Saturday, May 28, 2011

The Story of the Story

((Big Kudos go to Maya Carfagno for allowing me to godmod her on the way to writing one of my favorite stories in my life))


- The Story of the Story -

Writers would dream of summer's eves like this.  The setting sun, giving way to the moistness that hangs through the grass and moss in these woods enriching the air with a smell of earth, of growth, of life itself.  It would be like this for many days thought Maya as she inspected the preparations for this evening's affair.  The fire was already lit, but was not needed so early on such a warm night; but Maya wished the night to last well beyond when the fire's warm glow would indeed be needed.  This was a night perfect for a grand story, one that would reach through the sunset, through the ages evens, and be as grand as the land of the Eldalie ned i Trannail is beautiful.  If a talesman would work their magic for most of the eve, or for days to come, she would not mind in the least.  She loved such stories, if only to give her the chance to learn something new, to see the world through new eyes.  Her body was far from nearing its end, but a story yet unheard was rare and like magic to her soul.  This day, she sent word to her kin to share with them such an eve, and her love for the story and the pride for her fellow elf will carry her though as long as the tale takes.

Her only concern that eve was for any pesky intruders.  The circle of logs and stumps around the fire was fairly near the market and village.  It was not out of the question for a gnome or human to get lost in the trees and homes of the elves.  Sure, some of these turned out to be troubadours or the poor wandering bard whom could tip her curiosity with a lyric; but besides a few trusted friends, it was rare an elf would bring the proper respect for such an event.  They lacked the patience for such beauty, lacked the culture to appreciate it.  She did not fault them for that; it is what they were as she was what she was.  But an overzealous dwarf sniffing beer could easily end a daylong story, and this was too nice of a night for such interruptions.

Time would pass as the fire ring filled; Maya was not surprised by this.  There was no need to rush this eve.  Tea was available, and punch, and fine Elvish spring wine; that alone would bring the appreciative ones when they are ready, and those just coming for the story will ensure to not miss much either.  But the patience of her kind allows Maya to allow the time to pass, watching the leaves dance on the summer wind, listening to chattering of the tree squirrels, or just exchanging kind words with her kin who had arrived already.

An early one was a wild elf, arriving to the shire just a few seasons prior.  Runa, Runa of the Wilds she is sometimes called, was a curious one.  Maya had only met Runa within the previous year, spotting the wild elf as she ran through the woods of Carmarthenshire.  The two bonded over their connection to the nature that surrounded them and became close.  As they drew closer, Maya felt heartened by Runa's openness to her, the wild elf was typically more private; not so much to elves like her, but to those of other races.  Strangely, though, Runa until just the days before this night had seemed to be away for over a season.  Her return had brought a concern over a lost bird she called Evan, a Falcon that had been her companion for some time; as well as a puzzle (a box and a button); but this eve, Runa seemed to return to her more private nature.  Like many of the newcomers, Maya directed the wild elf to the ready drinks, and Runa seemed more than satisfied to taste her drink then to look for answers.  Runa was in good spirits, seemingly relaxed again around her kin. By the time Maya and Runa were about to find a soft place to sit, others had settled in to the ring.  The idle conversation was nothing of any great depth.  A simple greeting, a kindly chat about simple activities, but no great story yet -- none ready to offer up a tale yet.

This was likely due to the ruckus that was starting up behind them.  It was undoubtedly human, stomping around in the trees, wandering about aimlessly as if they had no idea where to go.  The noise was moving too quick to connect to the woods, and too quick to notice they were heading in the wrong direction.  Many sitting in the ring smiled quietly to each other, waiting for whoever was out there to smell the fire or notice the clearing.  Sure, humans were impatient, but in this case it will either wander away fast or find the fire fast.  Sure enough, a man came over the hill with a satchel slung over his shoulder.  The man was clearly human even though the dark red hair billowing madly from his head covered the round ears, his trimmed mustache and goatee were easy to spot.  He seemed oddly dressed here, even for a human.  His clothes were finer than one would wear in the woods, and maybe too heavy for the warm summer eve; but she wasn't one to assume that humans would know the proper thing to wear in the woods -- this one surely spent much of his days in towns.   Maya immediately thought offering the man a drink would be the proper thing to do, as he surely would be thirsty in such heavy things walking about in these woods.   That is likely what brought him here as well; but he appeared friendly enough, kind enough to show respect towards her and the other elves.  Maya greeted him as she would any other, the man giving a greeting back to them as well.

