,0 Days
'Sweetheart, it's a girl." Wiyon said to his exauhsted wife. He wrapped the infant in a thick fabric, leaving a small hole for her budding wings. Gossamer took her daughter from Wiyon hands, flipped her around, and lightly rubbed her wings. "To my people, her name would be Chiffon." she said to her husband. "Yes, and to mine she would be Naon. Miss Naon Chiffon Aero. The perfect name for our perfect little angel."
4 Days
"Take Naon, and hide." Wiyon screamed at his petrified wife. He stared out the window of their small home, watching as the Aero troops stomped towards him. He watched as his men moved, strategicly changing formation, just as he had taught them. If ever left leaderless, they would march forwards, changing formation from a standard block, to a circle, to a diamond, and back to the block. The constant shape shifting was meant to confuse and intimidate whoever they were marching towards. "Well, it certainly works" Wiyon muttered. He realized that he needed to do something, so he took the first sword he could find, "Cometfell, Sword of Lost Comrades. Not really fitting in this situation, but it will do," He thought to himself. He inched towards the front of the wooden fortress, winding throught the corridors untill he found himself at the front door. He took a final glace around his crumbling world, hand on the doorknob, but a small triangle of metal caught his eye. A quiver of arrows and a crossbow had been unceremonially thrown on the ground after a hunting trip the previous day. "Gossamer, come here, and help me. Leave Naon in her room," he said, voice wavering with uncertainty. He restrung his bow, and nocked the string in place, listening to his wife's fluttering wings, and daughters uncontrollable sobs. Gossamer appeared in the entry way, a questioning look in her eye, and her bottom lip curled into a slight pout. "Come, my darling, you do remember how to shoot a crossbow don't you?" Wiyon asked. His wife slowly nodded, as her husband's plan unraveled in her mind. "You want me to shoot at your men, don't you," the aging faerie said. He grimly nodded. She ran up the small window in the kitchen, and aimed the bow. "Tell me when to fire," Gossamer mouthed. Wiyoun responded, "Wait until they first return to the block, then get off as many shots as you can, only when they stand in a rectangular shape. They stay that way longest, because it's easiest to fill in empty spots that way. Thus, the more holes you can make, the longer they must stay in formation." A curt nod and a quick flutter expressed her understanding.
While Wiyon donned his sky blue armor, she shot down 15 of his 150 men. As he set booby traps along the last half-mile leading to their house, she shot down 50 more. His booby traps killed 25 more, trip wires deploying bombs, and releasing hidden daggers and poison darts. Then, as they marched, the lucky living minority held their heads high, as Gossamer used her last 10 arrows. Only 3 hit their mark. The final booby trap, a rock drop 10 yards out from their home claimed the life of 18 more. There were only 39 left.
Suddenly, Gossamer's honey-like voice pierced the screams of fallen solders, and air of gloom that had risen over the scene, with tears in her eyes, she screamed, "Wiyon, prepare for combat, they've laid siege to the house! “
