summers, enough to take up a trade and be considered seriously among the elves, but still young enough that most of his peers would be senior apprentices at a trade or still in training.
Jillystria was skilled enough she was considered a seamstress, but she knew better than to press to set up her own shop. Whether the people of Glennduril had the need or not, she knew she wouldn’t be granted the rights to do so. Instead, she worked for the tailor Jaca. She was the reason his work was regarded the highest in the southern forest.
Corian found himself staring at a bunch of bluebell flowers that shimmered in a beam of midday sunlight. The flowers bloomed from mid-summer through fall, attracting bees for their nectar as the other, sweeter, flowers faded away. Jilly often threaded the vines through her hair, though it was a secret extravagance since she always wore a hood to cover them. She’d shown her skill at sewing by making several flowers out of dyed cloth and affixing them to her shirts, dresses, and scarves.
Corian smiled as he remembered seeing them in his sister’s hair. These were alive and growing, not trimmed to be used as decoration. A few had fluttered and fallen to the ground, which was unusual given how hardy Jilly said the vines and stems were.
He picked his head up and began to look for other signs. Whoever had taken her wouldn’t have taken the road. He didn’t know who to track. Who could slip into Glennduril undetected and then get away? Who but an elf? And what elf would strike against their own kind?
The wild elves in the north were unpredictable, but still distant kin. Besides, word had passed down that they had been slaughtered by an army of ogre-kin. The survivors had fled to the northwest, to parts unknown.
The young elf whipped his head back around to the bluebells. His eyes narrowed before he rushed over to them and knelt down to pick up the fallen flower. It hadn’t fallen in single cupped petals, but as an entire flower. That wasn’t how nature worked.
“Jilly,” he whispered as he held the silk flower in his hand. He jerked his head up and looked around. She’d been here. This was hers, and dropped near real flowers to fool her captors. “I’m coming for you, sister.”
Corian dropped his eyes to the ground, hunting again for tracks. Jilly was light, even for an elf. He joked that she could walk on water and not leave a trail when she was in one of her moods and not eating. Her captors, whoever they were, would have to be heavier.
He stepped carefully, moving and searching. Corian began to despair when, nearly a quarter hour later, he found some depressions in the ground that weren’t natural. He studied them and then nodded. There were no identifying marks, but he made out an outline that helped explain why there were no hard edges from a boot. He was tracking splisskin. Their smooth feet and webbed, stubby toes made a track like no other.
“Snakes,” he hissed and thought back to the group he’d fought yesterday. He frowned. Was it yesterday? It seemed like earlier the same day. Or had it been a week ago? Corian shook his head and studied the direction of the tracks. He branched out, looking around and finding more. He couldn’t guess the number of splisskin in the group, but it was enough. Enough to take a harmless elf maid hostage.
“I’m coming, Jilly,” Corian vowed again. “And I’ll kill every last splisskin on Kroth if I have to!”
The forest accepted his vow in silence.
Corian looked around and nodded. “All right, let’s find you,” he said and began walking in the direction of the splisskin raiding party. He moved through the forest as fast as he dared. They had a full day’s head start on him that he had to make up for. The problem was, every time he began looking up and around, he risked losing the trail.
Despair slipped around the edges of his thoughts, whispering that he wasn’t fast enough or strong enough. His sister was gone, stolen by the
Jillystria was skilled enough she was considered a seamstress, but she knew better than to press to set up her own shop. Whether the people of Glennduril had the need or not, she knew she wouldn’t be granted the rights to do so. Instead, she worked for the tailor Jaca. She was the reason his work was regarded the highest in the southern forest.
Corian found himself staring at a bunch of bluebell flowers that shimmered in a beam of midday sunlight. The flowers bloomed from mid-summer through fall, attracting bees for their nectar as the other, sweeter, flowers faded away. Jilly often threaded the vines through her hair, though it was a secret extravagance since she always wore a hood to cover them. She’d shown her skill at sewing by making several flowers out of dyed cloth and affixing them to her shirts, dresses, and scarves.
Corian smiled as he remembered seeing them in his sister’s hair. These were alive and growing, not trimmed to be used as decoration. A few had fluttered and fallen to the ground, which was unusual given how hardy Jilly said the vines and stems were.
He picked his head up and began to look for other signs. Whoever had taken her wouldn’t have taken the road. He didn’t know who to track. Who could slip into Glennduril undetected and then get away? Who but an elf? And what elf would strike against their own kind?
The wild elves in the north were unpredictable, but still distant kin. Besides, word had passed down that they had been slaughtered by an army of ogre-kin. The survivors had fled to the northwest, to parts unknown.
The young elf whipped his head back around to the bluebells. His eyes narrowed before he rushed over to them and knelt down to pick up the fallen flower. It hadn’t fallen in single cupped petals, but as an entire flower. That wasn’t how nature worked.
“Jilly,” he whispered as he held the silk flower in his hand. He jerked his head up and looked around. She’d been here. This was hers, and dropped near real flowers to fool her captors. “I’m coming for you, sister.”
Corian dropped his eyes to the ground, hunting again for tracks. Jilly was light, even for an elf. He joked that she could walk on water and not leave a trail when she was in one of her moods and not eating. Her captors, whoever they were, would have to be heavier.
He stepped carefully, moving and searching. Corian began to despair when, nearly a quarter hour later, he found some depressions in the ground that weren’t natural. He studied them and then nodded. There were no identifying marks, but he made out an outline that helped explain why there were no hard edges from a boot. He was tracking splisskin. Their smooth feet and webbed, stubby toes made a track like no other.
“Snakes,” he hissed and thought back to the group he’d fought yesterday. He frowned. Was it yesterday? It seemed like earlier the same day. Or had it been a week ago? Corian shook his head and studied the direction of the tracks. He branched out, looking around and finding more. He couldn’t guess the number of splisskin in the group, but it was enough. Enough to take a harmless elf maid hostage.
“I’m coming, Jilly,” Corian vowed again. “And I’ll kill every last splisskin on Kroth if I have to!”
The forest accepted his vow in silence.
Corian looked around and nodded. “All right, let’s find you,” he said and began walking in the direction of the splisskin raiding party. He moved through the forest as fast as he dared. They had a full day’s head start on him that he had to make up for. The problem was, every time he began looking up and around, he risked losing the trail.
Despair slipped around the edges of his thoughts, whispering that he wasn’t fast enough or strong enough. His sister was gone, stolen by the
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