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Morning dawned with the sun shining brightly over the eastern sea. Rays of light glistened off the snowcaps of the mountain creating mini prisms of rainbow colors along the ridge. The air was crisp, and the wind had died down from the previous night. Everything was silent, the rest of the camp had yet to rise. It would seem even the birds of the morning had yet to summon themselves awake enough to grace the day with their song.   Christian, for the first time waking before the others, took on the job of building up the campfire as Udorus had ordered.  He thought perhaps this would be the opportunity to impress the dwarf and the rest of the crew for once.

Stretching as he rose from bed, he realized the smell he had thought was coming from the horses he led, was actually him.  Christian looked toward the east, checking the progress of the rising sun and realize he probably had time to bath and still retrieve the firewood before the others awoke.  Stripping out of his rancid clothing, he grabbed a fresh change of clothes and the discarded ones and worked his way through the small gathering of trees between the camp and the stream running off the mountain. 

The water was so cold, his feet were numb almost instantly.  While this was a blessing for the sores and blisters on his feet, it made it somewhat difficult to wash out his dirty clothes as his hands were trembling uncontrollably.  The dirt, blood and sweat washing off of his body and clothes clouded the stream so much he hoped it didn’t kill any of the fish or other wildlife that encountered it.  He winched at the thought that some traveler following them might fill his waterskin with water from this stream.

Drying off as best he could with a spare tunic, he quickly dressed, trying to maintain what body heat still remained.  He couldn’t remember being so cold.  His fingers worked out the tangles of hair drooping into his eyes and he tied his bangs back with an extra length of leather from the horse packs.  The dip into the stream seemed to invigorate him, adding a spring to his step that had been missing the last couple days. 

Christian headed into the forest opposite the camp in search of firewood. The morning sun had not quite breached the canopy of the trees and he found it darker then he had expected causing him great trouble in finding suitable branches for the fire. Being as naïve as he was, and eager to impress his fellow crew members, he took to ripping live branches from the standing trees. 

He tugged and twisted on his third branch, nearly hanging off of it with his entire weight, when a high-pitched scream of pain, or perhaps terror erupted from the trunk of the tree.  Startled, he let go of the tree and stumbled backward, falling over the branches he had already collected, staring dumbfounded at the shrieking tree.  As he watched, what appeared to be a tiny little girl crawled out of a hole near the base of the tree.  Her skin was the color of the tree bark and her clothing was made from leaves and ivy. Tears streaked down her face and what appeared to be sap oozed from her arm.

She inched her way toward Christian and in a squeaky faint voice, she uttered, “Why are you trying to kill me and my tree?” Her big soft brown eyes, which took up nearly two thirds of her face,  looked sadly upon him. Christian sat there in shock, uncertain how or if he should, reply to this little being. She stood no higher then his knee, and looked so fragile.  Her delicate features were twisted in pain.

“Wha…What are you?” He asked leaning forward, squinting in the dark to get a better look at her, “I have not seen the likes of your kind before.”

She wiped her tears away with her arm, trying hard to stop her crying, “I am a tree nymph you silly elf,” she stated factually.

Climbing to his feet, Christian was taken back, “I am not an elf, I am human.  Have I hurt your eyesight as well?”

“But…I…mayhap I am wrong,” the nymph hesitated, her little eyebrow arched in question, “but I sensed…oh… never mind, of course you are human! No elf would twist my branches as you did.”

“I am very sorry,” Christian whispered, ashamed that he had hurt her, “I did not know.”

“Humph!” came a sound from the little nymph as she stomped her tiny foot in emphasis, “I guess I can forgive you just this once, mind you never hurt my tree or another in this wood.”

“Do you have a name?” he asked bending low once again to see better.  He was rather inquisitive of this newly found creature.

“Aye,” she replied, “I am Liola, of the Oaken Order.”

“Well Met Liola,” he said in a deep bow, “I am Christian, umm … of Nanholve.”

“Greetings to you as well,” Liola said in a little bow of her own, “I fear I cannot speak with thee any longer Christian of Nanholve, I must tend to my tree. I cannot heal myself until my oak is healed.”

“Forgive me for keeping you so long,” the boy told her, his face flushed, still ashamed of what he had done.

“Worry not, I can sense that it was indeed unintentional,” the nymph assured him as she retreated into her tree, “I will consider thee my friend Christian of Nanholve, thou mayest return to see me again, if it please you.” She waved to him from the hole within her tree, “Fare thee well!”

Still in awe of the nymph, Christian returned to his self appointed task of finding firewood.  This time, he would not touch a living tree, or ever again for that matter.  Fumbling through the underbrush, he managed to find a few fallen branches adequate enough to maintain a decent fire, creating enough noise in the process to wake the trees and the nymphs that reside in them. Perhaps that is why he didn’t hear the crunch of heavy footfalls on the underbrush.  They approached quickly behind him. 

            For the third time in no fewer days, Christian found himself reeling onto his face, this time tasting blood in his mouth as he bit through his lip. He began to raise himself off the ground reaching towards the sword on his belt when he felt white-hot pain spidering through his head from a hit to the base of his skull.  Bright lights shot through his eyes as the pain overcame him, and he dropped back onto the ground. Christian heard footsteps crunching through the brush around him just before a kick to temple knocked him out completely. 

            Even had his hand reached his belt, it would have done him no good.  He had left his sword sheathed, tucked neatly under his bedroll.