Vaelith Rúnvalla changes with the seasons.... Brigitte has watched it do this enough times now to know what to expect, the way the city breathes differently in spring, the way the light sits in the trees, the way the whole place seems to shine after a long winter. She has been making this travel through the forests for four or five years and it still takes her breath away when Vaelith Rúnvalla appears through the treeline...

Back then... Brigitte was softer at the edges than she will later become. Both arms move freely. The vines that curl along her skin are quieter here, like they remember where they are...

A new statue stands in the center of the settlement. She stops in front of it without planning to. The Dragonlord Sylvirix she recognizes immediately — the guardian, the protector, bark and scale and that small familiar spark of light in the open claw.

But there is someone else on the shoulder. Small, two-legged, carrying a book and pointing into a distance that the statue seems to be looking toward. A fox-like boy, or something like one. She checks the base for a plaque. Nothing.

She looks in the direction the figure is pointing. The settlement's great seasonal tree stands there in full spring bloom, white and luminous... She looks back at the statue. It isn't pointing at the tree exactly. It isn't pointing at anything she can name.

She lets it go and moves on..

Sylaraë, an arcane woodcrafter is working when Brigitte passes through. Currently bent over a bow with the focused stillness of someone mid-incantation, placing small gem-inlays along the edge while singing something low and precise. The beads settle into the wood one by one as the song guides them. Brigitte watches from the doorway until the incantation finishes.

"That really is something..."

Sylaraë looks up. A gift for a human noble. Things have been troublesome. We want to show good favor. They explain that the human noble's relationship with hunting — that they do it properly, with respect, the way it should be done.

"Everything is part of a cycle. Those who treat it with respect, I treat with respect as well."

Sylaraë asks what brings her here today, but... Sylaraë already knows.

"I've seen you two, wander.... "

They mention that the Elderbloom might know where Ysildea is, Brigitte says goodbye and then they turn back to the bow, and the song starts again, and Brigitte takes her leave.

...
...
...

The palace is always stunning in spring. The smaller tree in front of it moves in water that flows on its own, white leaves drifting without wind. Brigitte feels it before she reaches it — the pulse, the deep interconnected heartbeat of the place reaching out to meet the vines on her arms. She bends down and touches the bark for a moment, eyes closed.

Everything is connected. She can feel the path she walked to get here. She can feel her own home, distant and faint, like a thread pulled taut. When she opens her eyes, Elderbloom Ylvaedril is already standing beside her.

The Elderbloom wears a pink coat of blossoming leaves, a headpiece that echoes antlers or a stag — something that carries weight without announcing it. A floating book drifts above her hand with a red feather that moves on its own. She looks at Brigitte with the expression of someone who has seen everything and found most of it interesting.

"Oh, sorry, I didn't see you there."

One of the guards near the palace entrance almost visibly winces. The elder's expression doesn't change. There is, perhaps, the very slight suggestion of amusement somewhere in it.

Brigitte's and the Elderbloom's relationship is still finding its shape... Brigitte is comfortable enough with Ysildea to forget herself, but then finds herself standing in front of Ysildea's mentor saying something casual to a Luminary who is effectively a queen...

But Ylvaedril doesn't correct her. She treats everyone the same with the particular dignity of someone who expects the same in return, but who has never needed to demand it...

Brigitte asks, eventually, if she could point her toward Ysildea. Ylvaedril says she is in the forest. She can find her herself if she likes, or she can ask for guidance. Brigitte says she will manage...

"Are you sure?"

"I'll just shout her name.."

"Perhaps you should not do that.. We wouldn't want to upset the trees, Brigitte."

A laugh escapes the Elderbloom before she can arrange her face. And the red feather moves too. A small thing, responding to the laughter.... and from somewhere near it comes a sound that could be a voice finding something funny. Brigitte notes this but says nothing...

...
...
...

She spends two hours looking.

The waterfall — No...

The valley overlook — No...

The little pond with the great tree beside it where the two of them have sat and listened to the water and talked about nothing important — No.

She walks the long way back through the familiar spots and finds only the forest being beautiful and unhelpful. The Elderbloom is stillwaiting at the tree when she returns, exactly where she left her, with a considerably larger grin.

