by Christine Haggerty
Rienna watched her fingers in the moonlight as she brushed the stray hair from her sleeping son’s cheek. His skin was darker than hers, more like that of the southern elves.
More like his father’s. Rienna smiled sadly. He is strong like his father as well, but he gets his beauty from me.
She held on to her pride, used it to fill the void in her soul as she stepped outside the stronghold to wait.
To wait, but not to grieve.
The night smelled of rich loam and damp bark, the scent of ice still sharp in the early spring.
The hard winter drove the humans into our forest, but what drove them to kill? We were willing to share so long as they did not trespass on the heart of what is ours.
A breeze ruffled the strands of Rienna’s warrior braids and brought with…
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