A Part of a Plant which attaches it to the Ground

We follow him inside.

This room seems to be a gathering place of sorts, with a few elves lounging around. Two women in a corner are talking with each other; I see someone tinkering with something in another. A few small children seem to be playing with straw dolls.

Perpendicular to the entrance stands a table on a patchwork rug, around which elves sit on makeshift chairs. They seem to be playing a game of sorts, with small wooden game pieces.

They, however, seem much more interested in whoever just entered. Looking at me and Eleanor, they raise their brows and tense up a bit. After seeing Loren nod, however, they relax again.

"How deep do the roots go?"

One of them raises Loren a question. He speaks it with a sense of routine, as if he already knows the answer that will follow. A passphrase of sorts? Perhaps to identify those loyal to the cause?

"As deep as memory."

Loren answers with conviction and grim determination. One wouldn't be remiss to sense a hint of malice in his tone as well.

Seemingly pleased with the answer, all of them get up and move the chairs and table to the side. Them putting no care into preserving the position of their game pieces shows they are only here for guarding something.

Pulling up that rug, they reveal a trapdoor.

Loren opens the heavy thing. Below extends a gloomy passageway, reachable with a ladder constructed out of scrap.

"After you, kids."

Eleanor doesn't hesitate; she climbs down without any complaint. I follow suit.

As soon as Loren has made the descent as well, the hatch closes shut above us. A rustling can be heard from up above as well; they must be rearranging the furniture again.

With the lighting down here so much dimmer than the evening sun outside, my eyes need a few moments to adjust. But during that small delay my other senses give me quite a bit of information already.

Down here it smells a lot like in the mines; the air's rather stuffy and reeks of sweat and salt. A small undertone of sulphur also hits my nose.

The walls feel rather ragged and uneven to the touch; they weren't mined with a pickaxe. This might very well be a natural cave formation.

I hear voices. They speak with vigour and hope, something I thought lost on this side of the walls. Furthermore, they speak Elvish.

Being able to see somewhat clearly again, I venture further inside with Eleanor and Loren.

This is, without a doubt, a natural cave repurposed as a base by those unwilling to resign themselves to servitude. The light here is dim, provided only by a few scattered torches.

I can only hope the fumes have somewhere to escape, a chimney or something.

I see a few elvish women currently crafting makeshift weapons and armour out of broken tools and leftover scrap.

"This one will surely pierce a dozen human hearts, no doubt!"

She seems either genuinely proud of her work or is merely being sarcastic; I can’t tell which. Still, I can’t help but wonder if that shoddy spear she so proudly presents to her companion could ever pierce a guard’s armour.

"What do you think about this one? I call it 'Nature's Wrath'!"

Said companion now holds up her masterpiece, a pickaxe with the prongs bent inward, creating a pitchfork-like weapon. Though with a longer handle, it could almost resemble one of those man-catchers...

They giggle at each other and place their masterful creations on a pile of similar pieces. Seeing Loren, they smile and give him a little wave. In return he gives them a casual little chest salute.

"Keep up the good work, ladies!"

Eleanor just shoots me a confused look, not being able to understand a single word being spoken around her. Poor thing.

While most piles behind them only consist of their materials or creations, there is a small one filled with actual weapons, crafted outside these walls most likely.

On second look, I even recognise a few of the shorter blades. I sold them to that old man, after all.

Looks like I was already part of this rebellion effort, and I didn't even know it...

Isha's feelings of relief flow into me.

"The spark of hope has not been extinguished yet! If we help them here, we will be able to free all of them, not just your family." 

Maybe so, but whether these people show any promise worth betting your life on yet remains to be seen.

To that end, I should confirm a few things with Loren while we walk.

"Any hope of us digging our way out from here."

I spoke to him in the human tongue; I wanted Eleanor to understand as well. Immediately, though, I was met with death glares from all the elves around me.

Not the smartest move on my part, I admit. So I try once more, this time in Elvish.

"Eleanor can't understand our tongue. I've held off on teaching her thus far to avoid any slip of the tongue on her part."

He shoots a quick glance at her and nods to himself. He returns his answer in Elvish as well.

