(Home Land)

The day's light was beginning to dwindle, making the magic of the many plants within the Western Forest become more apparent against the twilight shadows. A gentle breeze whistled through the countless trees where three delicate creatures gathered together. Their silky hair glowed with fluorescent shades that rivalled the vibrant colours of the flowers growing at their bare feet. Their eyes twinkled with the same vibrancy, for harboured in their gaze was the magic of old times. They were dressed in fine clothes that they created themselves, with skirts and handsome tails that swished and moved as they danced and played.

Whilst chattering with wide smiles upon their beautiful faces, they decided to kneel down upon the carpet of flowers that they helped to grow alongside their chief's daughter, Fìorea. They stroked their graceful fingers across the purple petals of Fìorea's creations and giggled as glittering pollen leapt up in the air before them.

"Strelle fo bhlàth," said the one with long pink hair and sparkling eyes that matched. "Breaghis, dìrut coltide Fìorea!"

Her sentiments were soon interrupted by the gasp of her friend, who had blue hair that brushed his shoulders. "Sealtus uilis duna! Trog! Tha il a' lateblach! Poss urra il faicvi anns a frusanes!"

The two others did as they were instructed and looked towards the bushes, and right enough, there hidden amongst the twisting branches and bright green leaves was a very different creature. His skin looked dirty, as did his messy, dull hair. He wore uncomfortable looking clothes, which looked as though they were made of moss. It was surprising that he managed to stay out of sight for as long as he did, for his bulky body took up so much space.

He was a Troll, that's what he and his tribe called themselves in their simple language. However, the fair creatures (also known as the Sìthicris) called them the Troglobha - Trogs as a slur. The Trolls were too stupid to understand what the Sìthicris said. They could not get their smaller brains to understand the complexities of Sìthicris Sana - these dirty looking beings called the beautiful language the Fairy Sound, which only made the Sìthicris turn their noses up at them more.

The three colourful Sìthicris scowled at the ugly creature, got to their feet and found a place further away. They didn't want to give him the satisfaction of a struggle. However, they did make sure to keep a watchful eye on him.

They went back to doing what they went to the forest in the West to do that evening. They were supposed to encourage more magical flowers to grow, for it was their turn. Two went back to work but the orange haired Sìthicris reached up and picked an apple off a nearby fruit tree. The sound of the branch snapping caused the other two to jump and turn towards her. Their reaction and her sudden realisation caused her eyes to widen.

Petrified, she slowly put the apple down. She then tried to pluck up the courage to turn her head to see where the Troll was, but as she did, a large body crashed towards her, knocking her painfully to the ground.

With a joint effort, the other two managed to stop the extremely angry Troll from doing anything else by freezing him to the spot with their magic. The red flames in his eyes glowed dangerously as he glared down at the orange-haired fiend.

"You awful, spiteful creature!" the Troll spat! "You hurt your land!"

"You are simple! Trog!" the blue haired Sìthicris spat back in the Troll's language.

A guttural growl ripped from the bulging giant's throat and the fire in his eyes burned even hotter.

"We'll get you! Fairies! One day we'll stop your tyranny upon this land!" his voice rumbled in fury.

The Sìthicris laughed, then turned to face one another.

"Curru!" the blue haired one said as he and the pink haired Sìthicris released the scowling beast. The three then sprinted as fast as they could through the trees away from him.

"STOP, YOU VANDALS!" he yelled after them. Then the sound of his heavy footsteps could be heard echoing in the still twilight air.

The Sìthicris ran all the way to a tall white wall that stretched right across the forest. They made their hands glow with their individual coloured light, pushed against the sturdy bricks and disappeared from sight.

The Troll was left all alone on the other side. Slumping his heavy shoulders, he stomped back to his home land; ready to take back his tales of woe about the disrespectful Fairy Tribe.

The three colourful Sìthicris fought for their breath as their shoulders shook with laughter.

"That ridiculous Trog!" the blue haired Sìthicris managed to say, his disdainful words sounding like a song within his native tongue.

"Sol, Bhilina, thank you! I don't know what would've happened if you two didn't step in!" the orange Sìthicris piped up, her brow knitted together as she glanced at the solid white wall.

"What were you thinking, Pula? You know that Trogs get angry when they see us eat fruit!" the pink Sìthicris reprimanded her friend with an amused glint in her eye.

"I know! I wasn't thinking!"

"Bhilina, don't be so hard on her," Sol joined in with a smirk. "Trogs have tiny brains, why must we pander to their ill-logic and violent ways?"

"You're right, Sol, some things can't be helped!" Pula said whilst flinging her small hands in the air.

"We better go and report this to The Chief..." Bhilina sighed, it was present within her glowing pink eyes that this was something that she dreaded to do, and it didn't take long for the faces of the other two to fall also.

"Must we?" Sol huffed.

"Come on," Bhilina said and began to lead them to the centre of Chridocus - their hometown.

