All she could hear was her own heart. Its beating had filled her ears since the crabbed elders spoke their edict. She could walk the elves walk, and perhaps live or perhaps die, or the villagers would stone her to death where she stood. She walked. Into the wildwood on midsummer day. And as she went the trees whispered her name in a language no human could understand.
Her destiny dropped from the mightiest oak and stood in her path. His eyes were as blue as summer skies and he spoke not a word.
But she took his hand anyway.
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Short and sweet, Evocative, to be cast out, as one door closes another opens. The woods hold life in its branches, the canopy sings, of summers song and autumnal silence.
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