They grew up happy sheltered from the world their parents lived.A world of hate A world of dishonor. ~Happy that is until the day the beast took Duvies soul back,The beast that only his true love could hold back.Now that she was gone,The beast was free to roam Duvie's mind once again-Duvie Sent Jarsali and Cair back to the badlands.The place of their birth the place of his beloveds death.If for no other reason than to save them from the beast within.Watching(his only link to the one he loves)walk down the path.He raised his hands to the skies.His screams ekcoed throughout the lands.The beast was back.

-Looking back but once,they no longer could see the man they called father.Rather all they could see was the beast,With his claw like hands,They Ran.The ran so hard and fast that Cair tripped,scrapping her legs-Picking her sister up,she knew she had a long road ahead of them.It was then the voice filled her mind-The voice of her mothers Goddess Brigid-"look to the flames young one,The answers you seek are there".Shaking her head in disbelief.She carried on her way.Stopping by a stream to clean up Cair's wounds.She wondered again about the voice,but says nothing to her twin-.

As the night drew near,Jarsali sat by a fire,Gazing at a note her father had wrote.Her and Cair both had identical letters in case they got separated on their way-Laying down beside the fire the flames danced in her eyes-Drifting off to sleep,her thoughts were of the voice she had heard earlier-Coming into her dreams there was a woman.The woman approached with caution-"hello Jarsali,I have come to guide you on your journey"Jarsali's eyes widen as she looks at the strange woman,She seems familair yet not.Taking a step closer she realises who she is seeing."Mother"

Jarsali was a sylvan elf of the truest grain - even to the point of shunning others of her race, preferring instead the company of the woodlands well over that of her fellows. How her heart became to be full of suspicion and bitterness at her mortal comrades, no one knew; they only knew that Jarsali was a strange girl, even for an elf. Nothing assuaged the sorrow in her soul save the nearness of the primordial trees. Her wanderings from camp took her deeper and deeper into the virgin forest, to places where even few elves had ever set foot. In the heart of the wood, she found a living tree holding court with his minions. Her shock was great. Remember, this was a time before the elves had spread across the world, and they knew little of its races. Few had ever heard of a treant, much less seen one. Although her tribe had, Jarsali had never heeded the lessons of her compatriots, for she had no desire to learn from their experiences. Entranced by the sight of the treant, she crept closer to investigate. Suddenly, great bark-covered limbs from a nearby "tree" lifted her from the ground and held her captive. The animated oak brought her before its liege. Jarsali stood prisoner before the treant lord, and something in her heart cracked and was set free. The elf maiden fell instantly in love with the enduring beauty of the craggy wood before her. The treant eyed Jarsali's flushed cheeks and bright eyes. Suthuritihidan, the son of Garanahil the First Treant, saw hidden behind the elf's truculent air a spirit of fire that could not be quenched. It was the treant's first true look at an elf, and he was entranced. With a silent flicker of his twiggy finger, he commanded the tree to release the elf maid. The two stared at each other, sunlight filtering through the dappled leaves; then Suthuritihidan turned and melted into the forest. Jarsali returned to her camp. Her companions were amazed at her newly softened manner, so changed was it from her usual self. They wondered what could have happened on her latest excursion into the woods, but none said anything, feeling only gratitude and not caring the cause. When Jarsali crept away a week later, unable to forget the treant Suthuritihidan, some few smiled, thinking perhaps she had found a lover with a nearby tribe. One elf, however, did not smile - he frowned. Azalarer had thought to wed Jarsali himself, for he lusted after the elf maid. The words of his people were an irritant to his pride. Jarsali found again the treant lord, and this time neither could deny the truth of how well their souls matched the other. The initial exhilaration inspired by their first meeting provided the impetus for their relationship, and the feelings between two such dissimilar beings deepened. In time, they found that they were truly in love, each unwilling to continue life without the other beside them. But Azalarer grew suspicious of Jarsali's continued change. He and his cohorts followed her into the depths of the forest. Intent only upon meeting her love, Jarsali's ordinarily sharp hearing did not warn her of this pursuit. Azalarer and the others found her then, and they beheld a sight none had ever thought to witness in all their years: An elf maid embraced by a living tree! Azalarer's heart grew black. He taunted Jarsali cruelly and incited the prejudices of his comrades. In righteous wrath, they tore Jarsali from the arms of the surprised tree lord and spirited her back to camp. There Azalarer fanned the flames of xenophobia. The elves had never heard of such a strange coupling; they were outraged that Jarsali's chosen was not even humanoid, much less elven. They locked her behind a stout wooden stockade and angrily began debating what to do with her. Jarsali called upon the elven gods of the forest and of love, and she called upon the gods of Suthuritihidan, too. She prayed for both release from the stockade and from her elven form, that she might not have to endure the cruelties the elves inflicted upon her in the name of racial purity. The gods heard her pleas: They gave her the answer to one by granting the other. Inside the stockade, Jarsali's body stiffened. Her hair grew long and turned green, and her limbs became limbs of wood and not flesh. Her feet sought the cracks in the ground, and she extended her new roots into the soil beneath. Shouldering away the flimsy blockade, she forced her way into the sylvan camp. The elves scattered before her. Some prostrated them selves in abject terror, fearing for their lives. Azalarer, along with those who had been deliberating Jarsali's fate, came forth from the council chambers. The elf's heart turned ever more black and cracked with rage; he grabbed a fire brand but the council retrained him. With utmost respect, they bowed to Jarsali and bade her good speed and clean water, for her transformation showed them that love was real - that nothing they could say or do would change this simple fact. With only the faintest bow, Jarsali turned to the forest and was reunited with her true love. The elves watched her go with newfound respect; to this day, the sylvan elves and the treants share the custody of the woods.