It was Runa that seemed to react to the man, but not at all how Maya suspected.  Runa gasping suddenly, and quite happily, when seeing the man, exclaimed "Arturos!"

Stunned seeing the elf, the man looked surprised to her in return.  Blinking, his natural reaction to such shock replied “Runa?”

Maya smiled softly towards the two, feeling more at ease about this intruder.  Leaning to another elf she says quietly, "Old friends, it seems."

Both showed agreement to Maya's words but it was clear to her that they were more focused on the other, more so than any casual acquaintance.

Runa was nodding madly, happy with her surprise.  "What brought you here?"

"I ... I," he stuttered, "It must be a dream that has ... that is the only place I have seen you of recent."

Runa jumped to her feet, spinning around, grinning wide.  "No Dream.  Real Runa.  Flesh.  Blood.  And Sharp Tongue to go with it."

The man started to laugh, slapping his leg as he does.  Runa seemed no longer to contain herself and ran to the human, jumping up and wrapping her arms and legs about him, nearly pouncing the man.  The man caught the elf, but stumbled back slowly at first seeming to catch his balance then falling to the ground behind him, Runa still wrapped in his arms.  The two continued to laugh, she scratching at his hair, he trying to hold her steady above him.  She asking of news hungrily, he just is going on about his happiness to see her finally.

Maya couldn't help to be intrigued by the two, especially from the typically private elf.  The human did not seem to be too old, which means their friendship was relatively short seeded.  But the roots grew deep, very much deep.  Runa seemed alive in the arms of this man, and he smiled like the world was set anew.  How could he have bonded to her so deeply, how had she let him to draw close.  Maya's curiosity lit a bit of a fire in her interest, and she found a way to feed it.  With a laugh she stated, "It seems we have our first tale -- come you two, tell us the tale of how you met.  Or your greatest adventure together.  Whatever you like."

Runa lifted up still sitting on top of the fallen man, the cheeky smile on her face towards Maya, spoke happily "Aye, we could indeed tell the one tale."  She looked down to the man, shrugging slightly with a bit of a question "or another."

His eyes connected to hers, "How we met. That was a good story."

Runa sprung to her feet, and offered a hand to the man.  "Come, have a seat and tell it."  Together they moved next to the fire in a soft patch of grass.  They sat very close, good friends, comfortable with sharing their space with one another, curious to see from a human.  Maya settled back against a log, taking care to watch the two with growing curiosity, happily, almost eagerly, waiting to see what has connected the two.
The man let his eyes move around the ring to the gathering elves modestly.  "So ... how we met ... it is probably best to tell more of that day.  By the keep as well?"   He turned to Runa, his face awaiting permission, "Shall we not?"

She gave him a smirk, nudging her side.  "Bah  ... if you are happy to tell it, than for me it is."

And in there the grand story was to begin, Maya lifted her wine and drank it quietly.

The man starts in, “There once was a young hunter," he said rising to his feet in front of the fire.  The bit of modesty still was showing in his face.  "He just arrived in a strange island, into a strange wilderness.  He, so new to the land, had no place to sleep but the side of a stream.”

Runa watched the man, her knees curled up next to her childishly, but she edged on the ground un-elvish like with her impatience for the story.

