Deorla

Deorla left the kin house before dawn, cloaked in her ranger garb—muddy greens and deep browns, worn soft with years. It blended well with the trees, the moss, and more importantly, with anonymity. She carried no banners, spoke to no one. The fewer eyes on her back, the better. 

To the Company of the East Road,

By the time you read this, I will be long gone—and not a single one of you should bother looking.

I leave behind no legacy, no fond farewells, and no apologies. Everything that bore my name within your halls—every record, every trace of my presence—has been reduced to ash. Whatever I was to you, it no longer matters. I’ve cut the ties, and you are nothing to me now.

Deorla sat alone in the quiet of the Bree homestead, the letter from Naridalis trembling in her hands. The familiar script, once a source of comfort, now bore words that cut deeper than any blade.

Trust, once solid among the Company of the East Road, now wavered like smoke. Naridalis’s words painted a picture of disillusionment, of friendships strained to the edge. Promises had been broken. The past Deorla had fought to bury clawed its way into the present, and now it stood like a specter between her and those she'd once called kin.

Author’s Note: This piece was shaped with a little help from AI. It provided assistance on things like the structuring, some names, shortening some verbose language/ideas as I'd written, and gave me the odd turn of phrase here and there.

Author’s Note: This piece was shaped with a little help from AI. It provided assistance on things like the structuring, some names, shortening some verbose language/ideas as I'd written, and gave me the odd turn of phrase here and there.