Sunday Excerpt, "Quest"

The morning sun poked cautiously over the horizon.  It painted the sky in a dazzling display of vibrant colors.  The brilliant star seemed to pause for a moment while taking its first look at the world to which it was bringing light.  The majestic, glimmering light brought a caress to the silky spring clouds.  They would continue to carelessly banter about the sky, riding winds where they led.

As the dark of night retreated, a dense fog still stubbornly held the land in a cloak of disguise.  Such a spiteful deed by its dark counterpart seemed to displease the sun.  It resolved to rise steadily into the air and shine brightly down upon the usurper with all its might.  Being no match for such luminance, the night reluctantly withdrew its misty blanket and released the land to the dawn.

As the haze dissipated, it gradually revealed treetops where one might expect the ground to be.  With more and more of the air clearing, the trees appeared to spread out in all directions.  It was a great forest of redwoods which seemed quite normal at first glance.  Upon closer inspection, though, it could be seen that the trees were twice as wide as houses and were spaced out evenly, most certainly in a deliberate pattern.  It was not just a forest, but also a town.

The trees were actually the town of Missandor.  The spacing of the giants formed a grid, which created streets through the town. There were no houses there in a conventional sense.  The inhabitants lived within and upon the trees.

Missandor was a community of elves. The swarthy folk with brown hair and eyes were slightly more modest in height than their human counterparts.

As a whole, it could be said that elves were a friendly and kind people but also intensely proud and distrusting of other races.  In Missandor, however, the population was known to be accepting of different cultures and races, making for an atypical elven town.

The quiet streets soon erupted with the sounds of the market opening for business.  Stands, carts and stores of all types were opening.  In a matter of minutes, the town had gone from a simple forest to a merchant conglomerate.

Sounds of children playing all around blended with the haggling taking place at the vendors.  It created a symphony of sound which was pierced on occasion by the ringing of a bell on the local water wagon.  The wagon was pulled by two horses and driven by a kindly old elf who had been delivering this precious commodity to homes since he was a child.  He would most likely continue his task until his eventual demise.  He was a constant in the ever-changing township.