They made their way through the numerous teepees that stood around them. They dragged their bare feet until they came to the largest of all the tents, where the chief and his family lived, also where all the Sìthicris regularly gathered for feasts.

The white taut material was pulled over sturdy beams of wood taken from trees found within the Forest in the North - trees that had the strongest wood out of all the various kinds found upon their land. Gold stars decorated the tent's waterproof exterior. Those stars glowed with magic within the darkened atmosphere of night.

The three Sìthicris let themselves in. Sol grabbed a baton from its colourful clay holder and struck the large drum beside the door. The door on the opposite side of the large hall flapped open and out peeked a green clad servant.

"What, what is it?" the timid little fellow called out to them.

"We bring a report for Chief Dìonad," explained Bhilina and she then added in a rush. "We were the three who were on duty in the West at sundown."

"I see," the green Sìthicris said, then disappeared behind the flap of the tent again without warning. The three stood in silence, waiting for only moments before the green servant emerged from the separated room again.

"Here comes Chief Dìonad!" he announced, then spun on his heel and bowed towards the open doorway. The three followed suit and bowed towards the elder Sìthicris who made his grand entrance. His long silver hair scraped along the ground behind the train of his navy blue robe. His long, thick cotton beard, lay softly upon his torso and a twinkling silvery glow beamed from his eyes as he took in the three Sìthicris who paid him the traditional respects.

"By the stars above and waters below we greet you Chief Dìonad!" they said in unison.

"Rise," his velvety voice commanded within his tribe's melodious language. "Did your duties go as planned?"

"They did, Great Chief," Sol answered, bowing his head, then looking deeply into his shining eyes. "We grew more flowers as instructed to us by our appointed elder."

"Very good," the Chief responded before Sol had the chance to add anything else, which spurred Pula to step forward.

"Great Chief," she quickly bent her knee and waited for her leader to nod so that she could continue. "Th-there was a Trog spy, he attacked me."

After hearing this, the chief began to pace about the room, the magic in his eyes sending angry sparks around the hall. It was at this moment that his daughter appeared within the doorway.

"Father? What is it?" she called towards the angry Chief. "Your sparks are flying."

"Did he harm you?" The chief asked the orange Sìthicris, ignoring his daughter's enquiry.

"N-no Chief, my friends froze him before he could do much damage."

"Who did you need to freeze?" Fìorea demanded.

"A Trog," Pula answered the chief's daughter with a curtsy.

"Troglobha, if you don't mind, Pula Lus Nutrix," Fìorea corrected the Sìthicris informal slip of the tongue. Bhilina gave her orange friend a quick glance and Pula's cheeks burned.

"Yes, sorry, Troglobha," Pula confirmed the correction, with her head bowed.

"What did you do? Troglobha don't just attack for no reason. Did you follow protocol in case a Troglobha was nearby?"

Pula bit her bottom lip and shook her head.

"My daughter asked you a question, Pula." The chief's voice managed to shake Pula out of her shameful silence.

"I - I didn't, I picked an apple," Pula admitted. "F-from the branch."

Fìorea took in a deep breath, whilst brushing her delicate fingers through her long violet hair, pushing it from her face as she squeezed her glowing purple eyes shut. She then let it out in a long sigh.

"Pula, you know better than that! All growers who go to the Western Forest must only ever eat fruit that has already fallen. Picking off branches triggers the Troglobha. We can only pick off the branch in the North, where they do not venture," she clarified the well known procedure. She of course knew it well, for she was the one that put it in place; this was an attempt to try and keep the peace between the tribes.

"Pula Lus Nutrix," Chief Dìonad pitched in. "You are suspended from duties in the Western Forest until further notice." He then turned towards the other two who stood there silently, not daring to say a word in case they too got scolded. "You did right to report the Trog spy," he added, earning a quick glare from his daughter for using the slur. "You may now return to your homes."

Relieved, the three Sìthicris gave a unified bow and said the traditional departing words.

"Light shine for you, Chief Dìonad and Fìorea."

All three of them then disappeared out of the main door in silence.

Fìorea waited a few moments before letting her shoulders slump out of their authoritative stance. She let out an annoyed sigh and threw a quick disapproving glance towards her father.

"What is it now, Fìorea?"

"How are we ever to establish peace with the Troglobha Tribe if you are encouraging your people to use slurs and to accuse the Troglobha of spying?"

"They are spying, Daughter, what else could they possibly be doing? It's what they've always done. It's because of them that we must live looking over our shoulders. Why are you putting the blame on me?" the chief retorted, the gruff sound within his deep voice made it evident that he was tired and not in the mood to argue with Fìorea on this matter again.

"I just don't understand, Father, why must it always be this way?"

"Because Troglobha will never change. They can't. They are not capable of learning."

"Because you won't give them a chance!" Fìorea mumbled under her breath, then left the hall before her father could say anything else.