Private Through the Hollow

[Loria Sorelle]

THROUGH THE HOLLOW
A Story of Woven Truths
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LORIA SORELLE
Nalvara Grove, Chommel Minor

Chirp. Chirp. Chirp.

A trio of footsteps departed the sleek silver shuttle. The warm glow of lights illuminating a path through the forest as the darkness of the night was pierced only by the light of the moon. Silent chirping of insects could be heard all around, the leaves of the trees overhead rustling with the gentle wind.

'So… what did the invitation say? I don't recall it mentioning anything about creepy woods,' Selara remarked dryly, tugging her cloak a little tighter about her shoulders as the nighttime chill began to take hold.

Elowen, ever unruffled, smirked as she adjusted her gloves. "Well, it said "wellness retreat in a natural setting." What did you expect? Marble halls and chandeliers in the wilderness?' she poked, hinting at Selara's affinity for the comforts of home.

Loria stood still for a moment, her eyes shifting between the well-lit path and the shrouded forest floor, enveloped by the darkness with only the moonlight granting reprieve. 'I quite like it, it's... quiet?' Loria pointed out, her hand reaching out to touch a small, lilac plant by the path.

'We should move on, it's getting chilly out here!' Selara called out loudly, keen to reach the fabled 'retreat' she had heard so much about

The three of them pressed on, their footsteps softened by moss and the crunch of fallen leaves. The lamps, set at careful intervals, gave the illusion of safety- little islands of warmth that only deepened the shadows between.

The path bent and opened into a hollow. Moonlight spilled through a thinning in the canopy, silvering the scene below. At the centre stood the stump of an ancient tree, its wide crown capped with a slab of stone, smoothed with age. Around its edges, new green shoots curled upward, reclaiming the wood in slow defiance.

Loria slowed, her gaze catching on the strange arrangement. 'That looks… almost ceremonial,' she said gently, brushing her fingers over the soft moss beneath her feet.

Elowen tilted her head, studying it with the eye of someone trained to read context, not just beauty. 'If it is, it's deliberate. That slab wasn't placed there by chance.'

Selara gave the stump a wary glance and tugged her cloak tighter. 'Lovely. Altars in the woods. That's exactly what I was hoping for tonight.'

Beyond the stump, the hollow narrowed again, and the earth rose into a cave mouth at the far side. The entrance was hung with thick animal pelts, shifting faintly as though they breathed with the night air.

The three of them exchanged a look.

'Well,' Elowen murmured, her usual composure shading into something hushed. 'That must be it.'

Selara huffed. 'A cave. Of course.'

Loria hesitated only a moment longer, her expression caught between unease and wonder. 'It feels… ancient,' she said at last, stepping closer. Her hand hovered just shy of the fur curtain, the faintest smile tugging at her lips.

'Hello?'

Jael Amnen

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[Jael Amnen]

Her day had been filled with small rituals, most of them insignificant on their own, yet all of it was done with the air of the sacred. She was free of arrival duties, and so Jael Amnen drifted through her day with the serene ease of one fashioned for the simple life.

The last part of day had been spent at the not so distant moonlit hot pool. It had been a relaxing place to meditate, to calm herself, and prepare for the looming moment she knew was coming. She did not know what it was, but when she was still the understanding from the mother was clear. Jael was not long for this grove. Whether by death or realignment of her journey, these would be her last days on Chommel Minor.

And so, she enjoyed the ease that would soon escape her.

The voices of three overly enthusiastic visitors stirred her attention as she approach the grove. A soft smile formed as she listed to the trio and their wariness and delights. People's reaction to the grove was always a good indication as to what she would need to provide during their stay. For these three, it sounded like she would need her whole range of skills.

Her bare feet stepped lightly upon the soft carpet of moss. It was wet underfoot, giving Jael a chill of which she paid no heed. She stepped out into the clearing, behind the visitors — three young noblewomen, striking in their poise and finery..

"Welcome to our Mother's Grove," she said, chin lifting as if to cast the words a little further.

Tonight she wore a simple slip on dress, loose and flowing, that seemed to carry with it the moonlight itself. Subtle sparkles and opalescent threads gave her appearance a slight angelic note.

"Your bones must ache and your head droop from such a journey. Please, warm yourself at our hearth and fill yourselves with our harvest," she said, waving towards entrance before which they all stood. The curtain stirred and an equally angelic young woman pulled back the animal hide covering.

"Jams and fresh wild barley loaves have been laid out when the mother revealed your arrival," she said simply. Beyond the curtain was a warmly lit cave that was modestly decorated with native flowers, handwoven tapestries and hand carved statuettes. The furniture, too, bore a rugged, hand-wrought charm — each chair draped with pelts for warmth and comfort..

"Welcome to our home," Jael said, now standing beside the guests, "my name is Jael Amnen, daughter of the Mother. It is my honour to serve you."

