The Brown Lands by Fernstrike

The Brown Lands

The Brown Lands stretched ahead, ashen grey. The Enemy's work. "Mark your water and rations carefully," called the King, marching Greenwood's elves on through it.

He paused briefly, touching a tiny brown patch on a blackened stump -

Sparks stung her as the inferno moved, a burning wall. A fawn trembled in her roots, hacking and coughing as life forsook it. She tried to coil herself around him, let him pass without having to touch the flames. The fire neared - she would not bow to it, to Him. The Entwife raised her strongest branches like a shield, and thought of Spring.