The man straightened his arm out in front of him, like one would when drawing a bow.  “One day while practicing his craft,” he continued, “A strange gentlemen approached asking the young hunter to look after an elf.”  As he spoke he moved to stand next to the wild elf, a smile coming to his face.  “This elf was new to the land herself, and while had many years on the human was young.”

The wild elf chuckled, impishly, her feet dancing on the ground child innocently.  “A VERY young elf ... indeed"

“The hunter was quick to realize that while she was wiser than he, the newness of this place had affected her, leaving her awkward and a fair bit shy.”

Maya placed her hand on her chin, leaning in to the words.  While the man spoke, her fellow elves were arriving for the storytelling.  They greeted her kindly, but her attention remained on the tale, and the way the two hung on such a story.

“So,” the man offered calmly to the growing crowd, “these two spend the day exploring the land ..."

Grinning happily, Runa added “I wish to mention on this pint: this huge rat really looked scary," she held her arms outstretched showing the size.  It seemed far bigger than any rat could be, nearly unbelievable.  The man held his arms out as well, parroting the elf and nodding agreement with her.  "And," she continued, "We ran! We ran as far from it as we could.”

Maya couldn’t help but to laugh, "Well you would know what size seems natural.  A wise decision."  The gathered elves chuckled at her words, smiles on their face in agreement.

“Aye,” said the man sheepishly.  “We were not at all brave when facing the rat ... but that makes the rest of this story more comical”

Runa grinned blushing a bit while listening to the man’s story.

The man’s face turned more serious bringing the tale to turn with it.  “As the sun set and the skies began to darken after this long day, the two and some of their new friends came to a long bridge over a deep valley.  This bridge was the type ...” he paused to look around the gathering “… you have seen it surely the kind that lowers and raises?  And it would lead to a keep ... a large castle building ... that seems to have a look of evil, and darkness.”  His hands curled and scratched the air, his teeth bared as he spoke; the man's eyes almost darkened themselves.

Runa swam her arms through the air, and breathily added “Fog around, scary noises."

Maya nodded, her eyes growing in interest.  She knew them as brooding evil places, human places.

“Well,” he said comically dancing around like a court fool, “these two and their friends stood there at the end of this bridge quietly.  They knew not what lay across that bridge, but engaged all that passed.  Meeting new people."

Runa nodded happily.

"That is," he said, “… until the bridge lowered."

Runa gasped at the words fearfully, convincingly.  Maya couldn’t help to gasp slightly herself.  She looked concerned now, for whatever her kin remembers of this story worries her now.

 “Across this bridge comes a man, in strong, dark armor," the man continues.  "In his hands he carries a large sword.” Dominantly the man walked towards Runa, his stature lifts so as if he looms over the elf.

“Overly large,” Runa exclaimed frightfully.

“Seeing this small group at the end of the bridge he approaches, making mean angry faces,” as the man speaks he mirror words, his own face skewing, snarling, “He sees them.  He Approaches Them!  Angry … DARK … And Menacing.”

“The dark one does not want them there, that was most clear, and most obvious.” As the man talks, he starts to walk about the circle, his steps slow and deliberate.  “He says to them ... he says ‘All Fairies and Fae must leave here now!’” He holds his hands in a way to seem like an invisible sword is in his hands; his eyes gazing to each elf in turn.  He moves like this dark man might move, he looks over the elves like one most evil might.

Maya gives a bit of a chuckle on the story and Runa’s seemingly hanging on each word accentuating a timidness she expresses that seems unlike the wild elf.  Maya can not help but to feel the tension grow amongst the gathered as they listen closely.

“He seems to be focused on the wild elf most of all.  He started counting ...saying he would dispatch them surely if they stay much longer."  The man moves towards Runa now, and extends his finger point towards her as if a sword itself comes from it.   "To emphasize the point, he brings forth his blade, reaching it towards the point at her, readying to run her through.”

Runa raises her face to the bard, her eyes wide, convincingly scared of what evil may be brought down on her at this time.  But very visibly, while in mid-fright almost paralyzed with fear, she gives the man a wink.

