A footfall on the forest floor below brought Eliani's head up sharply.  The scroll in her hands curled back into itself.  She had not been reading it-her thoughts had drifted long since.  The Lay of the Battle of Westgard had failed to entrance her today. 
        She leaned out from the branch where she sat and peered down between the leaves of her favorite oak, seeking the sound's source.  A shadow of movement below, the edge of a cloak curling out of sight.  Not a kobalen, then.  Nor could it be a guardian, for Alpinon's patrols were always at least three strong.
        Eliani laid a hand against the oak's trunk-slender here, near its top-and closed her eyes.  The tree's khi was slow and deep.  She sent her own khi through it and out into the forest:  roots running strong into the earth, whisper-fine grasses moving with each light breeze, small creatures dwelling in branch or under root.  A much brighter, stronger pulse of khi reverberated through the wood, one that could only be ælven.  Eliani drew back from it, as the ælven did not trespass upon one another's khi.
        She opened her eyes and carefully set her scroll in a notch of two branches where she had stored little treasures since childhood.  She loved the old ballad-heroic mindspeakers and soul-consuming alben warlords still thrilled her despite her inattention today-but her curiosity about the intruder was more immediate. 
        She moved stealthily down to the oak's lowest limbs, making no sound at all, for she could have climbed the tree blindfolded in any direction.  Peering on a lower branch, she saw a solitary figure walking away northward:  tall, male, pale-haired. 
        She caught her breath, thinking for an instant that it was an alben.  Fear set her heart pulsing before reason reminded her that an alben would not be walking in daylight, even if he dared to cross the mountains into Alpinon. 
        No, it was a Greenglen, his hair not white but pale blond, as was common to his clan.  He wore a cloak of Clan Greenglen's colors-sage lined with silver-and carried a long bow slung over one shoulder. 
        Greenglens were rarely seen in Alpinon, though their homeland of Southfæld shared a nearby border.  Eliani had met only a handful of them in her short fifty years, and none recently. 
        She smiled a hunter's silent pleasure.  She would track this foreigner, try to glimpse his face, see how long she could follow him unnoticed.  It was the sort of game she most enjoyed, and she was good at it, having spent the last two decades in Alpinon's Guard.  She felt a moment's wistfulness, reminded that soon she would become the Guard's commander.  The other guardians would call her "Warden" instead of "Kestrel," the nickname they had given her. 
Tomorrow, on Autumn Evennight, she would be confirmed in her majority and formally named heir and designated successor to her father, Felisan, Governor of Alpinon.  The command of the Guard would pass to her as well.  This was her last day of youth and irresponsibility.  A little mischief might be forgiven her, this last time. 
        Grinning, she turned her attention to her quarry.  She tensed her thighs, balanced carefully, and sprang to the forest floor, making no more sound than the falling of a leaf.