Author's Note: In a review I was told the story was good but the character *Drira* was too much a "Mary-Sue". To that reviewer I say, "Thank you for the writing compliment and I hope you continue to read my story. As for Drira, if this were a parody or comedy, my character wouldn't be perfect. And she's not perfect; the story hasn't finished. That comment was made after a reading of the first chapter, and her character was not fully developed. However, this story is stereotypical, I suppose. There are slight twists, but that is my style of writing when it comes to plots like this. So, I hope you enjoy the rest of the story because of my writing skills, if not for the main character."

*~*~*~*~*

Drira shook a lock of black hair from her eyes and faced her opponent.

"This day you breathe your last, foul orc!" she shouted before swinging her blade. Then she smiled down at the severed limb. "Beg and I will kill you swiftly-"

A chorus of laughter met her ears and she whirled around, shocked. Her brother Bryn walked up to her and a warm smile flooded his handsome face.

"There is no need for orc-slaughter this morn, Drira." He reached down and picked up the tree bough she had hewn. "Although, you are getting quicker. The tree didn't stand a chance."

Bryn's friends bellowed laughter again and set Drira's cheeks aflame. He rubbed her head affectionately. "Forgive me for having a bit of fun with you, little sister. But trust me, this laughter from the boys and me is nothing compared to the scorn you would get from our mother if she had found you."

"I know," Drira sighed. Bryn held out his hand and she returned his sword to him.

"You are fortunate I don't thrash you for taking my sword!"

She smiled slightly and followed Bryn and the other boys back into the village. Drira was an eighteen-year-old mortal who lived with her mother and two brothers: Bryn and Garron, the eldest. She was tall for a maiden but slender and yet very strong, this perhaps coming from defending against her older brothers. The boys each had tanned skin and sand-colored hair, their eyes each a dark brown. Drira stood out from them as her skin was fairer and softer, even more so than the other maidens her age. Her eyes sparkled like the ocean, blue-green and very clear, and her black hair fell in an unkept braid down her back. Her brothers saw how their friends watched her, and if it weren't for her constant ability to make mischief they would most likely fall for her. But she was too much a friend to be adored in that way, though Bryn and Garron's friends all adored her.

"I suppose Garron sent you looking for me," Drira mused when they entered the village. Bryn nodded and smiled.

"He feared something had happened to you. I told him you were too smart to get into too much trouble, and too strong to stay in it. He said that's what worries him."

"He doesn't like it that I am not a waif of a girl," Drira snapped, her eyes narrowing. "He'll never accept that!"

"It's not the strength that worries him, Drira," Bryn said seriously as he stopped and turned to her. "Garron–as well as myself–fear you will one day believe yourself so strong as to go off on your own and encounter something you indeed cannot fight. We want you to be happy and strong, Drira, but safe as well."

"I understand, Bryn. I do." She looked up to him and smiled, then hugged him. "Thank you."

"Of course. And besides, we want to be the ones known throughout the land as the tree--I mean, orc slayers."

She glared up at him and he grinned, then ran off laughing.