Edited: Moving onto other projects, so this will be my wrap-up post. Great thread, thank you for participating!
Elinyra remembered watching the new-fallen snow drop from the tree branches as she walked along with her mentor on a cold winter day, a question stuck in her young mind.
"When Kalithiel passed away, you said she was one root among many that would continue to grow into eternity. What did you mean by that?" Elinyra had asked, breaking the deep hush of the winter wood.
The venerable high druid had turned to her with a bright smile and a sparkle of story in her eyes.
"Because we are all roots, dear student. We are all roots of the tree of life, and it grows because of what we add to it. It withers when we take away from it. When one root dies, another grows in its place, but each is connected to one life. We are one."
Although Elinyra recalled the comfort those words had brought then, she couldn't relate to them now. Seeing how Garrod was looking at her - how she
thought he was looking at her - made her remember someone. A root she could no longer find, no matter how deeply she dug. For a brief moment, she wanted to relent to the way the memories of him made her feel. To see him again. To feel his touch again. To entertain a notion that couldn't be.
Instead she averted her gaze with a sigh.
"Sometimes it may be best to forget," she said, although her words stung somewhere in her chest.
Perhaps she wasn't making sense either. She yawned. Looking up at the dark velvet sky, she realized it had grown quite late in the course of their conversation. Weariness had a way of clouding the mind and drawing strange dancing shapes in the shadows.
"I apologize... my thoughts are meandering a bit. I think I might be a bit tired.
"I'm going to head back to my camp and turn in for the night. I do hope we can continue this conversation another time, when we are both more refreshed. Get some rest, and I will try to do the same. Goodnight."
Elinyra stood and brushed herself off before heading off for her camp by the shore.
She slept fitfully for what remained of the night and awakened to the pale grey of a foggy morning. Huddling in her cloak against the brisk sea breeze, she walked along the beach until she came to a rocky outcropping. At its eroded crest she silently stared off at the horizon - not Westwards, towards her longtime home, but rather East, as if something was pulling her in that direction.
Dreams are strange things. Playful, chaotic, abstract spectres that haunt the somnolent mind. Rare is the dream that entertains the consciousness for more than a short while; rarer still are those touched by the threads of destiny. Among nightmares of shadows and an old wound, Elinyra had dreamt of an ancient myth - of the boy Gwion who was bestowed great knowledge, hunted by a wrathful god, and ultimately born anew with another name. She felt the weaving of fate, but she could only wonder what it meant.
Garrod Arlette
