The Great Book of Elvenholm

"We don't live...we survive."

      "HANG ON!!!" I hear a male voice shout those words. Words that many before him said before falling on the warm embrace of death. We spent days wandering on the cold Karst mountains to the southwest of the Heart lake of Elvenholm. Our brethren die at each step we take, either of disease or famine, but we don't have a choice but to march forward to escape from the Holy order.  Murderous men that take away lands, lives , and happiness from those who they consider "not worthy" of the grace given by their God, slaughtering entire villages of innocent people.
      For many years we lived in peace with the inhabitants of the great island, even with the awkward forest elves (which i kid you not, like to live swinging their reproductive rods through the Branchjudden woods). Fishing, farming and trading were our daily motives to be worried, but those days are long gone. Ever since those men from the Holy order arrived we have nothing but pain and loss.
      We stop in a plain spot on the Third twin (name given to one of the three mountains that make most part of the Karst island) and set a camp so we all can rest and let those with a death wish live for a little longer. The young and fit collect some wood to make a fireplace while the ancient ones get ready to cast a fire spell so we can finally scape from the cold grasp of death and remember the warmth of what we once called home.
      The younger ones finally come back with plenty of branches and thin logs and the old mages finally cast a fire spell and almost instantaneously set the logs and wood on fire. "quite a way to live, no ?" I hear a calm voice reach my ear as I find a place around the big fireplace. It was Jündr, the one who will always have a golden heard no matter the situation. I only reply "no...this is not living. This is survival."