The day the world burned
“The day the singing stopped,
The day the dancing died,
The day the Dales lost,
The day of Dragons pride,
A Knights hand stayed in hesitance,
The slice of retainers blade,
The loss of Elven breath,
The screams of culture slain,
The day a mother fought for love,
The day a daughter cried,
The day the shadow crept,
The day a child survived.”
Daleshamel breathed life into the Dales, the community thrived under the loving hands of Ghillanen and Seldarine, their wisdom imbued into the very rings the priests wore. Today was the day Delienn’s head was to return with news from outside, of what was happening throughout Verdantine proper. There had been whispers,
“They’re slaughtering everyone, another clan wiped from existence…”
“We’re backed into a corner”
“How can we hope to keep the beasts at bay?”
“Our numbers dwindle… Even the children.”
Berjac Delienn, a voice of reason and staunch believer in Seldarine and the purity of Elvenkind. He’d been gone a month or so in search of information, in search of survivors. A scout had arrived a day prior with news of his coming home, he’d found families fleeing from flames, members of the Tynee clan.
With this news it was Rozen who organised the village, a feast, homes to be prepared for refugees and her Beloved, to lead a hunt that would feed all. They shared a prayer that day, a prayer of forgiveness for needing to take more than Ghillanen could spare, a prayer to protect their home from the oncoming inferno, a prayer that their beloved Gwen grow big and strong and not suffer the agony that was befalling their kin.
Rozen tended to preparations in the village centre, gathering tables and chairs and fresh clothing for the newcomers. Gwen followed on her heels asking what was going on, questioning why they needed quite so many place settings. Rozen couldn’t help but feel her heart squeeze in her chest as her daughter trailed close to her with her blanket tightly clasped in her tiny hands. Such inquisitive eyes watching her every move.
As she felt the overwhelm building she settled Gwen into one of the seats with a book and asked her to try reading the words. It had been a surprise how quickly Gwen had picked up letters and their sounds, putting them together followed soon after. She was ahead of her peers, but her curiosity kept her from focusing and often had Rozen and Rowan floundering to find the right answers to some of her more poignant questions.
Rozen watched Gwen from the corner of her eye as she organised everyone around her, she could see how like her she looked, her eyes, her nose, her hair. But that smile? All Rowan. Her thoughts wandered to her husband, sent off on a hunt alongside a handful of others, husbands, wives, brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers all working alongside each other. So much family in one place, a blend of heritage thriving in one village. Soon to grow, to expand, to welcome.
Her heart aches for all that is lost, but her warmth grows as she knows they’re offering solace to those who still breathe. She knows they’ll integrate with everyone and their traditions will double and melt into something new. While much is lost, there is everything still left to gain.
It’s when she first hears the screams, when the crackle of flames and clang of swords echoes through the village hall, when blood begins to pool onto the dirt and ash clouds her eyes. It is then that hope begins to falter, that the thoughts that had been driving her die in her chest.
She can hear Gwen behind her, coughing and screaming, a pain unlike any she’d heard before coming from someone so precious. An inferno had erupted into the hall, it had all but engulfed her daughter, the fire lapping at her skin, reducing the ring Rowan had made her to nothing but ash and molten flesh.
Rozen felt fear coursing through her, fear for herself, her kin, her husband, but above all else, fear for her child. Her body moved purely on instinct as she grabbed Gwen’s hand. She gripped the singed blanket and pressed it over her mouth,
“Gwen baby, keep the blanket over your mouth and your eyes on me…”
Then she ran. She ran as fast as their legs would allow, she ran past friends, family, past homes she’d known all her life. She ran even as her kin reached for her, begging for her aid. She ran even as she felt Gwen’s legs giving out behind her. Then she stopped. It wasn’t her will to cease the running. It was something else. The last thing Rozen remembered? Heartbreak. Then shadow.