Who is Re'nara Lin'aye you ask? Where should I start? I could start with the murder of my father before my very eyes. No, I think not. I could start with my earliest childhood memories. That may not be the best place either. To truly know who I am and how I came to be the person you see before you today I think we will have to go quite a ways back. I think I must tell you my father's story. For it is from him that I learned of the gifts of compassion and honor. It was he that taught me to be honest in all things. Without him I would not be the woman you see today......
My father always told us his first memories were filled with hunger and pain. He could not remember his parents or where he came from. He could remember trying to chase down rats in the alleys for something to eat. Only to have them bite and scratch then run away. Leaving him to eat the ones that had died from age or disease. He remembered being beaten once when all he took was a half rotten apple that had fallen from the fruit vendors cart and rolled out into the street. He always promised his children that this would never happen to us.
He learned at a young age that he was different, he was not completely human. He did not know what elves were but the other street children would kick him and drive him away when he tried to join them in their games. They would call him half-breed, pointy ear, or demon. He swore to his children we would never have to experience this.
One night in early spring there was a particularily strong thunderstorm which he was forced to wait out in the meager shelter of a tinker's waggon. He found in the very back corner of the wagon a small bundle of food. A veritable feast to his young eyes. There was a wedge of fresh yellow cheese, an apple with hardly any bruises, and a still warm loaf of bread. There was even a fresh skin of water. Gathering this all up he prepared to bolt out of the wagon, stopping he worried that he might get caught and lose this most wonderful gift from the gods. He decided to stay put and enjoy the first real meal he could remember. After eating what would only be an evening snack for most of us he bacame drowsy and fell asleep.
When he awoke he was amazed to feel the wagon moving. How could he be so careless and drop his guard? If the tinker found him he would surely beat him or maybe worse for stealing his food. There was no way out of the wagon except through the front where the tinker sat guiding his donkey along the deeply rutted road. Just as he was trying to seat himself back down in his hiding spot the waggon hit a large bump in the road throwing him forward. Crying out in surprise he landed with a loud crash in the middle of some old pots and pans the tinker had yet to repair.
The wagon came to a quick stop and my father tried to dig himself out of the pile of scrap metal and broken pots. The back door of the wagon swung open and he was grabbed by the ankles and dragged from the cart. Kicking and screaming, clawing and biting he tried to get away. The whole time this tinker is laughing and trying to keep a hold of him. My father broke free and as he turned to run he noticed something astonishing....The tinker's ears were pointy, just like his own!
And so ends the first chapter of my story.