Gwindor Palebough
the Foamcrown Elf
Named for the silver-barked willow that grows only in the hanging mists of the Whitewater Gorge, where the water falls so fine it is mistaken for air.
Power
Mistweaving — you can call the fog from the river to swirl around you, and those within it lose their sense of time; an hour may pass as a minute, or a night as a blink, and you alone know which. But the mist drinks your warmth, and each use leaves you colder for a day.
- Familiar
- A fog-colored heron named Still
- House
- House Palebough
You will not cross the mist-marked boundary into the Lowlands, though every century the summons comes. The cost of ignoring the call is a slow forgetting — your brothers' names, the shape of your mother's face, the taste of wild mint. You have forgotten much, but you remember the boundary.