Fatigue.
All I feel is a weakness in my body, soul, mind, and spirit. This imbalance has made the last fourteen days and fourteen nights most difficult. My joy and wonder has slowly dimmed. I find that the more I try to forget my mother’s death, the more I am reminded of it.
The lullaby that sang me to sleep on my first night of travels has deserted me. That tender caress has warped sharp and painful.
Repetition.
I relive that moment time and again. Time and again. And as the arrow hits Mother’s chest, I am reminded of Father’s hunt.
And with that, I notice the precision of Death. Death is a great marksman. He never misses his target.
“Mark me!” I screamed into the late night. “Mark me, O Mighty Marksman!”
My shouts were lost in the ether.
My footfalls are weighty, I gather. And although my rations ran out three days ago, in my secondhand death, I am overwhelmed by the notion of grief.
I do not want to eat.
I am unconvinced anything could cure me now of this ailment – a poison of the mind.
While the sane part of me noticed I was not standing near the fountain in Battle Creek and I had not suddenly been transplanted to a different time, the part that refused to take care of my physical being taunted me with much vexation.
The Healers, why were they not strong enough?
Why was I unable to halt Mother’s descent into the dark unknown?
Where is my mother’s murderer Breggel? Running around these woods, taunting me, ready to end it all here and now in the open – away from the oversight of her fellow Elves?
Six days ago – the last time I had consorted with the High Truth – I had begged for a trade. A soul for a soul, but knowing His merciful reasoning, I determined he would turn a deaf ear upon me.
Surely, as Mother might have said, He has his reasons for dark times such as these.
Anger and desperation.
I yearn to die, to lie down in the wild and see her shining, smiling face once more in the Endless Night.
That night, I tried my best to trudge forward, but, instead, in the late hours of the night, when my cot would normally have been set, a fire would have already been made, and I would have made sure to keep my guard up in order to be prepared for creeping dangers, I continued hobbling in unclarity. I could not tell the difference between North and South suddenly.
The lack of food was overtaking me. The lack of water was defeating me. And the stubbornness of my Father was guiding me. Where? I did not know anymore. I could faintly recall the destination Tethyr in my mourning.
But I fell. To the ground I fell. And what seemed to be mere seconds turned out to be a few hours.
Shock.
I woke with a fright, hearing the distant dream-voice of my father accusing me of the murder of his beautiful bride. As my eyes opened on a clearing in the woods, I grasped for the closest weapon I could reach. My staff was to my right, and my cheeks were stained with tears.
But to the naked eye, there was no threat. The morning larks had begun their songs, and the sun rose once again.
I sat still, breathing in, breathing out. I gathered my reality.
I was weak. I was frail.
I was the meekest target to the Mighty Marksmen.
Blinking away the rough night, I heard a faint meow and narrowed my eyes in its direction. This was no roar; it sounded like a soft creature. And then there was a rustling in a nearby brush.
I jumped to my feet, took guard position with my staff, and a gentle, padding white cat slinked toward me slowly.
It stopped about six feet in front of me; I could hear it purring. And as we stood, staring at one another, I recognized the glint of luminescence in her eyes. I guffawed loudly, uncertain what to do with this feeling of familiarity. I let my guard down.
She stepped toward me slowly. And doubt washed over me. This couldn’t be… Could it?
She rubbed her side against my right leg, circled me, comforting me. And then she stopped to look at me, letting out a single, minute, “Mraaow?”
“No way,” I said with exasperation.
The cat backed up and perched herself in the same spot six feet to my front.
A bright, blinding light formed at the creature’s heart. And I took my guard again, ready for an attack. The light conceived a hot warmth and swift, ringing pitch; I immediately covered my ears with the palms of my hands and had to turn away from the light.
Before turning I saw a shimmer but could not look in my peripherals for too long – unless I might regret that choice for the next few hours.
“Silverdew, it’s alright to turn around now,” the familiar voice giggled.
Deldorn Dundragon 