The lone woman slipped furtively through the forest, her feet somehow soundless in spite of the layers of leaves and brush on the forest floor. Her shoulders ached, her legs trembled, and her arms clutched numbly at the tiny, blanket-wrapped infant she carried. Her face was stiff from dried tears, and the summer breeze stung her scratchy, still-watering eyes. Her side throbbed, but most painful of all was the ache in her heart as she fled from her home, her dying brother's scream still ringing in her pointed ears.
She stumbled, and finally paused in her headlong flight. She found a hollow near the base of a tree that was relatively dry and settled down for a short rest, shaking from an exhaustion that was both physical and emotional. Her eyes, a silver-flecked blue, roved the forest restlessly as she laid her precious son in her lap.
The sleep spell his father had cast still held the elven child. His mother's slender fingers probed carefully for a pulse, and she was relieved when she found it. Any kind of charm spell was dangerous when used on a child, but the need for silence had been absolute. The baby's color was good and his breathing was normal, allowing his mother a measure of relief.
Her relief was short-lived, however. Alone, idle, and exhausted, she had no further defense against the memory of what she fled from. Despair welled in her heart, joining the pain and sharp grief that even her headlong flight had not let her outrun. She drew her child to her chest as fresh tears spilled. He was the only family that remained to her, and knowing the danger they both still faced, the warmth of his small and helpless body was very little comfort indeed. Alone in the shadow of early dawn, beneath the trees whose deep roots gripped the land she had until this night been heir to, the last surviving member of Sylvana's royal house curled into a bed of leaves and brush, trying to muster the courage to face the hopeless dawn.