The lady of the wood sat upon her silver throne. For ages, ageless she dwelt in the dark. Her white dress flowed out onto the moss like a glacier upon green mountains. Her bright eyes shone like stars in the dark spaces of her forest. Never before had she been seen by any mortal, for mortality did not enter her domain. Her power was perpetual life. It was by her that the trees grew tall and all creatures of the wood ate of their fruit.

In isolation she dwelt, alone in her hidden kingdom.

She heard the familiar clamor of war. The clang of steel rattled through the trunks of her trees from the fields beyond her domain. How dull the mortals were. They cared for nothing of anything sacred.

Up she arose in anger. She felt a presence; one gravely lacking innocence. Someone had brought violence into her realm. She would not have her pure domain mangled and marred by the blood of mortals.

Then she beheld him. Bent, bloodied, and battered. Her heart broke.