"I realized I should have asked for directions..."

Ylvaedril holds her hand in front of her mouth, which does not entirely conceal that she did this on purpose. Then, graciously responded..

"I appreciate that you didn't enter the grounds without our blessing..."

"I would never do that."

"Extend your hand..."

The feather moves...

Beneath the trees where twilight calls…
Soft winds stir where shadow falls…
By leaf and flame, by fading gleam…
Step forth, Legend. Live your dream.

A large luminous presence — Covered in leaves, a great bow, along with a silly hat. The sense of something that is not quite real and not quite not. He doesn't speak. He doesn't need to. He gestures and she follows, and there is something calm about walking behind him that has nothing to do with words.

He fades when she sees her.

Ysildea is sitting near a large rock in the grove, sketch-ink in hand, working on something large and careful. She hasn't looked up, but Brigitte can tell from the slight change in her posture that she's been sensed. Brigitte stops thirty feet away and just looks.

The painting is a fox man...? Large, walking on two legs, looking out over a field. A headpiece, or possibly horns. The figure carries itself with intention. Brigitte stands there and looks at it and then looks at the artist, the lily of the valley in her hair, the ink-stained fingers moving with the patience of someone who has all the time in the world...

She finishes the last line and turns.

"I don't think I've ever seen a two-legged fox in my life. And today I've seen two."

Brigitte reaches out her hands. When Ysildea takes them, the pulse is immediate — the gemstones glow faintly, one of the flowers nearby reinvigorates itself, and it feels right in the particular way that very few things do. Like the forest recognizing something.

"I think I dreamed about them... They remind me of the stories the Elderbloom tells....
I wonder if they might be my partner. Or something else entirely."

"Is it a headpiece or are they horns?"

"I'm not entirely sure."

"Maybe in due time you can ask."

...
...
...

She had brought Brigitte's favorite. Two bowls appear from a small basket, conjured onto a transfigured rock that serves as a table. Potato stew — not something the Elderbloom would recognize as proper food, not something you'd find in the palace kitchens...

Something they discovered together at a human settlement further out, from a stall that fried them in a big pot with salt and a very aggressive amount of cheese.

I'm so busy with my training... I hope we can still have these moments...

Ysildea says, and there is something in the way she says it that doesn't quite land as casual.
A worry underneath the warmth. Brigitte hears it.

"You will have plenty of food, plenty of people, plans to organize.
You probably won't have time to go into the forest and eat a human potato stew."

"A... Are you saying we won't be meeting as often?"

"I will always make time for you. "

Ysildea reaches out and takes her hand... But then Brigitte notices the cut on her hand.
She has a shallow gash across it. Not a painting injury...

Ysildea tells that she hurt herself when she went to the human town... A farmer's market, gathering tomatoes and potatoes — the farmers respectful as always, grateful for the visit. But there was a soldier there, traveling from the north, who didn't share that gratitude. He moved toward her with aggression. One of the farmers stepped between them, pushed her back, and she caught her hand on the corner of a wooden crate. The soldier was taken away. She didn't ask why he was angry.

"Have you told the Elderbloom?"

"If I did, she would only worry."

"Ysildea. I think you should..."

"I know. I'll think about it....
Shall we go to the flower fields?"

The valley is full of them. They sit there, just the two of them. Brigitte looks at her hair.

Didn't you have four flowers in there?

Ysildea reaches up. A gap where one used to be, lost somewhere on the walk.

"Let's conjure one."

She takes Brigitte's hands, both of them, and asks her to imagine a flower. Something specific — not just any Lily of the valley but a particular one. Brigitte closes her eyes and finds the image: soft pink, pale and small, petals curved like something sheltering.

"I can see what you're seeing. How you see the world... always calms my mind."

She opens her eyes. The flower sits in their joined hands, complete and unhurried. Ysildea lifts it toward Brigitte's hair instead of her own — tucks it near the branches there, taps it gently — and more begin to grow where it touches. Brigitte holds very still...

But then...

KA-BOOM!

An explosion, from somewhere further in the valley — distant but unmistakable, a violence in the air where there wasn't one before. Brigitte is already moving before she thinks about it, turning to put herself between Ysildea and the direction it came from...

To be continued...