Belenus crouched amongst the ferns, toying with the fletching on a dart. His fingers may have fidgeted aimlessly, but his mind worked with rare focus, sifting through the mire of messages found in the prophecy of the Withered Ones. He had a sister, born of a human woman. She was as much his sister just as Agrona was, and just as much an elf. Elves don’t deal in halves, a sibling was a sibling, a half-elf was still one of the gwerinoedd[1]. That was just the way it was.
 
The second part of their message was not so simple. Was he charged with seeking her out? Destiny was surely involved here, but was it her destiny or were he and she intertwined? He had asked the ghastly prophets for clarification. Not only had they refused to answer (as was their way), but he was sure to be punished for his impertinence.
 
He stood. The thrush feathers on the dart weren‘t going to get any straighter. The bore of his blowpipe was clean and smooth and his sapstone [2] daggers were honed to perfection. He resolved to return to his village and drink greatly of mead. Perhaps Tala would send him a wild dreaming[3] and these questions would be resolved. Belenus grinned. It was a good plan, but as he climbed the nearest pine and embarked upon the bough-road, he couldn‘t help but wonder if he’d just tripped upon the roots of the life tree[4].
 
[1]The name the elves use for people of their race. Often adopted by other races to refer to the elven nations.
[2]An incredibly hard ceramic material crafted by mixing mixing a specific tree resin with clay, followed by firing in a kiln. Saptone goods are available on markets worldwide, but the secret of its composition is protected by the elves unto the death.
[3]Prophetic dreams sent to one who has become comatose after imbibing mead, especially mead spiced with hallucinogenic fern spores.
[4]Cynical elven saying for one who unwillingly encounters their destiny.