"Unseen, underfoot, out of sight, and always among us", goes the verse among the old clans. The underfootlings, for that is what they are called, are truly a free folk. They live where they please, wary and well-meaning to those who honor the old dues, curt and cruel and calamitous to those who should forget. They are the last and least of the earthkin, the only ones now to sing of the time before reckoning, songs now only heard by those who cannot understand, deaf to the wisdom of ages past. Still, they wander, for their ways carry them from over mountain to beyond horizon, speaking in stone and riding upon the dancing green lights of midwinter. Many have gone off to find them, some to hunt them, some to court their friendship, and some plunder their hoarded treasure. Scrapes and stories and rotten luck are all it ever seems to yield, though not all truth is told in the songs.


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This is a character from my own story called Tegn


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