The canopy-filtered sunlight was playing innocently over the pile of bones when the elves came upon it. They were three, two young fighters and an older priestess, headed north towards the plains, and it was Naini who first was the bones. The scout knelt down and sniffed the emerald moss beside the spot.
“At lease a fortnight dead,” she said as Lydel, their leader, joined her.
“He poked the skull with the tip of his bow and it fell back against the tree, eyes to the sky at a crazy angle.
“Orc, from the looks of it.”
“Naina picked up the head, turning it over and over. “No, see the cheek-bones? More likely a half-orc.”
Lydel nodded. “I wonder what brought the thing here, the battle in the northern fields was more than two seasons ago.”
“A raider, perhaps?” she asked.
“No raider was he, look to his breast.”
The priestess was standing behind the two and wearily she pointed to the remains. There, underneath the dry, rotting leather shone a silver chain. Naina lifted it reverently, cradling the charm in her palm; the three white metal leaves folded together caught the soft light.
“But, this is elvish make,” she murmered, and handed it to Lydel.
The fighter sneered. “Doubtless he killed its rightful wearer. The lumbering beast got what he deserved,” and he turned away, meaning to put the pendant in his pocket.
“Please, Lydel,” the priestess said softly, placing a delicate hand on his arm, “give it to me and I shall bring that wearer peace.”
He shrugged and handed it to her. “Naina and I will return to the creek bed and set up camp. Will you be safe on you own?”
Her eyes flashed defiantly. “On your way, Lydel.”
Once alone, she knelt beside the bones at the base of the protecting tree. He had collapsed against it when he died but time, scavengers, and decay had reduced his body to a sorry tangle of skeleton and sinew. Tenderly, the priestess placed the skull next to the rest of the bones.
“I know the charm you wear. Perhaps you are he I knew long ago, but even if you are not, I know you must have it because he wanted that you should. Sleep well, child, in the shadows of the trees you never understood but always loved. I release you.”
Sighing, she brushed the tears from her cheek and rose, holding the pendant in upturned hand. The sudden wind gusted and took the thing from her as she whispered her magic and prayers. A single white butterfly lit on the skull while the sweet green overcame the bones and small vines grew to blossom. The priestess turned and walked away.
Rain, then frost, would come, until the remains were less than dust. Such peace that exists for all dead had finally come to Drox the half-orc, nearly sixty years after he was shaken awake in the youngling barracks.
