All she could do was stare at it. Silent tears swept down the pale cheek

of the Elven princess. Her sprit was broken, her dress torn, her golden curls

covered in dirt. She dropped her silk woven knapsack to the forest floor which

was now covered with soot, her mouth wide open staring in awe. The flames

before her were flickering on and off, thriving off the charcoal covered wood.

The truth was already seared into her sight. In front of her, her entire life was

destroyed. She looked weakly at her burning village. The humans, she

thought, are ruthless. She trembled and collapsed her knees hitting the forest

floor. There was nothing left. There was nothing to see.

No… the thought just couldn’t enter her head. Her brother couldn't be just the only Silmarwen elves left. That just… just couldn't happen. How could they survive? With both of them

only barely over 100 years old? She was 150 years and her brother 170. Her brother, Feredir (Chase) glanced down at his sister and placed a reassuring hand on her

shoulder.

"You don't even know if it was definitely the humans."

She shrugged it out and stood up. Without even sparing him a glance, she stood up, suddenly began walking towards the flickering flames.

"See this?" She knelt down over a body.

"This is a sword wound, all of them are sword wounds, no magic. Humans are the only race that are unfamiliar with magic." She glanced at the land.

Bodies of elves scattered everywhere followed with blood, the land was

tainted with blood. They stuck to each other like paper and glue. She forced herself not to look down at mezmorizing faces of terror placed on her people's faces. She glanced at the direction of her house and blanky stared off in it’s direction.

“Eámanë... you know not to go home. Nothing is there for you."

“Don't tell me what to do, brother." She surprised herself with her stern

voice. She knew her brother was trying to hep but he wasn’t, no one could help her know. Ignoring herself, she kept on walking, her gown floating weightlessly

around her. She breathed softly looking around at the death that the humans

had brought to this place. She took a left then a right. She was now walking towards the Great Tree. She stopped dead in her tracks. Right in front of her was a huge, burning stump.

"No… they couldn't have." How was she supposed to run a country that

didn't exist anymore? The wood elves had relyed heavily on the one tree, and now it was gone.

She couldn't believe it. The Great Tree was a sacred symbol in their country and was located in the center of the village. It was the key to where the elven

folk drew their magic power from. This secret was the key to the elves’

success. Success that no human could of known of. Few elves had magic nowadays that didn't rely on it. Her family was indeed lucky, for generations their magic has run strong, throught their blood and not their land.

"Feredir, come here!" she yelled the words not knowing what else to do.

Feredir now appeared at her side, embracing the sight of the dying tree.

“Oh no…” He whispered softly, “They couldn't have."

The reality had finally sunk in to both of them. The humans didn't kill the elves. She had been right. There was no way that a fat, klutz, hippo of a human could have

defeated the "Fair Folk." When they had killed their magic source they had killed their way to fight. They were then probably slaughtered. With no way to fight them were probably killed with ease. A million questions swarmed into her head. Where was her mom? What happened to her? Was the Queen dead? How did she die? Are we the only ones left? Her thoughts were interrupted when an arrow whizzed pass her head, missing by mere inches.

"Get down!" Her brother yelled. They both found the nearest tree and ducked down