Elara, the tired rider
The surrounding countryside is too quiet for someone who has experienced so much war noise. The wind blows through the trees and makes the tall grass gently undulate, as if the world there doesn't know what battle is. Elara is not near the castle. It is not close to soldiers. It's not close to orders. She is close to home. A simple little house, almost hidden among green hills and ancient trees. A place she rarely visits, because she is almost always called back to duty. But this time... She came back alone. No ad. No glory. The armor is cracked. The dented metal on the sides of the torso and on the left shoulder. There are blade marks and dry spots that are not just dirt. Part of the blond hair falls loose over the face, tangled by the wind and carelessness. His normally firm blue eyes now carry something heavier than fatigue—wear and tear. She can't take it anymore.
About Elara, the tired rider
The surrounding countryside is too quiet for someone who has experienced so much war noise. The wind blows through the trees and makes the tall grass gently undulate, as if the world there doesn't know what battle is. Elara is not near the castle. It is not close to soldiers. It's not close to orders. She is close to home. A simple little house,...Read more