Constructive criticism please. Hope you enjoy this, just like she does.
Chapter 3:
She awoke to the rich scent of venison slowly cooked over a fire wafting through her door. She rose and looked out the window. The spring morning brought a happy feeling in her, but was tarnished as she saw soldiers march into the center of the village. She ran down in a panic to the dining room, but was calmed down by her father.
"It's not you and Ferrow; they're leaving." her father explained.
"Wait. You know about the incident in the forest?", she started again.
"Yes. Kerth told me about it. So his son saved you. I told him I was supposed to ask a hunter to teach you about the bow, but he ofered to do it since he had so much free time, or so he said. But, if you're going to accept, you're gonna have to help at the apothecary. Nothing much, just light work."
The panic that earlier filled her was slowly being replaced by the excitement she had felt last night.
She smiled and consented.
He sneaked into the edge of the village square. Quite hard to do with what he wore. He had abandoned his cloak for a grey tunic that had a hood, grey leggings, and a dagger in the folds of his garment. The soldiers were leaving and the townsfolk were quite happy, but he had to find out, and his uncle hadn't left word. The loud tramp of metal boots didn't diminish his hearing of his surroundings, but he felt something behind him. He couldn't move; desperation graced him as he twisted his wrist and to let a drop of Seithr oil fall on his foot. It stayed there, on top of the grey sock he wore under his sandals, then slowly drifted inside and burned. He yelped, and as he felt the malevolent force freezing him disappear, put his other hand to a pouch in his belt and threw a handful of Tuntun seed powder as he pivoted to face his rear. Two figures shrouded in dark cloaks sprang back and ran away. He sealed the vial of Seithr oil concealed in his wrist. The two figures had vanished faster than they had appeared. Whatever it was, he knew they were connected.
She walked to the apothecary as soon as the soldiers were gone. She paused to knock, hesitated as a groan escaped from the inside. She knocked. "Kerth?". A bit of crashing then the man's voice. "Come in." She stepped in and beheld it for the first time. A row of chairs lined the wall. A door led into the inner room, and a counter seperated it from the rest of the room. Two chairs were pulled out of order, one to hold up Ferrow's foot and the other accommodating his father, Kerth. There was a section of Ferrow's foot that looked like it had borne maggot eggs. They looked at her. Kerth stood up, guided her to the storage and handed her a pair of gloves. "You fix arrange these powders according to their potency," he said pointing to the scraps of paper pasted on the glass, "on this shelf while you wait for me. No other shelf, just this one." he warned. he left her her thoughts as she did her task. She wondered what had happened to Ferrow.
Sitting about in the room had left her bored, as she had finished moving the jars minutes after Kerth had left. She had begun to read the labels of all the herbs, powders, mushrooms, and others in the room - or at least what she could read. Most of the labels were written either illegibly, or write in a different language altogether. One of the earth-laden pots had caught her curiosity, for brightly colored toadstools sprouted out of what she thought was dirt, but turned out to be spoor as she approached. They had electric-blue stems and fiery gills, but their caps contrasted the rest of the body with their dark color. She reached out to touch it, and drew back as the door flew open.
"Did you touch that?", Ferrow asked, worried. She shook her head. "Never touch that, unless you have a death wish. That is Fricai Andlat, or Death Friend in this language. There are many things you shouldn't touch in this room." His mood lightened as they left the room and sat on the chairs.
"Kerth is sleeping in his room upstairs. Told me to make sure you don't touch anything in the storage; you might get hurt, or worse."
"What did you want to tell me? In the letter?"
He looked away, and gathering all his courage,
"Mira, have you heard of Linnea?"
"No. Who is she?"
"Before the Dragon War, we were quite similar to the elves: mortal, unrefined. One of these was Linnea, who had grown to be an old maid. She was content to the company her plants gave her, until a young elf came and wooed her. She, that is, he awoke a part of her she had thought long dead. Thinking she had a second chance, she accepted him, and for a time, they were happy. But he was young, she was old; he began to long for a mate and found one. Winning the second one's heart, they were also happy for a time. Linnea discovered them together, she went mad and came upon the elf with her fury and stabbed him to death. She knew however, that she could not go back to the way she was, so for three days and three nights she cast a spell until she was one with her beloved trees. And unto this day she, the Menoa Tree, stands watch somewhere deep in the elven forest."
"How horrible, what happened."
"It will never happen to you, Mira."
She was startled. "What do you mean?"
"I will never let that happen to you, Mira. I will never leave you unless you command me to, and whatever happens, I want us to grow old together."
