If you travel South from the capital of Salt the winding road passes through Spire, so named for the single tower that once stood there back when it was the heart of another l kingdom. A few days further down that same road and you will find the skies clouding with soot and ash as you pass the coal furnaces that warm Iron's beating heart. Villages and towns dot the landscape. Woolsworth and Meadows. Ironbreak, Black Sands, Well, and Worthy. Another dozen dozen towns so small their name isn't worth remembering unless you care about someone who lives there. There, on the southernmost edge of Salt you'll find a small, quiet town. Ravenwood has the usual fare; horses and wagons, children playing in the streets, laborers walking the streets, but despite all of that the birds that nest in the trees sing quieter songs than their northern counterparts.
No roads or trails lead from that small town into the woods that lie South of it. The trees there fear no axe or iron and the few forgotten paths are overgrown with disuse and run more West or East than South. No game trails cross into it. No birds nest among the black branches and ebony leaves. The Sorrows, they call it, for no joy can come from entering it.
The children of Ravenwood grow up in the shadow of the Sorrows. It's a constant friend and companion, and so they know joy despite the deep weight pressing constantly down upon their hearts. They know the joy of coming home, how the mute happiness of the outside world will never compare to the relentless abundance of feeling within the blessed walls that keep them warm and dry. It is the way of things.
But things are seldom as they seem. It doesn't take long for word to travel in a small town, or for pain to drive a person to do desperate things, and so a girl runs home with her heart in her throat.
She sobs softly and as she kicks her shoes off as she steps, unknowing, into the welcoming shadow of the house. She stops. Her fingers are nearly brushing the knob of the wooden door. And in the lee of the place that always welcomes her home with an abundance of excitement and love and feeling, she crosses the threshold of normalcy and plants her bare foot into the beginning of a farie-tale.
In the absence of the ever-present weight of life outside, grief wells up within her again. Anger too. Disgust. Shame. Emotion screams within her like sabers clashing. So sharp she feels as though she might be cut her to pieces from inside. She takes an involuntary step back and the Sorrows call to her, dulling the cacophony of emotion inside of her with familiar weight.
The day is sunny and bright, but she can feel the sabers rattling all inside her. And her heart calling to her from beyond the trees and hills where it is fleeing from today. The wind moves through the trees in the distance and carries a silence to her. She turns and runs, shoeless, between the trees of Ravenwood. Her heart pounds and the rush of the blood moving through her veins fills her ears as with each step, the sound of the wind moving the leaves grows fainter and fainter.
The tall, dark trees of the Sorrows wait for her. Patiently. Still. Not even their black leaves move to add music to the winds that blow through them. They do not sway or bend to the will of anything but themselves. And as she runs, they listen to the patter of her feet approaching.
She is among them, running still. And with each step the encroaching trees lean ever so slightly towards her path. The canopy closes above her and the sun is lost. She is lost. Exhaustion darkens her vision. Her body is numb and heavy. Time has no meaning as she continues forward, blind to the forest and the trees.
She falls against a tree, but she does not see how the tree's limbs move to catch her. The darkening sky above her traces moonlight across the forest floor and stars watch over her as unconsciousness leaches slowly through her. She does not witness how the roots dig a place for her to lay, nestling her against its trunk. And as the shame and disgust and anger boil away, she is afraid. Warning from her mother and fathers echo from the furthest reaches of her memory, lulling her to sleep.
It has been nearly a decade since the trees of the Sorrows have fed upon the children of Ravenwood. Tasting their fears and anxieties. Their hopes and dreams. Leaves fall and cover her. Branches bend and twist. Roots loop around the girl's sleeping body and drink deeply. Her breathing begins to slow and as the tree stands tall the world falls still. In this resting place she will be safe. Always.