"Which was the wiser choice, I think so as well. However, she will soon be a grown woman. We should put our trust in her. I will teach her from now on when the time allows it. Feel free to help with that as well."

Eleanor pouts at me, being clearly hurt with us excluding her from our conversation. I gesture a quick apology towards her.

"Hmpf~"

She just scoffs. I'll make it up to her later somehow.

Back to my questions for Loren.

"So, could we dig ourselves out from here?"

"We probably could; we’ve even begun already. But to keep everything above from collapsing on us, we’d need to build supporting beams. At the rate we can smuggle the needed materials from the mines, even my grandchildren wouldn’t live to see the other side of the wall…"

His face darkens at the mention of his grandchildren.

I don't actually know how long elves live when they aren't dropping like flies in these walls. No matter how long that'd be, it's not an option for us.

"How long do elves live?"

"Before the tree burnt, seeing one of us die of old age or looking old in general was unheard of. After growing into an adult, our appearance didn't really change anymore. I knew of an elder that claimed to have lived close to 600 years, but even I'm not sure if he was just pulling my leg. But you've seen some of the older folks around here now, haven't you?"

I have. The old man I sold my daggers to didn’t resemble an ageless elf at all; he looked more like a raisin. His skin was deeply wrinkled, and his hair had gone white.

It seems that with their loss of the tree, the elves have also lost their eternal youth.

"How old are you, Loren?"

"This summer I should be turning 106, or at least I think so."

He still looks fine. If this is what an elf at 106 looks like, then perhaps their longevity isn’t entirely gone, only diminished.

"What counts as summer out here, I have no clue. I tried to follow the movement of the stars to estimate the seasons, but my son was always much better at that…"

A certain gloominess spreads across his face whenever he talks of his family. Should I ask? Dare I even ask? Maybe in a more roundabout way...

"Did you fight in the war?"

He clenches his fist.

"I did. I was there when they burnt the sacred tree. I wasn't strong enough to protect the tree, my family or anyone for that matter..."

The all too familiar sorrow practically oozes from this man now.

Eleanor takes Loren’s hand and offers him an understanding smile. She knows all too well what it means to lose someone you truly care for.

Even without understanding his words, she sure enough understands his heart. That kinship, that shared burden, transcends any language.

Loren's face softens again. He pats Eleanor's head.

He continues again, but in a gentler voice.

"My son had always been a better warrior than me. But he, too, stood no chance against the humans' new weapons. It's like a much deadlier crossbow, one able to pierce any and all armour. It summoned hellfire and thunder whenever it killed one of us."

Yeah, that's what gunfire does to those that encounter it for the first time. History has proven, after all, those armed with guns in a battle of swords seldom lose.

"Everything I held dear was lost to me that day. I won't rest until I—"

He cuts himself short.

What is it you truly want, Loren? Revenge for the wrongs done to you and your family, or freedom for all the elves still bound in chains?

There is a difference between the two, and I hope you won’t mistake one for the other when the time comes…

He remains silent for a short while, until we reach a larger opening in this cave.

"This is what I wanted to show you."

Before me, I see a myriad number of elves training.

For what, one might ask? For war, of course.

No matter one's gender, woman and man alike. No matter one's age, child and elder alike.

A larger elf demonstrates how to swing their crude weapon, watching closely as the others repeat the motion again and again. In the end, there isn’t much difference between driving a pickaxe into stone and driving a sharpened one into a foe.

A stout elf is explaining to his captivated audience how a makeshift tower shield can be used to block arrows, both for oneself and for the person beside you. The humans will assuredly rain down arrows from atop the walls, and any battering ram brought against the gate will need such protection.

A slim elf instructs on which parts of the body can endure a blow and which must be protected at all costs. She demonstrates how to properly fasten armour to the body to minimise the risk of death. A shallow cut can be cleaned and bandaged after all; a ruptured organ cannot.

"We will not wait for a slow death to take us. Those with experience will teach all who are both willing and able."

He ventures forward and is immediately swarmed by other children, some of whom I even recognise.

"I will teach you how to defend yourself. Because when that fateful day comes, I will not be able to protect you. If you wish to keep yourself or those you care about safe, learn from me."

Eleanor quickly rushes to his side.

He looks at me.

My resolve is clear. I too hurry towards him.