#chp2

It’s been a slow fall for the forest, he knows because he’s been watching it happen before his eyes. As a child he’d been fascinated by the trees, enchanted by the tales of Elves and creatures living in its depths. He’d followed his father diligently, hunting and trapping, earning the trust that came with handling a bow slowly as he gathered the games and filled baskets with pears and lychees. He’d been seven years old before his father had gifted him a practice bow, left behind more often than not to practice his aim on the stumps and packed straw targets they’d made by hand.

Yuuri had made slow progress at first, fumbling his dulled arrows and shooting more than one stray bolt into the trees, but once he began he learned and refined his technique until his father deemed him good enough to begin practice on moving targets. The sessions with his father swinging a filled sack from a tree limb had been hilarious and raucous, filled with his and his best friend Phichits laughter at Toshiya’s teary eyed huffing when Yuuri had caught him in the cheek with a padded bolt. His father had been proud, if a little caught off-guard by Yuuri’s progress, and had set him to hunting with Phichit in his wake and empty sacks at their hips. They would eat what they caught that day. His mother, Hiroko had fussed a little over them as they left the cottage, but had relented at their matching expressions of determination. Fifteen years later, the thought of himself and Phichit having such gall makes him laugh, but at the time they had been dead set on becoming useful, on earning their keeps and helping their families.

He was so young then, so small and untried. He’d still believed Yukko’s tales of Elves in the forest who were wonderful, beautiful, and wise. Yuuri had been convinced of them, even. He’d seen an Elf as a child, he’d bragged to Yuuko. With hair as bright as silver and eyes as green as the pools in Lindalde itself. His younger self had been a dreamer, he mused as he made his way to the forest stream. He’d been so caught up in tales and wishing to prove himself, he’d convinced himself his dreams were reality.

At twenty-three, Yuuri sees himself reflected in the pools and streams of Lindalde, strong limbed and serious as he checks the nets for fish and takes yet more from the forest that has given him so much over the course of his life. He tries to give back, to be respectful to the forest that provides his sustenance and even the shelter of his family home, cut from the trunks of the forests trees. As he hunts he clears stray fallen branches, he frees up vines where they snarl and tangle the roots of trees, he gives thanks to the forest for every rabbit, deer, and fish. He still feels it is not enough for what he is granted in return, but he tries.

The nets have nothing for him today, Yuuri isn’t surprised, it’s heading towards the chill of autumn at an alarming rate and the salmon are all gone for the season. It doesn’t hurt to check in the last days though, in the creeping shortening of Winter that keeps him from the forest in a real way. There’s plenty left to do before they reel in the nets and traps though, Phichit is looking for the last of the Pear and Apple crops that have blossomed later and later each year, he’s hoping they’ll have a better yield than last year. He’s worried about food-stores, as he is every year, especially recently when Lindalde seems to be retreating into itself. He sends an errant thought at the forest, concern and love wrapped tightly together as he walks the familiar trail to his clearing.

Yuuri likes to think of it as his clearing, a tiny enclosed space in the forest he comes to think in. It’s hidden from the main trail by the shade of hazel bushes that are thick enough not to be traversable, unless you happened to fall through them while trying to track a deer and landed face first in them, discovering the clearing after struggling noisily out of the bushes on the other side. It had been a stunning sight, a piece of the forest untouched and unsullied in the bright spring sunlight kissing the heavy branches of the trees surrounding it. He had made it his, now, by virtue of his upkeep and love.The glade is as silent and well preserved as a holy place, it’s a home from home he can visit in times when he needs to relax. It’s an undisturbed chapel of tranquility.

Or, it is normally.

Today, however his silent rumination on the state of the harvests is interrupted by the crashing sound of footfalls, punctuated by the appearance of a silver-haired someone who falters in his step upon spotting Yuuri, his face lined in surprise as he slips. Years of training and honing his reflexes kick in before Yuuri can really comprehend what he’s seeing and Yuuri is moving across the small space between them, catching the man before he can fall.

“Makka!” The man calls, whatever that means, and then blinks up at Yuuri owlishly. His eyes are a green-blue that is reminiscent of the colour of the Lindalde’s pools in spring, his hair a woven silver that harkens to the moon reflected in the same waters. Yuuri blinks at the man, so suddenly in his arms and clutching his leather jerkin for dear life. “Oh! Uh, oops. Hello.”

