Eden ran through the trees, his lengthily willowy figure slicing the air with eerie volume. Eden was a runner of the Emerald Coven. Runners were messengers, and chosen for their speed and stealth. Runners and hunters were the only ones allowed to leave the coven grounds. Seeing as their speed was almost invisible to human eyes, Eden's alarmed pace was a blur even to the members of the coven who were sure of his impeccable speed.
Reaching the Grandfather tree, he slowed to a halt, the elders in a semi-circle about him.
"They are here again, sires. Another passing of avoidance." He said his soft, song bird like voice laden thick with what the people would label 'Mesmer'. The people, though, were crossed with human genealogy. The coven, however, were not, and their voices were thick with magik.
"We should end this fleeing." Demanded one of the elders, his floor-length black hair swaying in the fury of his outburst. This was Jovian, known for his minute temper. "I am done running from our own diminutive kin!" the eldest nodded.
"Yes, Jovian, I agree. We must approach it peacefully, though, rather than through violence."
Now, would be a perfect time for a little fairy history. The people's original ancestry was far different. Untainted by man's blood, they ran free with magik stores that never ran dry. There form was more like waxy fleshed young saplings than the tiny form of the people. Average height for the coven was three to four meters with their ears factored in. They had thin faces with narrow noses and chins, large eyes, and tall pointed ears. Their bodies were willowy, and thin. Their bones were much like reinforced twigs, if you can imagine. Their fingers were five-jointed fingers, with long and strong nails. Much like the people, the coven favored gold very highly. They wore delicate vines of gold around their heads and wrists. The hunters, strongest of the coven, wore elegant bands around their forearms. Their bodies were perfect for battling the elements of the forest, and their swift nimble agility was unmatchable.
"Holly, come here." Trouble demanded of the tiny shadow slumped against a tall tree.
"No!" She called back childishly. They'd been through this an uncountable amount of time.
"Darlin' please! Come here!"
"No!" She whined again. He sighed, got to his feet, walked over to Holly, and picked her up, carrying her towards the camp again. She didn't fail to kick and tiff about it the whole time.
"Put me down, Danny!" She demanded. That did it, he hated his name. He dropped her roughly to the ground at the camp site and sat on the ground across the fire from her.
"Listen, the death stuff always fascinated me as a boy, so I know how the rights of ceremony went, even in the ancient language. We're going to give Chitin a proper right of passage now, and you can be free of your guilt." Holly looked at him incredibly. He held out his hands above the fire, which yielded to his flesh and never harmed him. That was odd, and Holly made a mental note of that. Elemental capability was almost lost to all on this Earth now, but there was the select few who still had a gift, and Holly was sure Trouble was one of them. Even when he attempted to put the fire together, it sprung to life so simply.
She set her hands lightly in his, and he closed his eyes, muttering in an odd tongue. His voice flowed gently; ever-running syllables fell from his lips, never a break for breath between them. It sounded so amazing; Holly wanted so badly to know what he was saying. Then he drew a much needed breath, and continued in the gnomish language.
"Allow the spirit to fly free and offer forgiveness to those who feel guilt upon this tragedy." He muttered again in that odd tongue, the wind picked up, and with pernicious fury, it whipped the massive trees all around them. Even so close to the fire, the chill penetrated every bone in her body.
"This isn't a good sign, is it, Trouble?" She asked, attempting to keep her voice still.
"Well…no." he said, matter-of-factly. He stepped over the fire, as it parted at his feet, and came to stand by her. He wasn't sure she noticed, but he kept her hand in his own. Her fingers felt like ice, and they trembled, but he kept his hand strong and solidly unmoving.
Deep whispered chants began emanating from the woods, and Holly tightened her grip on Trouble's hand, all too aware of their contact.
"What is it?" Holly whispered to Trouble.
"I'm not sure." He replied. Suddenly, the fire behind them roared into a cyclone inferno. Parts of it were different shades of green. A dark thin figure appeared in the fire, bright green eyes the only distinctive image of the figure. Words danced from the figure's lips, so soft and yet ominous. All in all, Trouble and Holly were entirely unable to comprehend its words. Trouble pulled Holly into his arms and, incredibly, she yielded, allowing herself to be drawn in. Her eyes, wide with fear, never left the shadow.
"That wouldn't be Chitin, would it?" Trouble asked, hopelessly. Holly shook her head.
"No." Then the being spoke again in gnomish. The gift of tongues.
"You speak the words of Right." And he pointed at Trouble with a long bony finger.