Anar’dea and the others fled the centaur together. The harrying horse-men that pursued them weren’t nearly as much of a threat without the advantage of surprise, but her nerves were already at their limits after the nightmare-inducing encounter with Uch’l’thein. More importantly:

Why is it always centaur!?

She glared daggers at a centaur following from underneath the canopy; they hadn’t gotten any good shots since they had gotten into taller trees, but that didn’t mean that she would let it go. She flipped the next time she hit a branch, soaring high into the air, and snapped three arrows into the offending centaur, striking it with lethal accuracy. After that, the centaur kept their distance and dodged as much as they could, but they were still unwilling to give up the pursuit.

I don’t regret hunting the centaur, but I shouldn’t have played with them.

She huffed grumpily as she tracked them. They angered her for more reasons than just being a hassle in the current moment.

Sister was always terrified of ‘em, couldn’t sleep unless she passed out, and could barely eat.

She couldn’t let the anger the memory provoked out yet, so she bit it down for now. She considered making another round of attacks, but was interrupted by a roar far off behind them. The centaur came to a rushed halt and all turned around and fled in a hurry to regroup with their clan.

Well, looks like you fools went and stirred up an apex. Serves you right.

She smiled smugly, slowing with her party until they came to a stop, though she still searched the forest floor with the alertness of a meerkat.

“Thu’lain didn’t hit the ground. We’ll wait for him over here,” Trat’catha instructed as he looked everyone over. He seemed satisfied that everyone was unharmed.

“The apex must have scented his blood. Or it’s just a weird coincidence. He should be fine, though, right?” Raj’ken kept alert and scanning around even as she spoke; Anar’dea respected her for staying vigilant and relieved she wasn’t the only one on alert.

They remained silent and cloaked, but kept a watchful eye out for Thul’ain; if he was moving quickly he could easily miss them.

Anar’dea was tense and couldn’t quite shake the uneasy feeling that Uch’l’thein and the centaur had instilled in her. She focused hard on a spot in the trees, trying to make out every detail to distract herself, but it had the opposite effect. She zoned out and slipped into her memories.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The campfire warmed her family and bubbled the pot as it simmered over it. The scent was pleasant and spices managed to make it smell appetizing. It had the illusion of safety and they had traveled so far from Anosora that the most dangerous apex would be days away, leaving only smaller apex in the area to worry about.

Her father made her feel safe: Arthu’dea was a skilled fighter and he kept telling her that he could handle the small apex. The centaur were wary of the elves, but that didn’t mean they were unfriendly, just a little ignorant according to her parents. They thought the elves were cursed and brought the apex with them wherever they went.

They hadn’t understood exactly how paranoid the clans had become, and they had underestimated how far fear would push them.

Anar’dea recalled the way her mom and brother were chatting, just as before the city fell. Ni’dea, her mom, gave her brother, Sire’dea, a light shove as he was telling his story.

“-my teacher just kicked the pole out from under him! ‘That’s a weapon, not a walking stick!’ and Ger’anti just flopped right onto the ground with the dumbest look,” Sire’dea continued his story with their mother. Her sister shook her head and smiled, looking over to her father, Arthu’dea, where he was stirring the soup and listening quietly. She smiled and allowed herself to relax, remaining silent while her family talked. Her sister would pipe in with a quip every so often at her brother's expense and they’d all laugh. She was bothered that she couldn’t remember what she’d been doing at the time, despite knowing what everyone else was.

Suddenly, there were shouts, hollers, the sound of whinnying, and arrows piercing through her father. Arrows continued firing from all around them and Arthu’dea managed to wheeze out, “Run.” It was the last thing he managed to say as his own blood began to fill his lungs. They all sprinted away, with her sister at the head of the line, screaming and crying.

Where am I?

The trance continued: her sister pulled further and further ahead; she was faster than the others and started to climb into the canopy. Her mother and brother trusted themselves more on foot and sprinted quickly, their cloaks billowing behind them.

Everything was moving so quickly. She heard, as clear as the night it happened, her father’s scream cut short, a choking gargle. She never saw how he’d died. Her sister climbed higher and higher. She bit her lip so hard it bled to stop herself from screaming, but couldn’t keep from whimpering even as she remembered to activate her cloak.

Her brother and her mother huddled against a tree further out of sight and tried to activate their cloaks, but nothing happened. They had run out of power unlike Anar’dea’s, which had just recently been recharged. They looked back and saw as her sister faded from sight. They looked at each other, and she could clearly see the realization on their faces. They began to run as far from her sister as they could.

Tell them to climb the trees! Tell them they can’t outrun them on the ground! Tell them! Why can’t you just tell them!?