“Hello…” There’s something familiar about him, something known that catches Yuuri off-guard for a second as he steadies the man and helps him to his feet. The man scans the clearing, eyes settling on one of the Hazels and frowning at it before he turns back to Yuuri.

“Who are you?” The man asks, his eyes roaming over Yuuri’s face, as though looking for something. Yuuri wriggles uncomfortably under the scrutiny, he’s used to passing unnoticed, to walking the forests paths silently in pursuit of prey. This kind of assessing gaze travelling over him makes him want to curl in on himself and hide.

“Uh, I’m Yuuri…”

“Oh.” He drops his study of Yuuri to gaze around the clearing again, a small frown furrowing his brow. He’s intense as he looks over the wiry bushes and the long grass. “What are you doing here, Yuuri?”

“Excuse me?”

“I asked what you’re doing in my forest.” He asks, his attention back on Yuuri and watching him closely. Yuuri feels his temper rise and has to stomp it down, he and Phichit have been the de facto hunters of this forest for ten years now and have never encountered strangers in their depths, amorous lovers, yes, strangers, no. If this person thinks this is their forest then Yuuri will have to explain the reality of the situation to them quickly and with minimal fuss.

“This isn’t your forest, it doesn’t belong to anyone, but if it did -”

“Wrong, actually, but I appreciate the sentiment. It’s nice to meet you, very much so, but this is my forest and I’d like an explanation of what you’re doing here, and how you’re making the trees sing. Now.” He draws himself up to his full height, tall and willowy and all together elegant in a way that Yuuri has only ever heard of in song, and that’s when Yuuri realises just what this man is. No, not man. This being, is an elf - is the Elf of Lindalde Forest, and Yuuri is trespassing in his home.

“I’m what?” Yuuri’s brain seems to be short-circuiting, or something like that because he could have sworn the tree-elf accused him of making the trees sing, and of all the parts of that sentence he understands, the only one that makes sense is the accusation of wrongdoing. “You think I’m doing something to the trees?”

The elf, his head high and silvery strands falling from his braid, fixes him with an assessing look. “Aren't you?”

“No? I don't think so?” Yuuri glances around the clearing, watching the leaves rustle in the wind and tries to imagine them singing. He can focus on the shift of the leaves and branches, the whisper of the wind over the grass, but it makes no cohesive song to his hearing. The elf clears his throat, dragging Yuuri’s attention back to him and back to the assessing look. “Um, I’m a hunter.”

“A hunter?”

“Yes, I gather food and game for my family and to sell -”

“I know what a hunter is.” The elf waves a hand dismissively, still watching Yuuri closely. “What is it about you… Hunters are usually unwanted by the forest…”

“I, uh, I don’t know. But maybe I should just…” He gestures to the small gap in the Rowans that the elf had fallen through, intending on removing himself as quickly and harmlessly as possible from the elfs potential wrath.

“Oh. No, no don’t leave. I’m just -” There’s a chirp from one of the trees that pulls the elf’s attention for a second and his features twist in distaste for a second, he schools his expression and turns back to Yuuri. “Yes Makka, that too but mostly confused why Nyéraldë is reacting like this to a hunter, of all the humans.”

“What’s Makka?” Yuuri doesn’t know why he asks, but the thought of his being held captive by and elf that talks to thin air is more than he can bear right now, he’s worried enough about the harvest and the forest without adding an addled elf to the list.

“Oh, sorry, that was rude of me - this is Makka, come out darling.” There’s another chirp and Yuuri frowns at the treeline, trying to discern the source and failing. The elf huffs out a disgruntled sound in reply to the chirp, which is followed up by yet another chirp and the elf replies with a burst of indignant huffing. “Fine, fine. I’ll ask, but Makka, you’re making me look silly in front of Yuuri. Be a nice Pixie won’t you?”

“A Pixie?” Yuuri can’t help but sound astonished, Pixies are rare creatures who’re shy of human contact and he’s only ever seen them in the books at Yuuko’s house.

“Yes, a pixie. A very bad pixie if she doesn’t show herself soon.” The elf stresses the words in just the right way that one of the Rowan bushes shivers with movement as the Pixie - Makka, apparently - reveals herself. Yuuri makes a tiny noise of delight when she flies over to the elf, her leonine features sulky as she hover’s at head height and chirps at the elf again and gestures at Yuuri. She’s tiny, about the length of Yuuri’s forearm, a humanoid creature with dense curls covering all but her face and curling around her ears in a fuzzy mane. “Yes, Makka, I’ll get to it. Just, be nice to Yuuri okay, I don’t think he’s met a Pixie before and you’re making a terrible first impression.”

