Fall year 1: Turn 2

Shadimon shrugged his armor on, shifting his wings to settle the straps running down his back. The mottled blue and grey leather bore many carefully mended scars, and one of the panels was clearly newer than the rest. It was almost meditative, going through the motions again.

Their armor was minimal; it had to be, for them to be able to fly with it. A light leather breastplate and pauldrons protected their torso, but only from the front. Shadimon grimaced, If anyone is behind us, we already have bigger problems. Bracers and greaves protected the limbs. Pouches strapped to waist and thigh held a variety of possible weapons; Shadimon favored a net and bolas, in addition to the standard javelins. Either was extremely effective against another flier, and even the enormous Lycan bats they’d fought against were susceptible to a long fall and a hard landing.

Winged elf fighters had been rare before the War. They as a culture tended toward diplomacy and peace, but hunting at high speeds through dense forest had given them speed and agility that the larger Lycans just couldn’t match. Harriers were the product of the War; nothing like them had existed before, but, if Shadimon had his way, they wouldn’t fade with time.

He paused, running a strap through his hands. He had started the War as just a ranger in their home forest. Though he didn’t remember a time before the Lycans, he did remember when the Empire’s restrictions started strangling the region. All it had taken was one young elf raising a fuss in the wrong place at the wrong time, and one Lycan guard deciding that lethal force was the proper response to adolescent bluster. The escalation had been inevitable.

We still didn’t know then just what they were willing to do.

It had never even occurred to any of the winged elves that the Lycans would take a full scorched-earth approach. The Ulanya forest had been growing for tens of thousands of years, and there was nothing like it anywhere in the world. The Lycans burned it down, with the winged elves in it, and razed the ground it stood on.

Leather creaked in Shadimon’s hand. He had been one of the rangers who saw them coming, who saw the smoke. As horrific as it was, it hadn’t been an utter slaughter. Many of the winged elves had been retreating, out of the forest and further into the wilds, linking up with other discontented groups. But, while many of the people had escaped, too many had died, and the loss of the forest was a devastating blow.

Shadimon tightened the last straps and shouldered a light quiver of javelins. He dearly hoped none of this was needed except as a reassurance, but he had not brought his people to this point only for them to lose a home again.

“Not Lycans, not monsters, and not magic. We found hoofprints, but otherwise just normal footprints. All of them were killed by normal weapons. It was, most likely, either bandits or another group of refugees.” Dhakamari spread the maps and notes out on the table. “As far as we can tell, nothing but animals have been there since the attack, and the attack happened at least five years ago. It’s quiet, but not too quiet, if you know what I mean.”

“So it’s safe?” Baijani asked.

“Unless something new comes into the area, yes.” He smiled, “And we’ll keep up patrols to make sure we know if that happens.”

Baijani looked over at Shadimon, her gold eyes sharp and intense against her dark skin. He nodded once, and she breathed out and inclined her head before turning to leave.

At Dhakamari’s quizzical look, Shadimon twitched his feathers to settle them, “She wants to take care of the dead.”

“Ahh...We’ll keep watch.”

“We’ve named the village,” Anasatri declared, coming up to where Shadimon was perched on the clifftop.

Shadimon blinked, “I...see. And what are we calling it?”

“Asavardi. No one’s sure who started it, but after a few days everyone was using it.” She grinned, “So I’m telling you so it becomes official.”

He smiled, “I like it. Asavardi it is.”

While Shadimon spent his days out on patrol with the rest of the Harriers, the rest of the elves threw themselves into building with renewed vigor. They were still nervous, but as the days passed uneventfully while the Harriers and rangers stayed on patrol, some of the tension eased. Spaces further away from the canyons had been set aside for farms, but during the evening meals, Shadimon overheard excited talk about gardens.

“Oh yes,” Anasatri said when he asked. “Several people got to talking, and they want to make the walls more green. There are already ledges with plants growing on them, and they want to expand those and start actually planting things wherever they can. Tassimir suggested placing greenery to look like a canopy and sculpting the cliff into tree trunks. The walkways can be made to look like branches, and we can have our homes in the ‘trees’ like we used to! We can carry the plants all the way down to the canyon floor so there’s proper undergrowth. And of course most of these plants would be edible as well as decorative.”

Shadimon felt his eyebrows going higher and higher, and worked to keep his ears from flicking down. “That’s...extremely ambitious.”

“Of course! As things settle and we start improving the houses, well, caves, but eventually houses, we can start on really going into that. But for now, even just trying to see if it’s possible to get things to grow there is good to know.”

“I’m planning to ask the dark elves for advice and maybe the loan of some builders when we go back to the fort this summer. Hopefully they’ll have had time to settle too and can spare us a few people.”

“That’s a good idea. We’ve got the artistic part down, but stone doesn’t act the way we’re used to, and we can’t really be sure of what areas are safe and stable. We’ll run out of big enough caves eventually. Baijani has been busy out at that burned village, by the way.”

“She’d told me she was going, but I don’t know her actual plans.”

Anasatri took a drink; with the river, water was one thing they had no concerns about. “She rounded up a handful of volunteers, and they’re going to bury the bodies. That seems to be what a lot of ground-bound do.” Her wings shivered, “I wouldn’t like it, myself. But, from what I’ve heard, a lot of them find our way uncomfortable.”

“And not practical, at this point. So they’re going to bury them.”

“Individually. Baijani said we’ve had too much of mass graves.”

“She’s right. What else?”

“They’re not going to try to save the buildings. They’re mostly burned up, and it’s too much of a reminder. She has a few people plotting ideas for a formal memorial, but I don’t know the details.” She played with one of her bracelets, “It’s going to take a long time though. There aren’t many volunteers.”

“That may change as time goes on. Things are quiet. The rangers haven’t found anything interesting, and we haven’t found anything to fight, and word of that has gone around. People know what Baijani is up to?”

“Sure. I’m surprised you hadn’t heard more detail already.”

“I’ve been a little busy,” Shadimon said dryly. “We don’t gossip much on patrol.”

“No gossip! That must get boring!”

Shadimon smiled, but it was slight.

Anasatri grimaced and put her hand on his wrist, “Ah, not for joking, sorry Shadi.”

“No harm. Tell me what you’ve heard from our academics. I might have a new project for them.

The scouts and Harriers stayed active and continued to find no danger. As word spread, people slowly started trickling over to the destroyed settlement to help in the work. Shadimon went, of course, and noticed other principles of the village rotating through as well. Baijani had it as well-organized as possible, but it was still back-breaking and heartbreaking work.

Many of the bodies had been scavenged by local animals, so they mostly had to guess on which bones went with which. They did the best they could, laying the charred bones on blankets or tarps to be carried to where graves were being dug. Everyone, even the elves who couldn’t bring themselves to help with the reclamation, offered feathers or jewelry, or even simple pendants to mark the graves.

As each building was cleared, other teams started the process of dismantling them. Most of them were rough-cut wood, and all were badly damaged. The charred wood was taken to be turned into ash compost for the communal farms, and what little remained was used for grave markers.

While on patrol, the rangers brought back carefully-harvested darkwood saplings to be transplanted to the memorial site. Once the larger trees were safely established, they could bring in smaller plants. Some remaining wood was fashioned into rough benches, and a temporary plaque was carved, simply naming the place ‘The Grove’.