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After announcing your intention, the last preparations take only a dozen minutes. You and your mother wrap a long piece of white cloth around the handle of your swords, a silent statement of intent to anyone looking: you have no intention of sliding it out of its scabbard... but the threat of its existence remains. Then comes the straw hats, you and your mom share hairstyles and pointed ears. Neither of you is actively trying to hide them... but avoiding putting them on display has become a well-practiced habit.
During your week of ''process'' inside the migrant camp, nobody in your family heard anything about people being murdered in the streets of Eichenwald but experience taught everyone that it was far, far better to be prepared. Elves draw attention, and women are seen as easy targets. And, well... you're not the biggest of people, your weapon is more shortsword than sword. Your mom has a head of height more than you, she's far better at intimidating people than you ever could.
Hopefully, people aren't going to make a crowd... You've also had to suffer lunatics obsessed about elves in the past too.
It is so very, very tiring and sometimes dangerous, too. A few men have weird ideas about an elf's lifespan, as if it could be shared by touching you!
''Think you'll explore the woods around here, Cannan?'' Your dad asks as you set out on the road. Your family has no horse or cart, so it's around thirty minutes of walking before reaching the city.
''Been meaning to, I haven't taken a proper look but I think we've just got a few pockets of trees. Might be some games here and there.'' Mom inspects the streets surrounding the only dirt road leading to your family property. ''But nothing worthwhile, the real hunting ground is northwest, on the border with the Wildlands.''
The woods surrounding your home are more than big enough to get lost in but it's going to disappear for more properties in the coming years. Your family is the only one living in this part of the outskirts because all the new homes are concentrated east, in the fertile plains. You could grow crops on your little spot of land, but it'll be difficult... That'll be a worry for later.
The road is peacefully lonely. Dirt gives way to rock then a newly paved road, landscape changes from unkept wood to a sweeping plain where, eastward, faraway farms in various stages of construction dot the landscape and quite a distance to the south is a checkpoint manned by the King owns men to catch any of the profiting migrants from the outer parts of the Allied Kingdoms. This road sees more activity: carts, and other travelers with big loads on their shoulders make for one of Eichenwald markets or perhaps delivered elsewhere. Two ladies with swords and an unarmed man draw inevitable attention but aside from giving you a wider berth, nobody acknowledges your existence.
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