The human can’t help but to smile and wink back to the elf, and in doing so changes his demeanor, crossing his arms, putting his hands in his pocket.  But his voice continues to tell the story, “Now, this hunter … it’s at this time he remembers the one who introduced him to the wild elf.  Remembered he said to protect her.  So, he decided to act.  He pulls his sword!!”  From his pocket his hand comes forth but grips only air, jumping into a fencing pose minus the blade.  “Mustering up all the bravery he had in his heart, he points it at the dark one.  “LEAVE HER ALONE”, he calls to him flashing the sword at this warrior.”

“A much Smaller sword, though.” Runa adds with a laugh.

Standing at guard, he says "Rusted as well."

“And dull,” she adds.

“Could not cut cheese.”

Maya put her hand to her laugh, stifling a giggle, watching the man act out the looming fight.

“Well ... as brave as such a hunter, it immediately brought the attention of the warrior to me ... I mean to the hunter.  The warrior aimed his blade at the hunter and gave him two choices ... run or fight.”

Runa, jokingly looked to the elves about and sarcastically offered, “And stupid one chose ...?”

Unphased the man bravely continued, “He Chose the Fight.  The hunter stood his ground, and struck first at the warrior ...” saying as such, swinging his arm downward across his body, “a glancing blow that bounced off the warrior's armor.”

Some of the elves leaned back from the swing, as if ducking it themselves.

He moved his arm up and slashed thought the air, “The dark warrior then returned with a blade of his own ... swinging it towards the hunter dressed only in his leathers.  Cutting him immediately and deep.”

Runa bit her lip, listening close.

"They traded blows", the man swinging his arm back and forth.  He would lean to avoid phantom swings.  "They traded words."   He would slash in the air with his hand, causing some of in the ring duck back from ghost blade.  "The warrior most of all bellowed."

"Run or Die!" Shouted Runa for the Dark One.

The man leaped and landed with his feet planted in front of the fire. His back was to Runa.  His hand still ready to strike to the unseen warrior.  His breath coming a bit hard, his shoulders drooping weekly.  "The brave hunter ... fighting for the honor of the wild elf, standing in view of his new found friends, doing what he could to show the greatest of what bravery he had ... he did ... he did the only thing he could think of doing ..."

Runa leaned forward, smiling, eagerly.  When she looked about the circle, all those in attendance did the same - wide eyed and breath held.

"The hunter ...  Ran!"

The elves laughed delightedly, Maya included. "Oops," said an elf to the left of her.

"He ran as fast as his feet could take them.  Bloodied in pain, he limped to the healer's hut to his own remorse," the man said with a smile on his face.  His movement no longer reflected the hunter, as he stood upright and walk to take a seat on the ground next to Runa.

Runa shifted slightly, pulling her legs up to hug herself around her knees. Grinning madly she continued, "He left the poor innocent wild elf all along at such a dangerous place.  With only the winds to protect her."

"Twas a crushing blow to the young lad.  Even if she survived, she would surely not seek out such a coward ... twas what he thought."  The man took the remainder of Runa's tea and drank it down with a heavy swig.  He even drank like a human, take what is not his and quick to pour the liquid down his gullet, as if he had not the time to savor the drink or care where it comes from.

Maya was amused at how close the two sat to each other, the closeness seemed so natural.  "And what of the brave hunter and the wild elf?  What became of them?" she asked seeming to know the answer herself, "You say she would not seek him out?"

Runa turned to the man with a smirk.  She gave him a wink and blew him a kiss.  The man seemed to take this as a sign to speak with a wide grin, "we shall say ... that was not the case."  Turning his head back to the audience around them he nodded politely, "and that is the story.  Now ... where I come from, if one tells a story, he listens to the next, so who is next?"

