Nemie danced playfully in the canopy, hopping between branches that should’ve been too thin to support her. She wasn’t worried about falling– she never was. How could she be when the branches reached out to catch her every step?
Together, for no audience but themselves, she and the trees performed a wondrous play– one of marvels, freedom, and windfalls. Nemie belonged to this forest; she was its secret, and one it was loath to share. At times, she felt its jealousy when she passed through the treeline into different territories. Once, when she was sent with an embassy to the Bogwren Marsh, she was away from her forest for a month. When she returned, it had curled up its branches and smoothed its bark, refusing to let her climb its trees for days out of spite.
Now though, all grudges were forgotten. Everything was forgotten. It was just her and her forest, playing together under the ever-dusky sky of the Feywild. She delighted in the movement of the wind as it came to join them. It capered around her, and she could almost hear it giggle as it began pulling the carefully placed strands of her intricately braided auburn hair loose. She was too exultant to mind.
The wind urged her forward– faster it whispered. She broke into a sprint, moving so quickly that the branches barely had time to move beneath her as she bounded between them. This was right.