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The faery atop Sorn’s crown tutted, as though the treant were a lesser who did not comprehend what it was he truly spoke. He was disappointed, it seemed, though he did smile, albeit only politely. Which was somewhat strange, perhaps, when coming from one of his breed. He leaned forwards, one tiny hand on either side of a part of young Sorn’s head, and chided the pair- though mostly Brine- in what were the next of his words.
“This one speaks to the little tree, but the little tree does not listen…No, no it does not.”
It paused, then, allowing Brine to take that wonderful piece of critical analysis in, before continuing on, extravagant flourishes of its hands being made as though they could add to the severity of this time.
“What we are known for and what we do are different things, little tree. Look around at all this…this Forest of Light. More battlefield than haven, if this one is asked. It could take the little tree to the city, however…” Its smile widened, teeth like tiny daggers showing impishly in the light.
“The little trees are close, but not as close as they might think. This is not the way, not the right path for them to tread.” Such a statement was cryptic, perhaps, saying that Brine and Sorn were close to Eth’gantor, and yet at the same time, that they weren’t. There was only one path to the shadow elf city, however, only but the one way in. Esh’lahier knew the way, and some of the fae-folk did, as well. This one in particular boasted knowledge, though whether or not it would tell them true was a matter all its own…
“This one shall show the little trees if they, in return, tell it what they plan to do. No service without a price, and this price it shall be…”
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