Those around the audience stopped to applaud quietly, appreciative of the tale.  Maya was not excluded, smiling warmly to the pair.  The human blushed slightly from the response and raised the empty cup of tea as if to drink again, but seemed more like it was purposefully to hide behind it.  A bit of modesty unlike many of their kind.  Runa, still grinning from the story beamed from the attention, laying her legs flat on the ground and patting her knees happily.  Their reactions almost exaggerating the differences in the two, and still bonding them at the same time.  Maya chuckled to her self, thinking now that surely the story continued onward this battle.  But this day, more would not need to be pressed, so Maya softly applauded and heralded, "The Brave Hunter and the Wild Elf!"

Shortly, Maya took on the responsibility for the next tale, inspired by the previous.  As she did, the human stayed true to his word and listened respectfully.  Runa seemed less patient, prodding him from time to time, a whisper asking for news.  It was not long they left the fire ring to their own means.  Maya could only think that the old friends had much to share and much to learn of the other's doings.  Let the old friends go, she thought.  There are still stories to be told.

-End-

Home


((Someday I dream of a full book about the life of Arturos.  This will be the last chapter.))

I don’t know if this is real, or a dream.  But I know I am home.  Lately I have a hard time figuring out much of anything.  Every where I turn, something seems wrong, everything I do seems not what I remember.  Sometimes, what I am most sure about appears to be not what it seems in the least.

This cave is cold, it is dark, but most of all it is small.  Smoke hangs near the ceiling, barely visible against the light of the cooking fire nestled across the room in the corner.  I must use for a fireplace, something cooks there now I just can’t seem to remember what.  The candles about the small bed I lie in flicker against the drafty cold air that licks against the wet walls.  I must have lit them to read, but I don’t see any books in the bed next to me.  I don’t see it on the table by the candles either.  I am not quite sure what I was doing to light the candles, but something tells me they are too much of an expense to have going without some reason.  Besides, they fail to let my eyes adjust enough to see anything that well. 

That may not be the fault of the candle that I can not see.  It may be my eyes that fail me too.  The way I feel right now, it seems there is little left that hasn’t failed.  When I lift my shoulders up to look around this room, my back twinges.  I feel throbbing in my foot, and when I look down at it, I can see the sock that contains it seems bigger than the one on my other foot.  My hands stiffen, and I fight the urge to grip and re-grip the fingers arthritically.  I realize this shell of a being I am in is as old as the trees; and it takes every ounce of my being to try to shift in some way to where I can rest again.  Almost to emphasize this, my chest starts to burn, and I cough with the lungs of the oldest of old. 

It was an onion.  I cook an onion in a kettle.  I remember that now.  But I have no idea how I am going to get there to get that thing or how I put it there in the kettle to begin with.

It is all too grey to me.  Slowly, things start confusing me.  How did I end up to be so old?  It seems I was just making cheese, now this.  It must be a dream.

How did I end up in this place?  Where is this place?  What magic is it that brings me here. 

My hand shakes.  I can’t seem to breathe right.  It all confuses me, it starts to scare me. 

My hand reaches to rub my arm, sliding up until the skin touches an area where hair no longer grows.  I look down at the skin and see faded black markings; the tattoo of a youthful boy.  One who saw himself as a fisherman for the rest of his life, and tattooed his arm to show community with his fellow fish hunters.  Only weeks later to end up in Karamoon.  Then Ravenscraig.  Then Dee.  Then … well, I am not sure where I went.  But I know this tattoo.  This must be me, this must still be my body.  This coughing, hacking, old body is the same of that youthful boy that curses me now from some other place.

This cough, this air, it scares me.  Not even the touch of my own arm seems to comfort me to think I am the right place.  I close my eyes and begin to recount, the way they taught me as a boy to do.  We were taught to recount our lives, when we are about to die.  It is supposed to let us know what is important in our lives.  But I do it to calm myself.  It seems I have done this too many times, and now when I recount, I can see again what my mind seems to lose grip on.  Once again, I feel the calmness of knowing my life was lost to my memory.  Things start to become clear to me now, and my breathing is within my grasp.

