War, blood, trees and leaves [Skiyn and onelitre]

[skiyn]

[prologue]

The southern part of the forests were always a difficult place to live. As a matter of fact - anywhere south of the River Dale proved problematic to the unfortunate southern dwellers of both the past and the present. Several clans shared the southern forests, and they were all just as bad as each other.

The Gods were apparently 'grateful' for this, then again, they were grateful for most things - it just made it easier for common folk to understand. Apparently.

''The Gods send good word for today my brightest flower, the grass glows green in the southern fields'' A soft voice awoke her, it was her mother - just like she was the day she was born, soft voiced - with sharp features and a soft complexion. Her father had one of those faces - but more like it was made from bark of an oak, and a stout voice - like a boar, but worse.

Her father however happened to be the chieftain of the Grind Clan (pronounced gri-end). Her father was also a bastard, who made terrible deals - like the time he sold his own mother for hunting rights in the Green Elms - this time he was selling off his daughter - for peace, 'peace', what a joke. Peace with the Fox Hunters, was like peace with a hornets nest - peace would of been the last thing on his mind, the mere suggestion that peace would be a theme in this mans mind - would be laughable.

Tears began to run down her face, the young flower was only 15, and was about to be enticed with a complete stranger, who could of been a savage, a monster or worse - like her father. She made the most of her mothers warmth for what could be the last time.

 

[onelitrejuicebox]

The people were predictably slow to wake in the aftermath of yesterday's celebration which had stretched on long into the night, sluggish like smoke to roll in across the horizon- the annual festival in which Fox Hunter tribe celebrated the sun reaching its highest point in the sky. Though the chieftain's son had been one of the earlier members to retire to his tent - admittedly not to sleep - the unusually sharp awareness and clarity of his surroundings kindled by looking into the fires, the memory of the crackling heat caressing his skin, had lingered on beyond the passing of the moon and he was grateful.

Today, Father had said, was an important day in negotiations with a nearby tribe - the Grind Clan; perhaps not their bitterest of enemies in recent times within the close proximity, though their leader was a notoriously ruthless, opportunistic sort and a dangerous enemy. Though the two were not directly at odds for now, the temporary truce was fragile and not to be trusted. There was much behind the scenes the young man knew his father and the tribal elders kept from him, and his own impetuous, forceful nature driving him to find answers had only been met with scorn and a harsh reprimand. He was told only what it was felt he /needed/ to know - that they were to go to the Grind Clan camp, meet with the leader and settle terms for a new agreement that would forge an alliance between the two groups. Such things were not unheard among the nearby clans with the constant shift in power and politics, he supposed.

After a simple, quiet breakfast the young man barely acknowledged or remembered eating, the travelling entourage met by the entrance of the camp, facing South into the forest and departed shortly after on a journey expected to take no more than a few hours on foot.

 

[skiyn]

The grinders they called themselves (gri-eenders) they liked their meat hot, and their women - warm.

A bunch of soldiers escorted the daughter and her father to the agreed meeting spot where they could negotiate under terms. It was held at the Hill Stone amongst one of the many clearings in this neck of the woods. This was a sacred place where the folk respected the significance of this symbolism and kept the peace - sometimes.

''*cough* Wheree'in the hell are those DAMNED fat bellied hunters?!'' The chieftain Olaf spat out, holding his daughter tight as if she were a prisoner. She squirmed a little, trying her best to keep in the tears, for her father was known to attempt to 'smack out' the emotions that held people back from what they wanted in life.

They appeared suddenly out of the woods, fox pelts, bows, and plenty of dogs that scattered, barked and darted across the fields to greet any prey that dared step in their wraith. Olaf chuffed a little, his demeanor and stance giving away his drunken state. The fox hunters took their time up the hill, they were in no rush to settle terms, they all knew the nature of this deal - and they also knew a weakness in Olaf.

His daughter - Really was a young delicate, pretty faced girl, Delien - 'Young Flower' - She hardly spoke a word to anyone other than her mother, and since she was born she was simply another commodity that could be traded in great value by her father. She'd dreamed of ending his life, but never quite had the psychological or physical strength to even consider it, and besides life wouldn't of gotten any better without the protection of being daughter of the Chieftain. And there she was, standing on top of the stone displayed to the chieftain of the Fox tribe and his son - affairs like this usually ended with the vicious attempts of planting a seed, or even the practice of abuse/murder to display a certain devaluation on the agreed terms - usually ending up in war, it was all very silly really - and brutal.