A bit of my stories.

[Ninquelote]

Calenlassë and her horse had traveled a great distance since their first meeting with the Elven sentry. Little change occurred in the forests’ surroundings of varying trees, although it had become denser, with clearings becoming less and less common as they neared the heart of the forest. Pale white bark, nearly transparent, covered the threes that the Elves held sacred within these woods. They were not the most abundant, and could not be by far. The normal maple, evergreen and other miscellaneous trees were the majority of these woods, however the birch was in the highest esteem to the forest’s residents.
Aratoamin now had long trails of sweat running down his mottled-grey fur, starting beneath his Elven-made saddle and ending at his underbelly. Even though he seemed as if he were very uncomfortable and exhausted from the long ride, he pressed on at the will of his rider. He cared deeply for her, that much was plain, and although he was born and raised among the sloping green fields of Calendor, his heart too rested in the forest with his rider.
As suddenly as before, Calenlassë jerked her horse’s reins, pulling him to an abrupt stop. Unlike before, Aratoamin did not shift or bay in protest, but kept quiet and clam, as if sensing his mistress’ intentions. He was lead on slowly, nudged by the soft tug of his reins, pulled by his rider.
“Come, Aratoamin,” these two soft-spoken words, just like her previous harsh ones, were obeyed without question. They spurred him into a quicker walk, at pace with Calenlassë’s long, confident strides. With a slight grin, despite the circumstances of her mission, she pulled her hood down slightly, obscuring any view that would try to look upon her face. Her reasons for doing this were unknown, save for herself and her horse.
“Halt.” The command echoed abrasively through the trees, and for the time being, Calenlassë did as she was told. Her fingers tightened on her horse’s reins as the stallion’s head drooped, seeming to add age to his otherwise young and muscular form. The owner of the voice dropped from noiselessly from the overhanging boughs, an inconspicuous russet-coloured cloak covering the tall, lithe shape of a male elf. Calenlassë simply waited, knowing that more than one sentry was placed so close to the Elven province. A sly smile flitted across her face for a moment as second voice issued subsequent command to the other’s first.
“State your name and purpose.” The second voice was not as cold and callous as the first; however the same tone of authority was placed firmly into both voices. Calenlassë looked upwards; her face shadowed by the small pinnacles of light that was filtered through the tree’s enmeshed leaves as well as the hood that covered part of her face. Her smile was concealed from the, one visible and one still hidden, sentries.
“What business is it of yours, where my travels take me, let alone my name?” At these words, the first elf was slightly taken aback, and the second elf dropped from the same place in the trees to speak his part. He was nearly identical to the first, although with a slightly heavier build.
“It is in our authority to judge who comes to the borders of these lands.” The second elf replied, his voice curt and carrying the same coldhearted tone. From beneath her hood, Calenlassë’s eyebrows raised at this rather blunt assertion of power.
“It is in your authority to stop a wayfaring traveler?” She retorted, the question answered in a form as forthright as the last.
“Yes, we do not know their intentions or their permission to wander among the land.” The second elf replied, his tone going from ascertain of power to mild annoyance. Sensing such an irritation from her questioning, Calenlassë continued.
“And is it in your authority to stop marauders with evil intentions?”