory to behold and all paid homage to it. One day, an elven lady came to this tree. It was midday and the sun rose high in the air, warming things in the gentle early autumn. The lady was round with child and full to due, but her heart had longed to go for a walk within the soft grass and breathe in warm summer day. She came to the tree, alone on its knoll, the breeze gently rustling its branches as it wove its through them. There, she found herself weary, tired and sought to rest under those great branches, below that mighty tree. There deep in that shade she enclosed herself and rested falling into a light sleep as the butterflies flitted about and the birds called from the high branches.

Her sleep was peaceful and as the day fell into mid afternoon she came to awake, rested and alone below that mighty tree. Uncertain of what awoke her, she gazed about but then felt a light pain. Not harsh, but enough to tell her that the child she held was coming. She could not return to the village, for even as she stood to find her way out of the branches that enfolded her, the pains came quicker.

They were not so much that she found herself hurting and she marveled at this for her last two births had come with all the great pains and pleasures of childbirth.

She sat again at the foot of the tree, nestled into the roots that grew up from the ground wondering what to do. She had no powers of the mind, nor any way to summon help. The child was coming, the labor pains told her this, but they were quiet compared to her two sons. It seemed there was nothing she could do, but wait

And so she did.

The tree held her in his embrace while the shadows of the leaves danced about her, caressing her and keeping her company. And soon, the child came from her womb. And again there was little pain.

It was a daughter, with the tufts of red hair already showing and light green eyes.

The child slid into the embrace of the tree's shadowy midwives and they held her till the mother found her breath again. Then the mother brought the child to her breast and cradled the child within a cloak to keep her warm. Gazing upon the child, the mother knew her daughter had been brought to her by the kindness of the nature and the shadows that danced about under the tree's canope. In honor of this gift, she named the child in the tongue of the elves.

The name given was Shadow of the Tree, or Schatten Desbaums. And so it is said I came to be.

Well that was the story I was told of my birth. Mother was always the romantic, like her daughter. I was raised to be a good daughter, the ways of speaking proper and addressing those I met in a civil and well mannered tongue. I learned the court speech and was gifted the ability to read and write and even shown the art of music, though I failed to master it. My parents taught me to know love and happiness. They taught me to embrace each thing, each person, each experience as a learning tool. They also chided me for being a tom-boy at heart.

It was probably the fact that both of my brothers were decades older than I, that as a very young elven child I looked up to them more then others. Their play fighting and mastery of weapons, their romps and excursions into the surrounding forests, caves and other places, driving my curiosity to do the same. Every cut, bruise, black eye or abrasion I brought home earned me my mother's sigh and my fathers 'talk'. "Ladies," he would say, "didn't behave like that." It never kept me from exploring, it never side tracked my yearnings to see new wonders.

The books helped with that as well. I learned to read early on. As I said my mother was a romantic, and that rubbed off on me as she read stories of brave knights, solemn heroes, and soft-hearted princess to me each night. I gobbled them up and explored them with my imagination when I slipped out into the forest. Sometimes the hero, sometimes the villain, sometimes the princess. The caves became my castles, the trees my vast wilderness, ripe with dragons and fawns. Trinkets abandoned by others, left in the depths of the forest, my vast treasures. My weapons were sticks, collected from the ground and wielded like maces and swords. My cloak a magical garment that could transform me into anything or anyone.

When I learned to read I can't say, I was young, but I devoured everything I could lay my hands on. My favorite tale was that of Eve Lyendor, a Paladin of Silvanus, who soon became my favorite fantasy character. I often pretended to be her squire, following along, saving her just in the nick of time or helping her overcome the mad prince's riddle traps. I always fancied her a brilliant golden hared elf woman with the purest of hearts and strived to be like her. I joined the church of Silvanus because of her.

Or maybe it was because I was born under a tree.

Later I learned I could never be a Paladin, that was something reserved for humans. It crushed me into a thousand pieces. My childhood dream, the reason I had gone to my apprenticeship with Silvanus, was gone in a flash of woeful tears. But I was there, and there was a treasure trove of books and scrolls I had yet to read, and so I stayed.

The priests frowned at my desire to climb the trees and read in their branches rather then sit at the pews in prayer. At first, they thought I might turn out to be a ranger, but I had neither the skills for fighting nor the desire. I was far more interested in the emotions and the reasons for why things were like they were. I was esoteric, always wandering off to observe and watch interactions. Of animals, of people, of everything about me. I saw nature, its cycle, its balance in all things, not just the wilderness. And perhaps because I had been raised in an elven city and then sent to train in a larger human metropolis I found and came to understand the balance between the wilderness of nature and the wilderness of civilization.