Private Tales Beware the Bad Fae

[Alistair Wren]

It had been a month into Alistair's exile.

With his big, string bag around his shoulder, he trudged through the undergrowth of a forest just west of Alliria. That was the only thing he knew about where he was.

"I must be near Falwood by now," he thought as he shoved the arm of a tree out the way.

Mud tainted his once pure features. Rings of black surrounded his eyes, which stared lifelessly into the distance. His robes were torn, and stubble budded on his cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time he had true rest.

He had a run-in with a group of Imperial guards while passing Vel Anir, and he fled, then got himself lost in the process. His main concern wasn't so much the college, although they had their eye on him as well, it was passing through Imperial territory. He needed to get to the Spine and find Comet, then continue his training.

Hauling the bag up his shoulder, he raised a hand and ran shoved matted hair out his eyes. Evening had fallen by now, and the warm of the afternoon had been overtaken by a layer of dew. Fireflies brightened the darkness, the glow of their tails lighting the undergrowth sparsely. As Alistair walked, his ears picked up the rush of a stream and he followed it to a clearing. The smell of moss hung on the air and brought a refreshing change to his nose. For so long had he been surrounded by the filth of battle, he welcomed the smell of grass, of water and chill breadth of the night air.

Alistair wrapped his robes around him and pressed on. The rush of water became louder and revealed it's source, a waterfall tumbling into a lake. Hues of dark blue and green melded, brightened by glowing mushrooms and fireflies. Pink, green and blue moss covered moss and softened the canopy.

Alistair took in a long breath, relaxed his shoulders and sighed. He pulled off his bag and set it by a rock, then slipped into the bushed, relieved himself and washed his face in the lake. He was filthy and needed a bath, and this looked like a good place. He picked up sticks, gathered them in a bundle and grabbed two stones, then struck them together until was able to get a fire going. He was hungry and wanted to have dinner first, then would see about taking a bath. He sat beside the fire and warmed his hands, eyelids lowering as he mused on his situation.

Whispers stirred within the trees. A cackle, muted by the rush of the waterfall, crept by his ear. He repressed his nerves and attributed it to the paranoia he had earned from being hunted along his journey, but couldn't repress the lingering feeling that he was being watched.

Seated on the grass, he arched his neck back and took in the air, when a glimmer of light caught his eye. There was a rustle, and his head spun to the side.