“This is the true blessing of the elven village,” Liriel said. “Not a gift you wield. But a home that wields you —for the good of all.”
“You crossed the boundary,” she said. Her name was Liriel, the Grove-Keeper. “Most humans who do so are turned to ash by the old agreements. You… you were dying. The grove accepted your blood as an offering.”
A long silence. The weeping willow’s light grew warm, then blinding.
