It was spring in the small town of Arrosfar. It was always around this time of year when she came. An elven woman, in the human equivalent of her early thirties. Arrosfar was a small village with a population made up primarily of humans, with an elf or two scattered around. The oldest of the humans could tell the younger population that she had been coming to Arrosfar at the same time every year for as long as they could remember. The elves in the village could give the more exact answer: she had come to this town at springtime every year for seventy-five years.
There was a group of small children who looked forward to the woman's visit every year. For each of their seven years they had seen her arrive and heard her story. She would roll into town, vanish into the forest the day after her arrival, stay at the inn for a few days, and leave. She did that every year without fail.
The small group of children waited at the entrance to the village. A small girl with dark hair and eyes was the first to spot the woman. She broke away from her friends and ran to greet the elf.
"Miss! Miss!" she cried, stopping as she reached the elf. "I thought you weren't coming this year!"
"I'm only a few hours late, Aranda," said the elf with a smile, taking the small girl's hand and leading her back to her village.
"Will you tell your story to us again, Miss?" asked Aranda.
"And what story would that be?" asked the elf as the two reached the gate where the other village children waiting.
"The story about the sorceress, and the bat!" cried Aranda.
"You want me to tell the story about Lydia and Zyphre? Again?" smiled the elf. "But every year you ask me to tell that one and every year I tell it. After hearing it so many times I think you would be tired of it by now."
There was a chorus of "no!"s from the children.
"But it's the only story I ever tell," she said. "Don't any of you want to see if I've got a better story?"
Aranda shook her head and tugged on the hem of the elf's shirt. "That story is my favorite story ever," she said, looking into the elf's green eyes.
"Really?" asked the elf. "What do you like about it, Aranda?"
"I like Zyphre," squeaked the girl. "He's my favorite."
"Yeah," said the elf quietly, looking down with a sad smile. "He's my favorite too."
"Why do you look so sad now, Miss?" asked one of the other children.
The woman blinked and looked down at the boy. "No reason," she said, smiling. "I was just thinking about something that happened many years ago, before your grandparents were even born."
"Were you thinking about your story?" asked a small girl.
"No," said the elf after a slight pause. "No, my story is just that. A story."
The woman walked through the town to the inn with the small crowd of children following her. Every now and then she was greeted by an older villager, asked how her year had been, asked about her story. She answered their questions warmly, but simply told them to come to the inn and hear her story when it was brought up.
When they arrived at the inn, the elf went to the counter and paid for her usual room. She then went to a corner of the inn and settled down at a table. The children sat on the floor while the adults pulled up chairs.
"Will you tell the story now?" asked Aranda.
"Yes, I will," said the elf, leaning back in her chair. "Do you remember where it starts, Aranda?"
"Yeah!" she cried. "It starts in the forest a long way from here!"
"Exactly," she said. "A long time ago, before you were born, maybe before your parents were even born, and maybe even your grandparents, in a forest a long way from here…"