An Account from the Oakhaven Forests

 

It is the custom of the Hagglestone shoppe to send expeditions beyond the stone roads when supplies run thin. Iron and leather may be sourced from nearby towns, but true lumber — the kind fit for strong shelves, wagon repairs, and carved fittings — must come from deeper places.

Thus it was that we entered the Oakhaven Forests.

Oakhaven is not marked clearly on most maps, and those that do name it often carry warnings in the margins. Travelers speak of shifting paths, watchful eyes among the branches, and forest folk who do not welcome axes lightly. Still, our stores required replenishment, and coin alone cannot buy what the deep woods guard.

We packed light: tools, provisions, and several Borous Pig Hide bags, sturdy and well-oiled, meant to carry trade goods and rations alike.

First Contact Beneath the Canopy

Three days into the forest, the silence changed.

Birdsong thinned. The wind no longer stirred the leaves. That was when they revealed themselves — not charging or shouting, but watching. Figures stepped from the undergrowth with practiced ease: tall, narrow, cloaked in woven bark-fiber and moss-dyed cloth. Their eyes reflected green and gold, sharp with suspicion.

Forest elves.

They spoke little at first, and when they did, their words were edged like flint. We were trespassers. The forest was not for cutting. The Oakhaven remembered wounds long healed.

Weapons were not drawn, but hands rested close enough to make the message clear.

The Bargain

Retreat would have meant weeks lost and shelves left bare. So we did what merchants have always done — we offered trade.

At first, coin was dismissed with near-offense. Metal had no place in their groves. Cloth was inspected and returned. Salt interested them briefly, then not at all.

It was one of the elves — older than the rest, her cloak stitched with seed-symbols — who noticed our Borous Pig Hide bags.

She took one in hand, testing the seams, pressing her fingers into the thick leather. Others gathered, murmuring in their soft, rustling tongue. They opened the bag, examined its interior, and nodded among themselves.

They asked what it was used for.

We told them: tools, food, trade goods. Things meant to last a journey.

Their interest sharpened.

 

Fruit, Seeds, and Understanding

The elves spoke then of their needs. Bark baskets rotted. Woven satchels failed in wet seasons. They required something strong, something that could carry fruit harvests, seed stores, and gathered roots without tearing or spoiling.

A bargain was struck beneath an oak older than any crown.

In exchange for several Borous Pig Hide bags, they granted us lumber — not living trees, but carefully selected fallen oak and ash, cured and shaped by their own methods. They even guided us to a safe path out of the forest, marking it with subtle signs only they could place.

As we departed, they no longer watched with hostility.

Not Barbarians, But Stewards

It would be easy to call the forest elves savage or barbaric, as many do. But that word belongs more to fear than truth. What we found in Oakhaven were not wild creatures, but guardians — cautious, yes, and fierce when pressed, but thoughtful in their stewardship of the land.

They valued craft. They valued durability. And, once trust was earned, they valued fair trade.

We returned to Hagglestone with lumber enough to last the season, and with a reminder worth more than stock:

Even in the deepest woods, respect opens doors that force never could.

Should you ever carry one of our Borous Pig Hide bags, know this — they have already traveled farther than most.