Makka chirps at the elf again, crossing her arms over her fuzzy chest and frowning at him for a second before she turns to Yuuri, darting across the space between them quickly and investigating his clothing, tiny hands impossibly strong and determined as they dip into his pockets. “Oh! Uh, hello.”

“Makka, stop that! Don’t harass Yuuri!” The elf sounds utterly embarrassed now, his cheeks flushing at his Pixies behaviour. Makka only chirps back at him unconcernedly and continues searching Yuuri’s jerkin until she unearths a single plum he’d picked up on his way out of his parents cottage this morning, her chirps are pitched excitedly and she flutters to head height and waves her prize in Yuuri’s face. “Makka, that’s Yuuri’s.”

“Oh, no it’s fine, she can have it if she likes.” Yuuri shrugs. The Pixie seems excited about the small fruit, and Yuuri had found a tree laden with the things only last week. Makka dances in the air for a moment, a victorious swirling of hair and her plum clutched tightly in her arms, before she floats back to the elf and settles on his shoulder, fussing at the silver strands that are still slightly mussed from the elfs fall. “She seems to like plums.”

“She loves them, ridiculous thing that she is.” The elf says fondly, earning himself a muffled sound from the depths of the fruit which the Pixie is devouring at an alarming rate. “Thank you - for letting her have it, I mean - you’ve made her very happy.”

“It’s fine, I can find more.”

“Yes, you can.” The elf is watching him again, his gaze is warmer now and he looks almost relaxed. “You’re a very strange human, hunter Yuuri.”

“Um, thank you…” Yuuri trails off, waiting for the elf to fill the silence.

“Vitya.” The elf - Vitya - supplies, still considering him.

“Thank you, Vitya.” The name is strange on his tongue, heavy and purposeful and Yuuri wonders at the shape of it.

“Yuuri, you hunt the forest.”

“Yes?”

“Do you care for it?” Vitya asks, his features solemn.

“Of course I do, without Lindalde I have no livelihood.” Yuuri frowns, but Vitya doesn’t look appeased by his answer.

“Most hunters only take, they help themselves to what they can get their hands on and walk away-”

“I would never -” Yuuri starts, his temper flaring again at the insinuation.

“That! That’s what make you different!” Vitya says triumphantly, reminding Yuuri of his Pixie, who’s head darts between the two before she returns to her fruit with a minute eye-roll that makes Yuuri want to laugh at the incongruity of the action. “You care about the forest, then you must have noticed that it is failing?”

“I… yes, I’ve been worried for some time now.”

“Yes. It has gone on far too long.” Vitya looks troubled and grave, the emotions aging him in Yuuri’s eyes. The elf shakes himself free of the feelings with a toss of his head, settling his gaze on Yuuri and looking hopeful. “Would you… help me? I’ve been looking for the source but to no avail, and Nyéraldë seems to respond to you…”

Help the elf? Yuuri isn’t sure he’d be of any use to Vitya, but the forest... Lindalde - Nyéraldë as Vitya calls it - is his livelihood, his childhood and his adulthood all rolled up in the eaves of the trees. The success of his family has depended upon its charity for three generations, they’ve hunted and gathered from it for years. The spare meat and skins they send to other members of the Village, trading for vegetables and pots, clothing woven of wools and supplies to hunt with. It’s not just himself and his family who rely upon Lindale’s kindness, there are webs of connection and need spun out from its trees and branches. If Vitya thinks he can help, then Yuuri wants to, has to for the sake of the forest he loves and the people he holds dear.

“I’ll help you, Vitya. As best as I can I’ll help you find the solution to this problem.”

Vitya’s heartfelt thanks is lost under the rapid chirping of Makka as she takes wing again, plum seed falling from her hands as she cheers and dances. Yuuri isn’t sure what he’s gotten himself in for, or what he can even do, but both Makka and Vitya are alight with a happiness which is infectious, spreading through the clearing. Yuuri feels a responding smile on his own face, and laughs as Vitya catches his hands, and tells him to meet them the next day in the same place, waving a jaunty goodbye once Yuuri agrees and fleeing the clearing with a spring in his step.

Yuuri watches the gap in the Rowans where Vitya and Makka had disappeared for a long time afterwards, trying to convince himself it was not all a particularly vivid dream.

First Chapter