Yourla

yoor-lah

Don't tread where the white flowers grow.

Folk tales the world over- despite barriers of distance and communication- often share certain patterns, to the extent that two cultures, having encountered one another for the first time, may find their oldest stories linked by a common thread. So it goes for stories of maidens and rivers, which rarely end in happily-ever-after.

The tale of the River's Daughter is one such legend, as ancient as the winding Faín, where willows mourn. There once was a beautiful maiden who was the envy of her village, and she had many suitors. But the one she loved most was lost to the river, and so, in her grief, she tied a weight 'round her neck and followed her lost love to the bottom. Or perhaps her beauty stoked the ire of a jealous rival, who took the guise of a river spirit and lured her to a watery grave. In some versions, the Maiden bends above the current to admire her reflection, and sees her own face mirrored back as a ghastly death's head, startling her so suddenly that she faints and drowns: rendering the tale both a parable against vanity, and a self-fulfilling prophecy. In others, the Maiden is a swimmer and river itself is her suitor, which pulls her under to keep her in its gentle embrace forever.

In all these stories, the Maiden drowns, and yet her shade still clings to the riverbend where she met her end. Where the willow catkins fall like tears and litter the water's surface, obscuring the dread that lurks beneath. Valari and Wyldren alike avoid such places. Though all these stories differ in their details, there is a grain of truth in all of them: it does not do to linger where white petals fall.