SWC Leader Application July 2022 Excerpt

The patter of rain trickling through the low-lying mists of the forest nearly drowned out the gurgle of the swollen stream rushing between bumps and hollows.
Sitting crouched beside the bank, Nesryn Fayer extended a hand over the water, and let the song of the early morning storm wash over her. With the sky cloaked by the raging storm, the groaning of breaking thunder and the answering flash of lightning had a violent, frenzied beat to it. She breathed in the chill mists and the fresh rain, dragging the scents deep into her lungs. Her magic wavered in answer, as if yawning good morning to her and then tumbling back into its deep slumber in her stomach.
Around the bend and the camp only just in view, her companions still slept, protected from the storm and the northern chill by an invisible shield of her making. The magic flickered in the wind, drifting off in little strands. It was weakening, as Nesryn could see.
Nesryn flexed her fingers over the stream, and then she could just see something out of the corner of her eye.
Across the brook standing on a moss-coated boulder, two miniature bone-white fingers flexed and cracked, a mirror of her own movements.
She smiled slightly. The Little Folk had been tracking them since they’d crossed their border. They were only harmless fairies, leaving the occasional gift for them set atop a rock or fallen tree. But really, they just liked to watch her movements.
“If you have anything for me, friend, I’d love to see it.”
The spindly fingers darted back over the crest of the rock—which, like many others in this forest, had been decorated by symbols and whirls carved into the stone.
Nesryn chuckled to herself. The Little Folk were a mischievous lot, but also very shy. Once, they’d left her a little present waiting for her atop her rock very much like this one. The gift had been a replica of her shapeshifting form—a hawk crafted from gathered sparrow feathers, acorns, and beetle husks. And once, waiting for her at the crack of dawn upon a boulder had been a crown woven from nature’s divine—flowers, strands of grass, twigs, and so on. Evelyn, a girl of barely 12 who’d been dragged into this hellhole of Nesryn’s and her companions had quickly swiped it from her saddlebag and proudly worn atop her auburn hair throughout the entire day until it were merely shreds of torn petals. The next, two crowns, one slightly smaller than its twin, had awaited them both.
It had made the Fae girl smile just a bit, and hoped the Little Folk wouldn’t fail to do so again next time.
Maybe another day…

Author's Note
I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY–this was really rushed and as well as I may have said it was a piece of “original writing” it was merely a short story I started for a word war last session and dug up again recently to fix it up as an excerpt. I will probably tie this into one of my much larger writing pieces at a later date, though unfortunately for now I am quite happy to just leave it at that. There isn't much I want to say here, but please point out any errors in the writing if you spot some .