Ferona

You don't hear Ferona’s name whispered, you hear it quoted. Loudly. Often misquoted, sure, but never ignored. She was the second elf to split from the original settlement, and unlike the first, whose plum-fueled genius made him speak mostly in riddles, Ferona spoke plainly. Constantly. No one knows if she left because of a disagreement, or because she ran out of people to debate. It’s said she could take apart an elder’s whole worldview before breakfast and still have energy left to reframe the nesting protocols of river egrets by lunch. Ferona didn’t just talk, she challenged. Every idea. Every tradition. Every sentence with too many commas. She didn’t leave quietly. In fact, she may be the loudest person to ever walk away from something. But there were no dramatic speeches, just practical ones. Questions like “Why are we still doing this?” or “Has anyone here ever actually listened to the lake?” She walked toward the lakes without ceremony. They say she stopped only to argue with her own reflection. Days later, others began to follow, not because she invited them, but because they wanted to witness what she'd challenge next. That’s how the Lake Tribe began. Not with silence or solitude, but with commentary. Sharp, clear, sometimes infuriating. They still speak in Ferona’s tone, deliberate, unafraid, and borderline exhausting if you're unprepared. But fair. Members of the Lake Tribe often carry water-touched reeds not as symbols of peace, but as reminders that clarity takes time. And that speaking is not noise when it has shape. Ferona may be gone, or maybe she’s still correcting footnotes from beyond, but her legacy is easy to spot; it’s the tribe that talks because they think and thinks because she did. Of course, these are just myths and legends. No one really knows how the tribes were made back then.