As the soft light of a balmy spring afternoon melted into the gentle golden glow of gloaming, the great gates of the Elvenking opened, loosing a flood of elves onto the narrow bridge spanning the forest river. Some were children; others, grown. Some carried baskets of food; others, weapons. All were laughing or singing or chatting merrily, and Brethilaes knew it for a sign that the eagerly awaited day had come at last.
The buds had blossomed prematurely this year, bringing with them rumors that the feast celebrating the new year's arrival would also come early -- but the exact day could not be guessed. Brethilaes had feared it would come too soon, before the gift was ready, but she had finished it just in time.
She stretched tall, eagerly scanning the crowd spilling off the bridge to disappear into the deepening forest shadows. She was yet too small