The candles were as long as I remember when the door open, blowing one out.  I know I must have slept; but must not be too long as they would have burned down for sure.  I know I slept as things were different than before.  Maybe it is the cold.  The door opening made it colder, but the cold of this place, it seems more so even before the door started to open.  The door was opening, because someone was knocking on it, and it wouldn’t stay closed with that impact of fist to wood.

I tried to get up.  I succeed, but with some cost.  I was slowly able to grunt my way to put my feet on the cold stone floor.  Doing so brought sharp pains to my hip.  It felt locked like my leg was locked into my pelvis.  It felt like bone ground on bone.  It hurt worse than any dagger plunged into my side, any spell burning my flesh, any of what seems like a hundred different evils cast down on me; none of that felt as bad as what this felt like in my hip. 

Fighting to hold back a cry of pain, I call out “Door seems to be open, come in and greetings”.

The way I press my hands into the side of the bed, the way my legs hang over the side of the bed, the way I bend my back to try to revive the muscles at the side of the bed; my eyes are forced to stay to the stone floor.  So it is her bare, scared feet I see first. 

Normally, in my youth, or whatever time it was since I last saw her, I would try to contain my joy in the presence of the elf.  My desire to leap into her arms is tempered by this poor shell of a body.  I want to spring forth, but I can only lift my head to gaze on the elf’s eyes.

It is the elf, Runa.  She was the elf that embraced me as many times as she cursed me over the years.  She was the elf that seems to be a constant for season upon season when it seemed nothing was truly constant at all. 

She is the stoic elfin presence now as much as she was back in those days.  Her auburn hair darker, the braids less orderly, the cloths surrounding her softer, the twigs in her hair & the rings in her ears are different but as understated as ever; but all these things were just slight variations of the Runa of my past, no different than possible if you missed someone for a few moons.  In those green pools that look over what was once her human, I can see now how badly I have aged.  She doesn’t hider her sadness and pity.  I am sure all the wrinkles, the faded parts of me, what is disappeared from my life; reads from her gaze upon what I have become.  As much as she hasn’t aged creates a contradiction to that broken old man who could not even raise himself from the bed.  But seeing her now, just as she ever was, it gives me comfort. 

I swallow, my nature fighting the urge to break my emotions free, as I shake my head and speak, “How … how long has it been?”  Words that one could speak to any old friend, but an answer that I can’t give myself.

She lifts a cheek to give a smirk, “I know nothing of time, man.  Have you learned so little in your old age?”

My laugh, as light as I intended it, hisses and whistles through my lungs.  “Same sharp tongue, tis good some does not change in us.”

Her smile brings light to this dark, cold room.  She stands in a soft dress no different than what she would have worn in the summers.  Maybe it is just I that feels this cold, it is too dark to see what else could be outside that door, and I can’t remember any more what season falls on this world.  She does what I am not able to achieve, and steps closer to me to put her fingers into my still rough and thick hair.  “You have turned white on me, man,” she says in reference to my locks. 

I give a light moan, the soft pleasure of her fingers stroking my hair, my eye closing as the light scent of honey comes through the dank.  I let this touch linger for some time.  I start to forget this pain.  Start to forget this body.  But finally I need to look upon her.

Her eyes come to mine, her motherly eyes.  You can see Gaia’s presence there as she says softly, “I found you.”

I don’t know what she means.  I can’t fathom what she looked for me for.  But it raises a joy in me I can grasp onto.  The weakness of the old man’s emotions clench down on my throat.  I try to cough to clear it, but the coughs are harder, too hard just to clear the air.  I put my fist to my mouth and hold fast the breath as I try to spit out.  “There is boiled onion on the fire,” I say between breaths, “if you are hungry.”

