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Father and the Ancient Wood
This story takes place in between the two parts of this thread's second post
The tow-headed girl's arms hung limply over the side of the wagon. Eyes tired and dry--lids squinting tight against that sand-blasting wind of Northern Thanalan. The scraping sound of dirt and grit slashing against the bare wood frame of the wagon added an accompaniment to the never ceasing grind of heavy wooden wheels against the deep ruts of the path.Â
Her eyes had opened wide upon the sight of the high bridge, standing as it does athwart a mighty ravine carved by the power of an ancient river. She had stood astounded at the sight of those high standing statues watching the way; the ruins of a civilization much older than their own. She remembered them: it was the second time she had gazed upon these wonders with her own eyes. They had passed this way years before in the other direction, possessed of a cart laden with the family treasures and heavy heart's filled with worry and hope at the start of their exile.
They had long since lost such treasure. They were long since bereft of worry. Or of much hope. Their parents tried to excite them with the promise of a new home: but it is one they had heard so many times before. Where once had been exiles of means with a real hope of settling down, now they were little more than vagabonds. Wounds to pride had become wounds that cut far deeper. The tow-headed girl glanced to her right, up toward father. At his long unkempt beard. The gray strands of scraggly hair. The bare, worn linen upon his shoulder. Torn, and in places barely held together by the thread-work of loving repair.Â
She looked upon him with eyes too young to fully comprehend, but she remembered when he had not seemed so aged. In the fullness of his glory. The velvet cloak, the shining metal of armored plate upon his shoulders. The strength of the entire clan in the authority of his voice. The heart-lifting power of his smile and his laugh.  Â
Her lower lip pushed outward, covering her upper lip in an expression of incomprehension before she turned her eyes back to the roadside scenery. The trees were growing taller, stronger, and more ancient with every weary step of the draft chocobos. She faintly recalled the forest paths they had first crossed through in their flight from from the North. Those days were little more than a blur of bewilderment. She had been scarcely three years old, and all she knew was that the bad men had come, and their family would have to leave. She had always expected to go back: Kael, her biggest brother, assured her they would see their home once more.Â
Somewhere inside she knew they wouldn't, at least not on this trip. But the sight of such trees could not but stir her hope that they would retrace those first steps they had trod upon the path of refugees, and return to the loving, happy home she barely remembered.
The hour grew later as they passed through the last stretches of Thanalan, entering the deep forest. It had been almost a month since they had boarded the trading ship from a quay beneath the high white towers of Limsa Lomimnsa and their sparkling, pearlescent splendor. Children adapt so quickly, and she had become fully accustomed to the taste of salt-air, and the spray of sea water. Now she missed them, embarked upon an unwelcome voyage; having made yet another farewell in a young life filled with far too many.Â
The early autumn day held just a hint of crispness in its breeze; a relief from the dry overbearing sun of Thanalan. The trees grew taller yet. Their ancient boughs now reaching so far over-head they cast a fullness of shade across the well-trod path. She sat now with eyes transfixed. While the other three children squabbled and played, she simply watched the forest pass her by. Entranced by its lush green beauty. The bounty of thriving plants, the smell and taste of the forest air. The sight of the woodland's tiny animals bouncing and traipsing about their business.
She cast intrigued looks at the wary travelers who passed them by. She imagined the magical lives of such accomplished life-long woodsmen: Elezen, Hyur, and Miqo'te. Most of the travelers paid the family little heed beyond the cast of unwelcoming glares, but one friendly Elezen had walked alongside them for over an hour, enthralling the children with stories of the forest known as the Shroud. He told them of the ancient nature of the Wood, of the Elementals, and the dangers of Greenwrath.
The angle of the shafts of light filtering through leafy heights grew low; the light less intense as the sun grew weary and prepared for rest. The traveler at last left their company, with a word of parting advice: do not leave the road at night. Father's jaw tensed. Her eyes opened wide in wonder. The Elezen trod off with one last wave.
Beneath those night-time trees, seeming so tall they must graze the starry canopy of the heavens above, the tow-headed girl's fascination grew to worry, and worry to fear. The woods were alive with shapes, shadows and sounds: at once alluring and haunting. She sat by her father for comfort. They had lit only the barest of fires, enough to warm water for a meager tea. The waning embers proved no more illumination than the starlight above. He put his arm around her, and held her close. She leaned her head into his body. He did not say anything. He hadn't had to. The sound of his slow, steady breathing was comfort enough. The safety of his embrace would keep the Elementals away. Greenwrath, whatever it was, could be no match for his hands. His voice. His love.
She closed her eyes. She breathed softly. Easier. Easier. She slept. He would hold her until the sun rose the next day. He would do whatever it took. He would do anything. The children were all that was left. Their future was his. Wasn't it the 'why' of everything? To Ishgard. To Ishgard, they would go. A home at last. A home for them, for he could never know one again.
She dreamed of forest green and lush. Of running beneath the canopy, and of bounding across deep forest paths. She dreamed of the full light of the moon. Of fairy dust, spring flowers, and chill forest mists. She dreamed of a she-wolf beneath the shade of trees; running at full stride. She was the very essence of a freedom the girl had never known. In her sleep she heard the howl of the Shroud, and would forever know its silence.Â
It was a dream she would dream again. Again, and again. Once in a land, yet unimagined. Beneath tall towers that would dwarf the trees. Beneath spires of cold stone bereft of warm seasalt-spray. Beneath the weight of history, and the burdens of name. Within storied walls that clung fast to their wards. Where freedom was naught but a dream of the wide open forest she had passed through once before.
In those distant days when father's embrace would no longer be enough. When she would dream of so much more. Of piney forest air. Of the sound of leaves in free wind. Of the feel of a forest path beneath her feet. Of the howl of the Shroud beneath the full light of the moon.
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