Fenris was born from a line of Forest Fae Guardians, the firm protectors of Elderwild, the region separating the Fae realm from that of the humans. By blood, he was a worthy warrior, one given the honour to treasure the soils from which life grew. 

However, unlike his gifted kin, Fenris was cursed with virtually no talent. While trees intently listened to his sister sing, their branches rustled violently when he merely spoke. Deers looked upon him as though he were unworthy of the antlers on his head, and owlets huddled under the feathers of their mothers in his presence. No matter how hard he tried, the forest would not accept him. 

He grew used to being told he was a late bloomer, that the forest would open its arms once the time was right, though the sentiment did little to quell his shame. Hoping to make up for his shortcomings, he had patrolled Elderwild religiously, driving away beasts and humans alike. 

All except one. Every summer, under the brisk shelter of lush trees and warm beams of sunlight, he often saw a human sitting near the river, always smiling and humming foreign tunes while painting against loose sheets of paper with uneven brushes. 

Fenris could not bring himself to scare the peculiar human away. It felt unjust to disrupt the solitude of a peaceful being. So he watched from afar to ensure a mishap would not occur. Elderwild was tranquil but not entirely safe; many of the creatures residing within it harboured tumultuous natures.

Though, after a long morning of patrolling the forest, the sight of a Chimera lunging at the mortal had surprised him. Fenris had never been a great archer, but he had dashed out of the bushes, his heart racing, before he'd shot the monster in the chest, scaring it off. 

Unfortunately, the trembling human looked even more scared after he revealed his presence. He feared the mortal would croak. 

"Um, I'm Fenris, guardian of the forest, you're welcome," he spoke awkwardly, attempting to lean against a tree before missing the mark and toppling onto the ground.