Her sister stayed there, her hand now clasped tightly over her mouth, her tears flowing freely over her fingers. She stayed silent and weeping as the centaur ran under her, chasing what was left of her family. They ran out of sight, and their screams filled the night air. She remained hiding in the canopy and didn’t move for the rest of the night.

As morning came, she stirred awake, having passed out sometime in the night. Her tear-stained face came away from the tree and she forced her eyes open through the dried mess that had caked on her eyelashes. The centaur were long gone, but she couldn’t have cared even if they were still around.

She climbed down the tree and followed the path her mother and brother had taken, hoping beyond hope that they’d somehow made it. It wasn’t long until she found them lying face down, riddled with arrows. She couldn’t bring herself to flip them over and look at their faces.

Her numb march took her back the other way. She knew her father was gone, too, but she needed to see it to truly believe it. He was filled with arrows and trampled. He was no longer recognizable as the hero she knew; the centaur were heavy and their stampede had broken - she threw up over the ground and fell to her knees. She had to tear her gaze away from her father. She was crying and her eyes were burning with grief.

She stayed on her knees, and would have stayed there for hours. The loud roar of dominance that only an apex would make pierced the air and the drilled reaction forced her to her feet: they would need to flee. She would need to flee.

She couldn’t do it alone. I had to help her, I had to make her strong. She was always so bright, and smiled with all her heart. I had to protect her.

Her sister started to run away from the roar, and got twenty feet before she started to stumble, crying again and wheezing. She leaned against a tree, then started to climb as she had done the night before. She had climbed almost two-hundred feet before she just didn’t have the will to climb any higher. She heard the apex on the ground, but was totally concealed by her cloak blending with the branches and foliage. The beast's sounds were relaxed, contemptuously casual. The crunching sound of it chewing made her sick, forcing her to dry-heave.

It preened happily as it devoured the last remnants of everyone she had cared about. She was now the last of the ‘dea line. She hid as the apex finished its grisly business and moved on, staying in the tree for two days before finally moving on.

I had to force her to move, she was going to starve. She had to hunt, or at least get water.

She had the skills needed to survive, and the luck. The next few years were rough: she’d fallen from trees and broken her bones dozens of times - if not for elven regeneration, she would have died hundreds of times over - but it had proven to be worth the pain because the canopy was out of reach of most natural dangers.

She’d met disciples of the Winter Smith and learned the art of combat from them whenever their paths crossed over the years, adapting what she learned with what she was comfortable with.

She knew just enough about the woods, and about woodworking, to make her own bow, she learned how to build shelter and how to survive largely through trial and error. Fortunately she would on occasion find stockpiles that other elves hid in the canopy, the sigils carved into the tree indicated they were for anyone who needed it. They all looked out for each other when they could.

She ran in terror every time she heard hooves, even if they weren’t centaur. The cold nights and pit of loneliness slowly overtook her. She found other elves now and again, even though groups could sometimes be risky. They left messages carved into the trees for each other, to try and support one another from afar.

Trial and error taught them that small groups were safe. It was bitter knowledge to her that her family would never have been under any additional danger from apex than if they had been alone. She could never forget her family, but she’d found a larger one in the rest of elvenkind.

Decades turned into centuries, and the once seamstress had trained and lived long enough to become a skilled hunter and even a fearsome warrior. Her sister started to look familiar: her smile and laugh were almost an echo of her own: her choice of clothes and the hand-crafted bow similar; the way she wore her hair and - She stopped then, her sister she could remember so vividly, and the memories dredged from the depths of her mind by Uch’l’thein and then the centaur made one thing clear:

I never had a sister. It’s always been me.

Anar’dea tried to focus on the tree she’d been looking at, but her vision was clouded too much. She gingerly wiped the tears away from her eyes.

I know I couldn’t have helped them, not then. But I could have told them. I could have done something.

She took several deep, steadying breaths. It was night now, and still no sign of Thu’lain.

I won’t be the girl hiding in the trees again.

“I’m going after him. It’s been too long.” Anar’dea faded into view as her enchantment was turned off.

“I’ll go with you.” Trat’catha leapt to a nearby branch, his enchantment likewise disabled.

Raj’ken appeared from her hiding spot with a thumbs up and a grin.

“It’s unlikely they got him, he’s probably fi-” Tin’lo became visible, but was cut off as Tu’lar elbowed him.

“We’re coming, too. Can’t let Thu’lain have all the fun!” Tu’lar was, as usual, uncomfortably loud.

Anar’dea smiled and shook her head, focusing in the direction of the last roars she’d heard.

“Fine, but how do we find him?” Tin’lo crossed his arms from his perch. Anar’dea laughed.

“Listen for screams?” She smiled and leapt to the next branch, the darkness barely a hindrance and the others close behind. She thought she saw an odd look on Trat’catha’s face and swore she heard him mumble, “If you only knew.”