The hunter Tiheriemae.

[sandcastles]

.in times of training.

Bitter cold eyes. A gaze sharp as blades cuts a swath of sight across a forgotten battlefield. These eyes have not offered the world a kind look in over thirty years. As they glare at the overgrown remnants of a once village they take on a deeper look of hate. Silent companions watch without comment. It is well known that comfort is not welcomed by the archer. No sympathy, soft words, or council of hope can warm the vicious stare. Only vengeance.

Soft footsteps crush small undergrowth under heel. Fingers caress vine covered walls. Long golden hair slides free from her deep hood to frame her once delicate face that is now thin and worn with strain. The archer kneels next to a mound of debris, and pushes it aside with an almost gentle gesture, making her seem for a moment like an entirely different elf. Companions watch from a distance, exchanging glances, that share recognition of this fact. A slender hand pulls the end of a charred, twisted metal flute from the wreckage. Soft fingers brush away grime, and pluck a small snail from one of the few remaining buttons.

"E wmetytyaw ean .. amiral E mill."
..."I dropped it when I ran"...

Strong hands clench, fingernails digging deeply into palm. The flute falls as grip loosens, clanking off worn stone, and rolls into leaves. Green eyes turn back to weary companions, and if they did not know her well, they may have thought she wished ill to them as much as her foes. She moves to them, between them, beyond them, without another word. The day slowly passes for them as they travel away from the bitter memories visited.

[sandcastles]

.in a time that was before.

The charming ring of flute music wafted through the bright garden. Toyed free with gentle fingers upon shining silver buttons the music born of soft breath through gilded metal sang a cheerful melody that well suited the warm summer day. Surrounded by beautiful white lilies the fair maid was as stunning as her carefully crafted stage. She sat upon a smooth white marble partition that supported a raised bed of flowers who's petals sparkled with morning dew. Radiant pale golden hair framed her impossibly soft face, delicate nose over rounded lips, eyes shut as she poured her heart into the melody she played. One could tell she was an elf even with her pointed ears hidden under her long silken tresses. The swan white dress she wore complimented the graceful curves of her slender body, yet with a modest cut it remained appropriate. the soft silks offsetting her bronze tan from hours playing in the sun.

"Tiheriemae!" a voice called, and her brilliant green eyes opened, though her playing continued, leading the caller to where she sat.

"Tiheriemae!" her brother exclaimed again, smiling wide as he came around the great willow that shielded her from direct view to the village.

"I know you would prefer to play all day sister, but we must see to preparations for the banquet tonight. Mother would like to speak to you about your dress. Will you come?"

"Never would I deny you," the young maid replied as she rose gracefully, the smile on her face as warm as the lilting tone of her voice.

"This shall be a delightful occasion will it not? It's been some time since we've had emissaries come from Silverymoon. Perhaps we'll hear something of the courts," she commented as they strode side by side away from the garden to the shelter of the delicate marble buildings with their taper topped roofs and flower laden windowsills.

"Yes, it shall, a fine day for our people," he would agree.

And so the pair, so alike they could be twins, though he was a full inch taller and favored their fathers slightly darker hair and higher cheekbones, made their way home. There they would enjoy the company of family before tasks of the day scattered them across the village to see to various things. Such was life, full of love, and laughter.

[sandcastles]

.the first day of new life.

Morning and mourning.

Hand in hand these things remained. Searing pain. The healers touch could sooth her body, yet her heart was rent beyond repair. The screams issued in agony stripped her throat dry and yet she tried to scream more. Time would pass. Pain would not. Each day that came failed to sooth the burning agony of loss. Each night was filled with a broken miserable reverie filled with visions of black treachery.

Until he came. His eyes were as empty as her heart. His words were as sharp as the burning ache in her soul. His promise was the first thing to quiet her rage. He spoke of war. Of crimes committed. Of deeds done in the dark never to be forgotten. Then he spoke of vengeance. He spoke of never smiling again until it was had.

He was the first she told her story to. The last she cried to. He would offer her no comfort. Only a promise. In the coming days he would teach her, train her, and mark her flesh, as clearly as her enemy had marked her spirit.