The World Outside the Forest
TYPOTHANAS

It was a beautiful winter morning the day the humans brought their gifts to the forest; the cool air blew gently, making the trees sing and dance.  As the green and purple leaves shone in a visual symphony of emerald and amethyst, the Eastern Plains extended for miles beyond the edge.  Typothanas, an elf of the forest stood perched in a tree, listening to nature’s song.  The buzzing bees floating between flowers.  Snakes slithering on the ground below.  The wings of birds as they flew from tree-to-tree, pecking at dangling pieces of fruit.

Thump-thump-thump-thump…

Typothanas’s pointed ears wiggled as he heard something unfamiliar in the distance.  He moved his long dark hair behind his ears and pressed his face to the trunk to feel the vibrations in the earth.

Horses?

There was a creaking sound.  A rattling too.  He scanned the horizon with his dark green eyes but saw nothing from his perspective; he would have to scale higher.  Just as he made his ascent, he heard a screech.  A red-tailed hawk boasting brilliant brown-and-white colors stretched its wings to make a landing.  A shifting of feathers dissolving into skin and hair occurred in the span of a moment.  The small shape of the hawk swelled, taking on the form of a female elf before landing on the branch above him—his friend and scouting partner.

“Caera,” he greeted.

Her pale lavender hair billowed around her like a cape.  Almond-shaped eyes of the same splendid shade peered at him from behind long dark lashes.  Fair and without blemish, her creamy white skin covered her slender form.

“A wagon approaches,” she said. “Three humans delivering gifts.”

“I heard them,” Typothanas replied.

Caera latched onto the branch with her legs and swung, dangling upside-down.  Her face stopped inches from Typothanas.  He flinched, the proximity making him uncomfortable.  Meanwhile, she grinned at him, gazing with playful eyes.

“Why don’t we see how close we can get without them noticing?” Caera suggested.

He scoffed at the notion.

“That is forbidden,” he reminded her. “So long as they do not enter the forest, we will not engage them.”

Caera shifted again, this time taking the form of a wildcat covered in black fur.  Speckled with grey spots, tufts of hair sprouted up from the ears.  Only her eyes remained the same.

She is gifted, Typothanas thought.

All the elves dabbled in transfiguration, but few possessed her proficiency.  Only ninety-six years old, and already those who taught her now aspired to her level of skill.

“What fun eludes us if we always follow the rules?” Caera asked, her voice foreign and feline.  Typothanas coiled his lips in disgust as the noise set his teeth on edge.

“The elders’ instructions are clear.  We are not to interact with the humans.  They are dangerous.”

“No more dangerous than us,” she quipped.  “And the elders sit upon their chairs in the Hall of Balance, do they not?  They’ll never know.”

Typothanas considered it for a moment.  No one else patrolled this close to the edge except for other sentinels, but even the nearest ones were leagues south or north.  He watched humans from inside the forest before, the stray traveler who ventured close enough to peek in from time to time, but never three at once.  Opportunities like this rarely presented themselves.

“Very well,” he conceded.    Caera shifted, first to her elf form, and then again into a hawk.  With a flap of her wings, she took flight into the air ahead of him.

A race then?  Alright, he smiled.

He ran and leaped to the next tree, the fall exhilarating him.  Swinging from the overgrowth of dangling vines, Typothanas moved through the treetops.

They made their way to a semi-circular, concave clearing at the edge of the forest.  A large wooden structure stood in the middle, a box opening from the top.  Humans came a few times a year to drop letters as means of peaceful correspondence between the elves of the forest and the men of Azur’nth.  This grove marked the only place permissible to them.

After the Sage War some three hundred years ago, the elves decreed never to leave, closing themselves off from the outside world.  Humans did not often wander inside for fear of paying a trespasser’s toll: death.

The life of a sentinel brought an elf as close as one could get to the world outside: the world of men.  As a youngling, years of exploring showed Typothanas all the wonders the forest offered.  He knew every glade, every meadow, and every cave.  The western edge allowed only a glimpse of the ocean, and from so far away it looked like a silver-blue horizon under the sky.  But someday he would sneak out and see it up close for himself.

If all goes as planned, I will see even more.

“Here they come,” Caera whispered.

