“My mother was of Misteldale… taken as a slave in her youth… she always spoke of the forest above as a place of beauty, warmth and light… and I believed her, but now I know that it was all just a fairytale told to comfort a foolish child,” Myst bemoaned, struggling to keep tears of mourning and hopelessness from flooding her eyes. “Not so,” Mykal admonished, a light smirk turning his lips. “The forest is green, warm and alive in spring and summer, turning cooler and ablaze with color in fall… but this is early winter, when it slumbers through chilled days and frigid nights. You’re fortunate I happened upon you… most who wander the woodlands have already sought shelter for the season… only the truly hearty or rather foolish are still about.” Shet looked at him with a suspicious eye, not sure if he was jesting with her. She had spent her whole life in the Underdark, far below the surface, and therefore knew nothing of changing seasons. “So if that’s the case,” she goaded with a capricious grin, “which are you… hearty or foolish?” “That depends on who you ask,” he replied roguishly. “Most of Tangle Trees would side with foolish I think.” “Tangle Trees?” she questioned. “What is that… your home?” “I suppose it’s a close as I have to one,” he replied with feigned thoughtfulness, “a tree-town not far south-west of here. I was on my way there to winter. You can find shelter there, but…” “But don’t expect to be welcomed with opened arms,” she finished for him. “Believe me, I know how well deserved the drow’s reputation for cruelty is… far better than any who dwell here.” As all denizens of the forest, he was all too aware of the evil the drow had wrought since their emergence from the Underdark to seize huge swaths of the Cormanthor; whether due to their cursed blood-line, amoral culture or conscious choice, was a matter of debate for wiser minds than his, but it was certain that the drow were vile, cruel and the greatest threat to all others who called the forest home… at least most of them; he had heard that there were a rare few who turned to the light, even worshiping a good goddess. The evidence of her linage was clear to see in her strange grey complexion, and wasn’t likely to garner her much in the way of acceptance, even though the scares from decades of abuse clearly marred both her skin and soul. “What of your mother… did she escape with you?” Mykal asked with a taint of sympathy in his voice. “No,” Myst answered mournfully, “she died in that hell when the city burned. The drow deserved no better… and at least she’s beyond their reach now. She always dreamed of seeing the sun again; I hope she has.” Thoughts of her mother flooded back to her and tears welled up in her eyes, but she wiped them aside. Weakness was not something you showed amongst the drow; it was an invitation for abuse, not that they needed such prompting. Then she looked at her benefactor and asked suspiciously; “Why are you helping me?” “I don’t know,” Mykal replied with honest thoughtfulness, “I guess it just my nature. We’re not all like the drow… some of us, at least, look for the best in others.” ****************************************************************************************************************************************************************************** Additional Credits: * Victoria 4.2 by DAZ3D * Blaine Hair by AprilYSH * Mystic Hallow by LaurieS * Fantasy Ranger V4 by Xurge3D