Loria Sorelle​

 

[Loria Sorelle]

LORIA SORELLE
Nalvara Grove, Chommel Minor

A voice appeared from behind, startling the trio- prompting them to spin around in unison, almost terrified out of their minds. It was dark, and the woods were eerie even with the pathway lit. Loria took a deep breath upon realizing it was one of their hosts, Selara & Elowen giggling to one another as if to expel the nervous energy.

'You honour us with your welcome,' she began, her voice soft and diplomatic like a well-trained noblewoman. She listened as the woman's voice carried through the woods behind them, her eyes momentarily drawn to her dress, sparkling in the moonlight.

'Thank you for having us,' Selara spoke up, a tint of excitement in her voice as she wrapped her cloak further around her shoulders as if bracing from the cold momentarily.

Warmth soon returned to the trio's faces as they calmed down from the shock, though Elowen remained unusually silent, shooting Loria looks of unease and concern throughout. Altogether, the three turned back towards the cave entrance to be greeted by another priestess.

Eventually, the promise of warmth and food softened the moment, easing the tension from their shoulders. Selara, predictably, was the first to brighten, her smile chasing away any lingering chill as she murmured something about barley loaves and jam being 'the true definition of wellness.'

Loria followed with more restrained composure, her lips curving in polite gratitude even as her eyes wandered- drawn to the handwoven tapestries and the glow that spilled from within the cave.

Only Elowen lingered, her silence uncharacteristic, her gaze fixed not on the hearth but on the priestesses themselves, as though she were weighing something unseen. When Loria caught her look, she forced another reassuring smile, one meant to say it's fine, we're safe here.

But a sliver of unease lingered all the same, trailing them as they stepped beyond the furs into the warmth of the Mother's Grove.

Loria dipped her head lightly, the corners of her lips curving into a gracious smile. 'An honour to meet you, Lady Amnen,' she replied, her voice carrying that measured nobility Naboo bred into its daughters. Yet her brows furrowed ever so slightly, curiosity breaking through her composure. 'Daughter of the Mother…?' she echoed softly, as though testing the title on her tongue.

'Forgive me, but I've not heard such a title before. Might I ask what it means?'

The moment the pelts fell shut behind them, the air changed. Gone was the cool night breeze and the whisper of insects; instead the cave breathed with warmth, scented faintly of herbs and woodsmoke. The firelight danced over carved figures and woven hangings, each detail so painstakingly crafted it seemed to hum with purpose.

Loria slowed, her hand brushing the edge of a tapestry embroidered with curling vines.

Selara exhaled dramatically as she stepped toward the laden table. 'Beauty with purpose. Now this,' she declared, reaching for a loaf with gleaming eyes, 'is civilization.'

Elowen's gaze lingered on the carved statuettes near the hearth, her tone quieter, edged with something sharper. 'Civilization, perhaps. Or devotion.'

Loria glanced at her friend, catching the flicker of suspicion in her eyes, before quickly smoothing her features into a smile for their hosts. 'Either way,' she said warmly, 'we are grateful for such hospitality. Truly!'

Jael Amnen

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[Jael Amnen]

Jael's eyes lingered on Loria, her silver-grey irises glimmering in the firelight as though stirred by some unseen current. The noblewoman's careful curiosity had not gone unnoticed.

"Daughter of the Mother…" she repeated softly, the words turning reverent in her mouth. Her voice carried as though it belonged more to the cave than to her, "it is not a title bestowed by men, nor by station. It is the name we bear when we surrender to her—when we let the Mother shape us as her hands would shape clay. We live not for ourselves, but as the vessel by which her light and her nurture moves in this world."

Her attention shifted briefly to Selara, and a playful warmth curved her lips. "Some find the Mother in the sweetness of jam, or the breaking of bread. Civilization, yes, but in its purest form...what sustains and softens."

Her gaze, light and offence-free, to Elowen. Jael's gaze stilled upon her longer than was comfortable, calm yet unflinching. "Others see her in devotion. It, too, can unsettle, can remind us of what we fear to yield."

Finally, her eyes returned to Loria. She inclined her head with a faint, knowing smile, the weight of something unspoken hovering between them. "But most of all, child of Naboo, she is found where reverence meets wonder. In that pause when one stands at the edge of mystery, unsure if one should step closer or flee."

The priestess extended a hand toward the hearth, where the loaves steamed and the fire cracked gently. "Come. Sit. Share in her gifts. And in time, you may decide for yourselves what it means to call her Mother."

The furs rustled faintly as another attendant slipped through with steaming clay bowls. The scent of herbs and root vegetables mingled with woodsmoke, earthy and comforting. The cave seemed smaller now, more intimate, its shadows alive with the suggestion of stories waiting to be told.

Loria Sorelle​