Under the lone tree sits a girl of fourteen. Skin flawless and white as snow, hair as silver as the moon its-self. The breeze catches a wisp of hair, blowing it in front of her eyes. She takes her hair into her hand and pulls it all to her right, tying it into a loose braid. Using the water of the lake to see her reflection, she replaces the onyx coloured feathers she removed from her hair just a few hours ago, then secures it all with a leather strap at the bottom. She pulls her doe skin cloak tight around her shoulders. The breeze is nice, fresh and sweet, but still has the winter chill. The fabric of her trousers is soft but warm, made from the skin of a paloa fox, abundant in the grasslands. Many of the people in her tribe wear paloa skins, and they have been passed down through the generations.
A young girl finds herself in a world where she is different, and different is feared. Arella longs for freedom and the chance to be who she wants to be, but does not realize the perils that come with this freedom.