Typothanas crouched down, taking cover behind a tree while Caera transformed to fly overhead.  He waited, listening to the humans as they spoke.  He knew their language, having spent twenty-five years of his life devoted to scholarship.  The language proved easier to read, but they spoke clearly enough to be understood.

Three men approached, one on horseback, one driving a wagon, and another riding in the back.  All of them wore tabards bearing the same emblem: seven silver swords arrayed in a circle around a golden crown.  The one on horseback dressed in decorative armor, marking him as an officer.  He carried a long sword at his hip.  The other two wore fine leathers, metal chain shirts, and embroidered tunics with dirks tucked into their belts.

“I hate this place,” the officer grumbled.

“I think it’s beautiful,” one of the others said.  With a groan, the man hopped out of the wagon and Typothanas got a better look at him.  His chainmail stretched against his massive belly, excess fat jiggling with every heavy-laden step.

“Let’s just hurry up so we can be done with this!”

While the fat one continued to lift the wooden crates and arrange them in a row, the one driving the wagon climbed down.  As he approached the box, he pulled a parchment from his sleeve.  This one stood in stark contrast to the other two, so scrawny his clothes and armor swallowed him up.

“Seems a waste to me.  How would anyone know if we just kept the suns for ourselves?”

The officer rested a hand on the hilt of his sword and sauntered towards him.

“That is why I am here: to make sure you cretins aren’t robbing the king blind.  These gifts are a peace offering for the elves, not to pad your pockets.”

“I was only making a jest.”

“Sure, you were,” the officer snapped.

“It’s not like they’re reading them,” the thin man objected.  “Have you seen the box?  It’s got years of unopened letters in it.”

“It’s not a matter for debate.  It makes no difference to me whether the elves accept their gifts or not.  Our orders are to drop them here and then go back to the capital.  Now that we’ve accomplished the first task, let’s be on with the second.”

His subordinates reluctantly followed.

And just like that, they turned and went the way they came.  Typothanas waited until they disappeared out of sight.  Caera flew down from the tree and landed next to him, shifting from hawk to elf.

“You see, Typoth,” she asked, referring to him by his familiar. “No harm done.”

He rolled his eyes at her and started walking towards the letterbox in the middle of the clearing.  She frowned and followed behind him.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“He said the letters have not been opened in years; I want to take a look.”

Caera bit her lower lip and shook her head.  “That is not our responsibility.  One of the elders is supposed to do that—I think.”

“No one knows,” Typothanas realized out loud.  “We haven’t been reading them.”  He threw open the box.  Hundreds of letters sat in a massive pile, all unopened.  When he reached in and plucked one out, Caera shrieked.

“I may not know whose responsibility this is, but I know it does not belong to you.”

Typothanas gave her a sidelong look and rolled his eyes.  She’s the one who wanted to see the humans up close.  He broke the wax seal as she glared at him, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Do you lack concern for what the elders will say?”

“They ignored them for years, Caera,” Typothanas pointed out.  “This too will go without notice.”

His eyes poured over a letter drafted in perfect Avraelin glyphs, the written language of the elves.

To the Noble Elves of the Azur’nthian Wood: 

Greetings and salutations, 

I hope this letter finds you having a favorable day.  On behalf of Omandu Tirge, king of Azur’nth, I would like to invite any interested parties to a dinner ball held in Effedeyo this spring solstice.  Times have changed, and we would be delighted to receive you.  Please give it due consideration.  It would be appreciated if you would leave a reply.  I hope to see you there. 

Ambassador of Foreign Affairs

Farrina Snowchild

 “An invitation to a party?” Caera asked incredulously. “No wonder the elders don’t bother.  Come on, we should get back to our watch.”

Next to the larger box, sat a smaller one designed for the elves to leave replies.  There would be another wagon to come by in a few weeks.  An idea struck Typothanas, but not one he could share with Caera.  He would never hear the end of it, and he did not think it worth the risk she might inform the elders.  He planned to read the rest of the letters, perhaps draft a reply, leaving it in the box—just to see what would happen.  The actions violated the elders’ law, but so long as no one found out...

“Very well,” he said, tossing the letter back in the box.  “We have misbehaved enough for one day.”

Under cover of the night, Typothanas planned to return and take them back to his tree.  Itching with excitement, eager to see what kind of messages the humans sent over the years, he returned to his watch.