Elowen

Her name was Elowen, and she had always known the shape of the life chosen for her. It was in the soil beneath her fingernails before she could walk, in the quiet expectations of her father’s tired smile, and in the careful, appraising looks of men who saw her less as a person and more as a future promise. She was meant to inherit the farm, or failing that, be married to someone who would. Her days would be measured in seasons, her world bounded by fences, her story already written. But Elowen found herself staring past the fields. She watched the distant road more than the crops. She listened too closely when travelers passed through, their cloaks heavy with dust and stories. They spoke of ruined towers, ancient forests, and horizons that never seemed to end. They spoke of danger, yes—but also of choice. So one morning, before the sun had fully claimed the sky, she washed the dirt from her hands, put on her cleanest dress, and left. She didn’t take much. She didn’t know how to fight. She didn’t know where the road would lead. Only that somewhere along it, she hoped to find someone who did. Someone who might see more in her than a farmer’s daughter. Someone who might teach her how to become something more.