Sol was peacefully doing his rounds near the Great Tree of Nemeteia. According to the village head, the old man Teebu, he was supposed to expect someone new to the village. It was like that in Nemeteia. There were only two types of villagers here. The ones born inside the village and the ones who appeared.
Once in a while, the great tree would bring in people under the blessing of the Goddess Neteila.
Children, grown-ups, teenagers. Random. Their pasts erased, given a chance at a peaceful life in this village. None of them remembered who they were. Some spoke in tongues they did not understand, yet somehow felt the meaning behind the words. Some people knew things, said things that made no sense at first, but parts of it turned out useful. Some of that knowledge helped make tools for the village or to make potions. They did not know why they got here, but over time, they grew into the understanding that they belonged here.
Nemeteia was home, and nothing else mattered.
Soft grass crumpled under his heavy boots. He usually wore a white shirt with an open neck collar, and brown pants made with Wolflhare fiber, the most comfortable material the villagers made, and had his sword secured by his hip as his lifelong companion. Wearing his 'best hunter' title on his face, emotionless, he stepped towards the tree and placed a hand on the trunk. The bark was warm beneath his palm, humming with something ancient and patient.
Most of the time, people appeared near here where the roots were more above the ground.
Sol was wondering what kind of person it would be this time when his ears picked up the sound of rustling above him. The snap of a twig.
A shadow cast, and he jumped a step back, hand ready at the hilt of the sword to attack whatever creature it was above him, and looked up.
It was the person. A teenager, by the looks of it. White hair catching the morning dawn glow like spun glass. But he was falling from the tree, limbs tangled in lower branches, heart beat wild with panic, Sol could hear from miles away.
He pushed his agility and speed to reach him, but the tree seemed to want to have some fun. The moment he caught the falling body in his arms, his foot snagged on a root.
He toppled.
With the momentum, the surprise, and the weight, he fell forward, and he could not stop the cursed word from escaping his mouth.
"Shit."
Sol closed his eyes, accepting the fate but glad that he broke the fall of the person, sparing him from any heavy injuries.
Spoof!
He felt his body shrink and drown under the weight of the man. The world grew larger, sounds sharper, colors bleeding into different spectrums. His sword clattered against a root, suddenly enormous, useless.
'Fuck you, Elowen.' He wanted to tell.
Instead, a sound that he hated the most escaped his throat.
"Meow."