The entire village had gathered to see them off, the captains, the weary but smiling soldiers, and the villagers who had come to care for their unexpected elven guests. Even the children stood in line, wide-eyed, marveling at the elegant figures preparing to depart.
The wind was gentle that morning. Leaves rustled softly in the trees. A feeling hung in the air, bittersweet, suspended.
Then, without warning, a figure stepped forward.
Sylra.
Her silver hair shimmered beneath the sunlight, but it was her eyes that caught Lumberling's attention first. Gone was the dull glaze that had haunted her gaze since the day he pulled her half-dead from Earl Cedric. Now, faint but steady, there was clarity.
He barely recognized the woman before him, no longer a husk, but a flicker of someone healing.
She stopped before him and bowed her head low.
"Thank you… for saving me."
