Haunted Wood A sprinkle of glamour, a dollop of charm, trading,

He recognized that voice. Her subtle inflexions, like the ones his own voice carried; a remnant of home. He recognized that face. Dark, like his own, yet earthy and warm, as if kissed by the sun, lavished in the mark of the blessed and beset with eyes like marigolds. In the context of these foreign woods, the familiarity took a moment to click into place, for knowing to soften his first guarded gaze, for a thin smile to form around the gesture of her name.

"Célnes."

He imagined very few had even thought of him since their god had left them, since their forest had burned. Now, to hear his name on the lips of one he even dared to think of as a friend -- her presence delighted him, and his countenance felt brighter. "It is truly good to see you," my friend, he might have added, if he were anyone else -- but a lifetime of learning the intent of hearts... well, the omission was hard to shake.