Mela ran through the village with her feet quiet on the dark earth that wound between houses built directly into the trunks of massive ancient trees, the structures seamlessly blending with the living wood in a way that made them nearly invisible to outsiders. She ran up a ramp that spiraled around a thick trunk and pushed open a simple wooden door, her breath coming fast from the urgency of what she'd seen.
"Mother!" she called out, her voice sharp with importance.
An older dark elf looked up from the table where she was grinding herbs with a stone pestle, her movements pausing mid-motion. Her skin was the rich color of deep soil after rain, and her white hair was braided with dark green leaves that seemed to grow directly from the strands like living ornaments. Her face was lined with age and wisdom and the weight of leading her people through countless dangers.
"What is it, Mela?" she asked, her voice calm despite her daughter's obvious agitation. "Calm yourself."
