Rising Storm

I

Her wings were itching, and she twitched them, an attempt to ease the discomfort near the base of her appendages. She was surprised she stayed still this long, she was beginning to be antsy, slender fingers digging into the toadstool that was her seat, inside a crowd of all of the faeries-literally all-while they patiently waited for their king to appear and tell us the matter. No one knew what was to happen, but it was assumingly not in any way good, considering the soldiers that weaved around them all were looking a bit panicked. They already knew what was going on, and they're biting their fingers and tugging on their hair or ears in nervousness. A few others notice, taking note of it, she sees, and their faces become grim, assuming what she had as well.
     Everything becomes hushed as the king makes his way out of the hollowed tree that is his home. His golden glory and power along with grace causes everyone to feel the need to kneel, so they did, everyone rising, the hushed sound of a breeze from thousands of wings before they all, at once, genuflect. He smiles, if his eyes didn't go along with it. They appear tired. "My children," his voice rings out, long curls of his hair quivering and shining in the dimming light of the evening. "I have unfortunate news." It is then that an uneasy noise goes over everyone, and with a tilt of his head, it goes silent. "We must construct a draft. The Elves have called a war upon us."
     "But why?" a child cries out, and his mother hushes him. His wings fold under shame.
     "Because, my youthful boy, they claim we are thieves and murderers." Enraged humming commences. He hushes that with a raised palm. "We will now read off names of those being drafted. If you have a child, are a child, or are too old to serve, you will not be drafted in. If you are drafted, you must pack and be ready to commence training by tomorrow night. Do you all understand?" There is a murmur of agreement, and he goes back inside; once he is out of sight, everyone begins to speak.
     "Did you hear that?"
     "The Elves?!"
     "What did we do?"
     "I don't want you to go!"
     Three soldiers she could fairly recognize floated into the middle of the circle they had arranged, and ordered everyone to sit down. It took a little while, but eventually everyone had settled down again, not comfortably, but settled nonetheless. Once things are silent, the one in the middle, black, thick, short hair-soldiers were required to have short hair, it stays out of their way-tufted up, started listing off names. He must have just taken off his helmet. He was beautiful. But, then again, they all were. It was part of the glamour put on them at "birth". No one knows what happens at a faerie birth except mothers and doctors, and they were to keep quiet about it. It was considered sacred and must be kept a secret.
     "Mari Flythe. Prim Rens." He then said her name. She kept a straight face, tugging on her hair a little. She'll have to cut it all off. Another hour or so goes by and the ones called, rise up silently and go crowd around, the flitting of wings filling the air again, a soft windy breath. The elderly and the young along with their parents stare at them, eyes wide, dark, and sad. They are all then told to head to the forest floor, and they all simultaneously look down, the floor dark and unseen from the bright treetops that they live in. Keavy tells herself to take a breath, so she does, waving up at her best friend, whose face was grim, clutching his baby to his chest, his wife staring blankly down at her, seemingly shocked. It was then that they begin to move them down, and the bright light turned to filtered shadows and then into dark cold. Keavy fights the urge to shiver.
     "Welcome," says the soldier next to the faerie that had brought them down. "To the Fae Militia. You are most likely wondering where we are heading, but I can assure you it is not as bad as it seems." A fog had begun wafting around them, and they continue moving down as she speaks. "You will be trained to fight extremely larger opponents if it is seen as necessary, that means there will be teamwork. If you have any grudges against anyone in here, drop them now and forever. We will not lose anybody because of you. Do you understand?" There was no pause before everyone says "Yes, ma'am."
     "Very well," she says, satisfied. "I am Sergeant Nessa, and I will be taking care of you. If you would drop to the floor please." It hadn't occurred to anyone that they had made it. Everyone looks around, anxious. No one but soldiers go down here, and it was most everyone's first time, including Keavy. It was a lot different than she imagined. The flowers glowed, and it was really not that bad once you get used to the cool. It was dewey and the air was thick with moisture, and those who had curly hair were looking uncomfortable. She frowns in sympathy. They all lower themselves, the shiver of wings going quiet as one by one, their feet touch the mossy floor. She flinched when her toes touch the wet soil. Her wings folded, making room, as did everyone else's. Her's were a clearish icy green color, like a thin sheen of frost around a young leaf; everyone else's were an array of colors as well, and frosted-over-looking. Sergeant Nessa raises her voice again, still flying, Keavy assumed, because she wants to stay visible to everyone. They begin to lead them across the floor into a sheltered stump, the little bit of sunlight they had disappearing as they marched them, single file, underneath the ground. "This is all of your home now."