Lia Greenleaf
"Curse them, we're too late!" muttered the leader of the expedition.
"Indeed," responded another, the sound coming through clenched teeth.
Their horses stomped and tossed their heads, not liking the stench of the smoke still rising from the decimated village. There were perhaps 15 riders, all told. Each was wearing dark green clothes and leathers stained in dark browns. With minimal effort, the entire group could melt into a forest setting nearly unseen.
Here, where the ground had been cleared and burned, they stood out plain as rocky islands in the sea.
Lia stayed still and silent. She was huddled deep in the bushes edging the smoldering rubble that had been her home village. Her pale, clear eyes watched them closely; her delicate pointed ears caught every word they uttered, every sound from the horses.
Most of her clothes had been stained and tattered into dirty rags. Lia's only recognizable garment was the worn, adult-sized, dark green cloak wrapped around her. Beneath it, her fair skin was completely coated in smoke and grime. The filth nearly covered her incompletely healed scrapes, bruises and burns. Her hair, normally a medium golden brown, appeared much darker from the soot clinging to it.
She scarcely looked like the very young elf child she was. Instead, being so small and grime-coated, she bore more resemblance to the dark brownies that plagued the region.
Lia waited and watched. She didn't know yet if these elves were safe.
This tragedy had nearly consumed the young child. Her memories of the peaceful existence prior to the destruction of her home village were fading rapidly, as she turned increasingly feral in order to survive.
She recalled her name, Lia Greenleaf. She knew the elvish tongue, which these strangers spoke. She knew this smoking ruin should be her home. She wanted to believe it was all a bad dream, but she didn't know how to wake from it.
Vague impressions remained of a finely crafted archer's bow, prominently displayed. An elvish woman, with hair of the deepest gold, pale and trembling weakly while leaning on the case. Her father's deep baritone rumble, saying, "Fear not, my little Lia. Your mother is weary from delivering your brother, but she will be fine in a day or two. She just needs to rest now."
The sound of many footsteps, as most of the villagers gathered in the streets. Lia closing a window over her mother's bed, to protect her. "She needs rest now," Lia had whispered, echoing her father's words.
There had been a low rumble of conversation, but Lia had paid it no heed. Father would be home from hunting soon, he would explain everything then.
Suddenly it had gone quiet, too quiet ... then there was a shout followed swiftly by a loud, rhythmic pounding on the main gate.
Lia sped to her neighbor's house, where her friend lived, when she became nervous from the strange sounds. Her father had instructed her to seek help from them if anything was amiss.
But it appeared that nobody was home there. For the first time in her young life, she knew fear. Its icy claws tightened around her heart, and she fled back to her own home.
Lia had wakened her mother then. Ygrina had listened, and then motioned for silence. She picked up the tiny baby, and asked Lia for a walking stick.
"You remember where we hang our washed clothes to dry?" Her mother had asked in a soft, urgent whisper. "The little wall-door?" Lia had nodded, too frightened to speak. "We will go out there, and hide in the forest. This may be nothing, but ... " Ygrina had begun walking, gesturing for Lia to follow.
They had tried to sneak out of the village, but her mother had tripped, and cried out, just as there was a terrible crash from the main gate. "Run Legolia," Ygrina had whispered urgently, still cradling the newborn in her arms, "fast as the wind. Go out the wall-door, and hide nearby. I will come and find you."
Lia had run to the wall-door, a gate carefully made to look like part of the wall. Even the latch was a curious matter. Legolia had reached up and opened it unconsciously, her fingers knowing the latch of their own accord. So many times her mother's arms had been too full to operate the latch, that Lia had unlatched it for her. Even though she could barely reach the latch that was waist-height to an adult elf, she knew it reflexively.
Closing it softly behind her (also from ingrained habit), Lia had scurried to the familiar embrace of the forest. She had played there, many times, while her mother hung the wash on the friendly branches.
But there was no playing today. Lia knew how far to go into the forest, so she wouldn't be easily found. She'd played hide-and-seek here enough times to know the needed distance by instinct. She went to her favorite hiding place, where only her mother had ever found her.
Lia's hiding place was just deep enough into the forest that she had been unable to see or hear all of what happened to her home. There were the harsh barks of masculine voices shouting in an unknown tongue. There was the sound of stone and wood cracking.
She'd heard a scream, but the inarticulate wail was cut off so quickly that it could scarcely be recognized as a woman's, let alone whose. It didn't occur to Lia that it might have been her mother. Not long after the swiftly silenced scream, the flames had begun.
Lia rushed toward her home even as the pillagers had mounted up and had begun to ride away. Fortunately, for her, they'd missed seeing or hearing her in the sounds of the greedy flames claiming what had been a peaceful village only an hour before.
She had seen her father return, swathed in his hunting clothes. He wrapped his cloak around her, and told her to wait there. He would attempt to learn what had happened.
That was many suns ago, yet her father had not returned. Nor had her mother or the other villagers been seen. Only these strange elves that came with the sunrise.
"It's unlikely that anyone survived that," the leader said sorrowfully. "But we should look anyhow. Maybe some escaped before their enemy got in."
He gave a hand signal, and all dismounted. Each was tensely alert, as if he expected to be attacked by whatever force had destroyed the moderately-sized village.
Ash was plentiful from the village to the bush that was young Legolia's current refuge. As the riders walked about, seeking signs, they stirred up small clouds of ash. Lia felt the itch and tickle growing in her nose and throat. She pinched her nose shut, to prevent making the sound of a sneeze.
But the treacherous tickle kept growing in her throat as the light tread of the elvish horsemen probed the edges of the ruin. They were hoping to find signs of what had befallen the villagers, they had scarcely dared hope to find a survivor.
Lia's body refused to be denied release. The small sound, quickly muffled, snapped two arrows to bowstrings as the two nearest swung her direction. Fortunately, they did not fire.
"Sir!" one shouted. The leader, distinguishable only by the finer fabrics and embroidery of his clothing, hurried over as one of her discoverers began reaching for her. "Worry not, small one, we mean you no harm."
Lia struggled, protesting "No! Mother said I must wait here, she will find me! And Father went to find her, he will be back soon!" Her father's hood fell back, revealing her singed hair and delicate but sharply-pointed ears.
One of the elves abruptly lowered his bow and turned his back, covering his face with his hand. His shoulders shook.
Her benevolent captor soothed little Lia, calming her with tone of voice and gentle words. Then he asked, "Have you looked for her, small one? How many suns have crossed the sky since the fire began?"
Lia's bedraggled clothing, and the burns on her hands and feet, mostly answered his question. "Many suns. I looked for her, but that doesn't mean she won't find me! My mother never lies!" But she was beginning to sob, for she feared that what he was suggesting might be true.
"So the rumors were true. There were elves here." The leader spoke flatly. "If only we'd learned of this village sooner! But alas, it seems knowledge often comes too late." He heaved a great sigh, and was silent.
"What would you have us do?" asked Lia's gentle captor.
"Search for further signs. If we find no others, we will take her the long journey home with us. 'Twould be beyond cruel to leave her here alone," he decided. "She cannot be more than 6 summers old."
Murmurs of agreement answered their leader's words.
They searched for two days. Although the only corpse found in the village was that of a newborn infant, they found no sign of the other villagers. So when they abandoned their search, they bundled up young Lia and took her back to their home city with them.