Her hand slides over my cheek, brushing the longer, whiter whiskers of my chin.  “I thought that smell was your socks.  You have no cheese?” she asks with a smirk.

I shake my head, as a flash of an answer comes to my tongue.  “Tis an extravagance these days, but I would offer it if I had some.”  Something in my mind flashes of how I got to this point, something about loss, something of poverty; something that sits on my soul with sadness and dire pain.  Something in me that suggest I deserve this hollow of a cave.  But as she moves to kneel down in front of me, there is a stronger force in my head to forget what I only now started to remember.

“I am not hungry,” she says to me with a smile.  Her hands slowly work a sock to roll down my good leg.  I expect to feel the cold of air, but find it warm.  Her fingers take their time, stopping to touch the light dark hair on my calves, bringing back just the hint of feeling to them again.

“Need not be modest, Runa.  I may be old, but I would offer what I have.”

As she rolls the other sock down my left, its thread thin and dirty, the foot inside reveals itself to be like the other.  Not swollen as I saw before.  Not throbbing.  Not in the least as dead as it felt before.  Without the sock in place, my feet look as alive as they were in my youth.  She seems not to notice as she balls the socks, and tosses them to the fire.  “Never understood why you wore those,” she says to the burning socks.

“Hey,” I try to protest seriously, “I need those to keep warm.” 

Her long braids slide back over her shoulders when she shifts to gaze up to me from the floor.  Her smile appears kind, dare I say with a feel of hope.  “Not anymore,” she says quietly.  She stands, lifting my legs until they are out in front of me.  Effortlessly, she helps to turn my body to lay again in the bed. 

Effortlessly for her.  The sharpness of the pain in my hip flares, and I suck hard into my lungs.  But once I am turned, the pain lessens.  Her touch is soft on my skin.  Something flashes into my head at that moment, but it’s not so clear.  “It has been years for us, since we have seen each other, hasn’t it.”

She shifts the pillows around me, helping me to rest.  She sits onto the edge of the bed as she does, tending to me.  “Have I changed so much for you?”

I slowly shake my head.  I lean back against my pillows to lie softly, and my back doesn’t fight these old bones.  “Quite the opposite, it as if you are the same that I knew; but … it has been …”  my breath gets the best of me.  All this movement, this effort, this excitement to see her; more than I think my body wants to handle.

As I settle back, she turns and lays herself back against me as well.  Her head softly tucking into my shoulder.  “Rest your mind, man,” she says in a soft manner.  She reaches for my arms, and wraps them around her body until I embrace her.  She rests in my arms, in a way that takes me back to days long long ago.  But seems as familiar as the time at this very moment.  I have a memory of her doing this before.  I have a memory that she would climb into my lap and pull these arms around her.  I would be her wrap, he bed, her place to rest.  It would be those brief moments in time, those too short of nights, those glances of time when she would be MY elf.

“How …” I said as sleep starts to near me, “how did you find me?  Why have you come?”

Her words, her final words as I drift away dance on the air, spun free into the my mind like butterflies and fairies on the wind.  “I have come to show you the way.”

Her body warms me.  The chilly of this cave seems to not be there anymore.  It is still moist, but no longer cold.

I can smell her as well, with her body so close to mine.  But it is not just the honey, but of trees, of grass of the earth.

Her cloths are soft, but memorable.  Leathers, soft soft leathers.  Like those I used to wear.  When I hunted in the wilds.  But its not what she wears is it, I wear it now.

The candles burn brighter.  Maybe it is that the door is still open and morning comes.

More than morning, it is daytime.  It is summer.

It is the grass, and trees, and all that grows forth around us. 

It is those days, the beautiful wonderful days.

There are flowers that rise, there are ferns, there are the flora growing around me.

I am surrounded by the spirits of the wilds.

I am surrounded by the energy.

I feel it surround me and take me.

I am free.

I am happy.

I don’t know if this is real, or a dream.  But I know I am home.