My character background PART ONE OF TEN

In the heart of the ancient Elderwood forest, south of Watercrest and east of the dragonslayer plains, there is a breath of wind. A shake, a rustle. The leaves above quiver like arrows falling on harsh ground. Trees rub against each other in a duel of parched bark on parched bark. Nothing moves.
Then there is a twang.
"Take that!" cries a youthful, piping voice; worn at the edges and filled in with false maturity come from numerous hardships beyond it's owners' years. Something heavy falls to the ground. The figure rips the arrow out of it's victim without hesitation, wipes it on the fallen' goblin's trousers, and slides it mechanically back into the owner's quiver. It blinks at the sun's progress along the leafy canopy of forest above it.
It was, in fact, a girl, young in the years of her elven race but old enough to survive alone without second thought. Taller than a yew tree and skinnier than a ravens' bones, the girl was a strange-ling elf. Her name was Sparrow, and she was of royal blood.
Her class was unknown outside of her kingdom; raised and educated in the isolated elven community of Elderhaven, she still bore the mark of an unfeminine fierceness that was hard to place. For years she was forced to partake in those delicate ways of elven womenfolk, day after day of being forcedly suffocated in the silent politeness in the face of her "elders"- pfft, she had- excepting perhaps her deity, which she curiously held above all others- no elders.  These long weeks of being taught what to do and exactly how to do it stretched into months, to no avail. After realizing her nature could not be swayed, her mother merely ceased to care over what was to become of the girl. Even her father seldom engaged her in conversation. Her sisters wanted nothing to do with her. Though wisdom was a natural ability come with elven blood, Sparrow was inept at the skill and found it pointless.  Sparrow simply didn't fit.
She felt no jealousy toward her sisters for their royal ways. Instead, she delighted in that she rebelled; during ceremonies and banquets, she was always the odd one out among her sisters. Alongside their immaculate robes of gold and white and moonstone, she was an awkward mess of energy and impatience. And so stubborn.
In appearance she was a marvel. Sparrow had long, fiery locks of  unkempt hair the color of a unripe blackberry; all mauves and plums and brownish reds. Her keen eyes, often cinched in concentration, were of a midnight sapphire blue so deep such that they seemed purple. Her eyebrows were long and thin, furrowed at the best of times; her lips too were two horizontal lines the color of a blood ruby.
Sparrow wore the clothes she had escaped in; half-length pants of muddy leather and a cross-bound hide corset, dark green and gold rune, as a form of armor. Onto this she had interwoven a wave of petrified leaves. Plates of treated leather and rose-wood were strapped upon her lower arm, her hands sported fingerless gloves made of brown silk. Sparrow wore no shoes. On her head she wore an intricate, extremely brittle tiara made of bone. It lay across the top of her head, downturned toward her eyebrows, giving her the look of a bird of prey.