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She is old now, even by elven standards, but the Voice of the Woods still resonates strongly within her. And she is still teaching the Language of the Green. This is a labour of love, born of her love for her land.
Wreaths, braids of grass, garlands and subtle leaf and fruit decorations, or even a feather stuck into the bark of a particular tree can convey far more than ink and parchment.
She learnt this from a young age, and now she is passing on her knowledge to the younger generation. “Younger each year,” she would say with a fond smile. This is what she would tell those eager listeners.
“When you see a message, you have to observe it. Not just the various parts of it, but also what it has been built on. The black alder has many meanings. When used with a certain type of grass, for example, it can signify protection. A black alder planted near our border indicates where the passages through our realm can be found. However, if it is adorned with a wreath of belladonna flowers, then the path is forbidden.” She would pause dramatically here, adding, “It would lead astray the poor soul who does not know the signs.”
“The way the message is prepared is also a clue to its meaning. A wraith threaded carefully with multiple braids of grass is often a good omen.” She mimed this with her fingers, her eyes on those in front of her. Finding the pink flowers of avens could mean an offering from a shy lover, while bugloss flowers would suggest that the wraith had been created in memory of a beloved departed.” She would pause here, her eyes lost in the distance of her own past.
“Of course, where you find these messages is important too. Along well-trodden paths, there are often signs for the general public, not just initiates: messages between family members or guild members searching for their people or pointing to good opportunities.” She would purse her lips at the thought of its use.
“Lindir, son of Ilys, was here, and he is faring well, Is a simple enough message to leave. You just need to know how to do it. It's all about threading a sigil to your own name. First, choose a plant that your friends and family associate with you,” she said, pointing at some on the wooden table where she had pieces of twine, leaves and flowers. “Then choose a threading pattern and add some more details, such as leaves, feathers or berries. All that's left to do is make it,” she said, showing her own green sigil. “Then you leave it somewhere visible and people dear to you will know that you were there.”
She paused for a moment. Her eyes would slowly scan those around her. She would save this part for later courses, probably one held in the middle of the woods.
“But now there are also darker messages, which you'll only find in the darker parts of the forest. Those are for the people of the War Path: The warriors, the scouts, the spies. Those who walk the fine line between violence and protection in the name of our people. The plants used are not the same. They are often discreet yet deadly; plants that hold power in themselves.” She would chuckle and some would shiver at her darker tone. “To touch them is a risk in itself. It's not magic, but they are plants that defend themselves. To use them, you need to acknowledge that and learn about their dangers. Not all of you will need to learn this language though, so don't worry. Yet I’ll teach you a few things. Their meaning is subtle and dark. Sometimes it will be the distance to the enemy, the number of knots in a thread or how many times the vine has been looped. But they could also indicate places to avoid because they’re trapped...” And there she would stop, lost once again in her own memories. “Some will just be symbols of grief after a long-past battle was lost.”