Two small hands broke the lake's cool surface as they splashed about, cleaning themselves and the dark, slender forearms to which they were attached. The hand's owner then gently cupped the water and tossed a bit on her face, rubbing away the dust that had accumulated on her angular, yet still childish face.
“Shree!” bellowed a man's voice from a few dozen meters away at the campsite. “Food's done, hurry up and come eat!”
“Coming, Papa,” Shree answered as she leapt to her feet and rushed over with the vigor and energy that only children can muster. Her father sat next to the fire, already slicing the meat with his razor sharp dagger into a pair of tin plates. He offered her a fork and a plate as she settled down with her canteen in hand. They toasted one another with their canteens as had become customary and began to eat in silence.
Shree snuck a few quick looks up to her father from her plate as she ate. His long brown hair with a tint of red framed the aging face, with a surprisingly well kept goatee obfuscating a good portion of his exact age. In fact, even she was unsure of it, ignorant even of his birthday, as they only seemed to celebrate her own. By last count she'd turned sixteen as of a few months prior, so she assumed he must be well into his thirties or maybe even his forties. She let her eyes wander down to his side, where lay the odd black and white checkered shield he always kept close which matched the same on his tabard. The tabard covered intricate armor with numerous runes and designs she liked to trace with her eyes when she could not sleep. Her musings were interrupted with a single look from the eating warrior to which she responded by quickly looking back to her food and hastily cramming several chunks of meat into her mouth.
Her father sighed and shook it his head, motioning with his eating utensil towards her. “You should go take care of the horse then get ready for bed when you're finished, we still have a long ways to go tomorrow.”
“Yes, Papa” she said as she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, having eaten her fill, and stood, moving over to the horse feed and grooming supplies. Her father watched her leave, then continued to eat slowly, his attention turning to the fire at which he found himself staring absently.
* * *
Amidst the flames of a burning village a single child stood crying, his parents dead, his entire village put to the torch. Human bodies lay scattered about on the ground along with their blood, the sea briefly punctuated by those of a few dark elves. A comforting hand settled down on the youngling's shoulder, causing him to jump a bit and look up to see a tall, muscular man with a large ax on his shoulder. The woodsman smiled down and tussled the boy's hair a little
“It'll be okay, crybaby, you parents are with the gods now.” he said as he firmly took the boy's hand and pulled him along, trying to bring him away from the scene.
The boy witlessly followed him along not sure what else to do but to trust the strange, and honestly glad to have someone to tell him what to do once more. He was unconscious of the passing of time, still choking on the tears falling from his face, but they traveled a fair distance to the woodsman's home, from which the burning village was but a small pillar of smoke in the distance.
Two young children rushed forward as they approached, both with hopeful looks in their eyes. The child in tow recognized them as having been from his village as well, but knew little more than their names and that they were brother and sister. The woodsman sadly shook his head and the two looked crestfallen as he walked past, releasing his grip and opening his rickety door, motioning the children to follow.
The brother looked to the newcomer and squinted a bit before asking, “You're Hian, right?”
Hian nodded a bit and offered them the best smile he could muster, bowing politely, “And you two are Lars and Orisa...?”
Lars nodded emphatically and took his hand shaking it desperately, tear still in his eyes, “Good to meet you.”
A soft cough and they looked up to the woodsman who stood in the doorway with a half smile and a raised eyebrow to which the children responded by scampering up to and past him into the cottage. The woodsman shut the door and motioned towards the dining table before retreating into kitchen. A few soft scrapes later and the children were seated, clearly not sure what to say to one another, most of their usual topics lost to thoughts of their now dead families. Once more the woodsman appeared bearing mugs full of fresh water and bowls filled with a simple stew. The children found themselves utterly famished and greedily devoured their food.
After they had eaten their fill the woodsman paused his eating to look at them. “You all must be very tired now, you should get some rest. I'm afraid my bed will only fit two of you, but I have a bit of straw next to it that should work just fine.” The children were to drowsy and shell-shocked to even thank him as they wandered to the room he indicated. Oddly enough, they all found themselves sleeping cuddled together in a ball on the floor that night.