Dear, sweet Kyla Amastacia now stood in front of me, dressed in her usual spritely attitude. She swiftly lunged at me, wrapped her arms around me in the warmest, most soothing grasp. Tears streamed from my eyes, and I let out a gasp, not able to comprehend this overwhelming surge of unidentified emotion.
It seemed like ages since I had felt a comparable level of sincerity, and, in reality, it had only been days.
When she realized tears had imprinted themselves upon her left shoulder, she whispered in Elvish, “Let the waters flow, Dear One. Let the words fall through me,” an ancient Comfort long passed from one generation to the next by the turns of time.
I lost myself in the confusion, the ghastly physical exhaustion. And we stood there, tangled together until morning had shifted to noon and shadows had outstretched their hands to Nature. The winds begun to blow the leaves, as a lover who sighs.
Once I gathered the courage to speak without trembling, we sat down amidst the undergrowth, our backs resting on a nearby fallen oak. She tied her hands into mine, staring at me with weighted eyes of strength and comfort.
Before I spoke, she softly began, “If you have something to say…”
“I do.”
“Say it to me quickly. We don’t have much longer.”
I looked at her, inquiring.
“I must report back to the group before the sun sets, and with the amount of time we spent on hugs, we have little time for conversation.” She chuckled and looked over her left shoulder, away from me. “Do you have questions? I hope to have answers.”
“I cannot explain what your presence means to me,” I said.
“I, too, cherish you. Why else would I risk being accused of treason by abandoning my post?” She pounded my right arm with her closed fist, filled with just enough love to draw a bruise in the coming hours.
I let her love sink into my heart, and then we began the fateful questionnaire: “First, has there been any sign of your mother?”
Kyla sighed and shook her head.
“Second, how is my father?”
Kyla hesitated, “He mourns your mother, but he attempts to wear a mask about the people. We have had such little time together, in all sincerity. I fear your banishment and her passing will harden him.”
Here she stopped, searching for the right words to say. “Silverdew, I need consolation.”
“I do not take your meaning.”
“I long for answers as well.”
And the fact of the matter overtook me. The obvious had escaped me. I apologetically said, “You lost a mother that day, too.”
“Indeed.” A brief silence followed.
“Kyla, I regret your current circumstances, and I hope the High Truth doles out consolation, for your head and heart’s sakes.”
“I, too, regret your situation,” she rested her head on my shoulder. “Do you find comfort in knowing you can worship the High Truth in the way He intended – in the wild, free from the structure of a clan and people?”
I had never considered my exile a freedom, but she always had a way of twisting pain into Light, a quality I, myself, lack. And I smiled. “My loneliness has wrenched up its own struggles. I fear my pride has closed me off from Him.”
“He is always with you, Axelraynn Liaimion.”
I jumped at her use of my personal nomenclature, and she giggled, her voice echoing off the branches.
“Let me take some of your burden, Friend.” She stood up quickly. “Do you have any more questions? Do you need anything more from me?”
Shame swelled within me, that I had lost track of time in my emotional dizziness. “How many days has it been since I set foot into the wild?”
“Today marks your thirteenth turn of the sun,” she said in a certain manner, as if she had counted every day until we could meet again. And we had no inkling of knowing that our days would always be counting, counting, until our next passing moment in the woods. “Stand with me.”
She offered her right hand; I grabbed it; and I was on my feet in no time.
“I have a surprise,” she said with utmost joy. She began walking away, weaving through the various greenery. I attempted to follow while she muttered to herself. “It must be here somewhere.”
“What? What do you seek?” I laughed a little at her frantic meandering, as she pushed aside branches, undergrowth, bark, and rubbed her hands along varying stones and moss.
“Here!” She found a stone, covered in graying moss. When she lifted the moss, on it was etched a symbol I could not decipher. “Messengers’ secrets,” she smiled at me. “You might want to squint your eyes, if you intend to stare at it.”
I closed one eye, attempting to squint the other. “What is happen– ?
The foreign symbol began to glow as her hand approached it. I thought I heard muttered words under her breath, but the words were lost to my ears. Bright, brighter, and brightest, and I quickly decided to close my eyes before I heard another loud pitch reverberate off the encompassing trees.
The brightness shed, and I opened my eyes again, gently so as not to harm them.
“I brought reparations – a gift from our people, whether they know it or not.” She laughed again. “If they learn that I have offered this to you, they will call me to Counsel, most assuredly. These foods should be enough to get you to the Southern edge of the Lake of Dragons.”
I stared at the parchment-wrapped rations in her arms. “How did you manage to get this all the way down here?”
“Simple.” She smirked. “There are things you can not know about the Messengers just yet, but I hope I can share some words with you again in the future.”
“Do I get any clues?” I longed for this day never to end, but I gathered our time together was drawing to a close.
“Know I will be with you, just as the High Truth is with you.” She pressed her arms forward. “Please, take them. Add them to your pack.”
I took them and set the wrappings on the ground, unsure what to say now.
She spoke first, once more, “Shall we pray together?”
And so we did.
When the prayer was over, I felt closer to her and closer to Him. I felt a smile spread across my face, and true Hope entered my being for the first time in thirteen days.
“I must away, Axelraynn Liaimion.” And she turned, ready to head North to her clan.
“Wait,” I lunged forward, and she turned.
“There can be no more waiting,” she said with sorrow.
“I love you, Kyla,” I said confidently.
“I, too, love you, Deldorn Dundragon.” She fled.
As a young man who knew little of Love, at that time I could not comprehend that the phrase, “I love you,” would become our novel way of saying, “Goodbye,” and only that, nothing more.
Deldorn Dundragon 