Among the Birches *NaNoWriMo 2013*

The Origins of Sight and Soul

When dinner came, an earthy drum beat was heard throughout the plain, low and relatively quiet but refusing to be ignored. It alarmed them greatly, for it sounded more like a kind of quiet call to arms than a summoning to eat, but when they peered out of their yurts, they saw that the people walked easily and (almost) happily, all in the direction of a large, excavated circle where benign fires burned under pots of food. The aroma enticed the three visitors and drew them forward to stand in the serving line.

The sun elves took turns in both food preparation and serving. On any given day, any elf past childhood could be chopping the thick root vegetables they cultivated in gardens which circled around many of the yurts, or peeling cactus fruits to make a thick drink of their juice and pulp, or helping distribute the food that had been prepared-- making sure the serving pots stayed full, mainly. When everyone else had obtained their meal and sat on grass mats on the cooling sand, the servers joined them. Eating was a silent affair, but the ritual of dinner stretched out for nearly two hours, and it was after the consumption of food that the sun elves began to converse. 

That night, of course, their main topic of conversation was the arrival of Kya, Nicholai, and Jasper and their upcoming venture into Fratyra. Faces and names came to talk briefly: Loren, Liset, Orepin, Corain; all a mixture of sound, tanned skin, and guileless faces that neither tried to dissuade or support. The sun elves had been robbed of their hope with the slaughter; three strangers' foolish journey into the heart of evil would become no heartbreak of their's.

Nicholai, put off by his solitary status as a human among elves (strange elves, at that), was worn down first. The crowd of elves-- pitifully small, compared to what it once was-- seemed to him massive and imposing; their indifference seemed a hex that they kept repeating with each glance, greeting, and question. It was close to being too much-- but then from the crowd one elf, unlike the others, came to greet him.

"I have never seen a human before," said the elf, who was still fresh out of the extended adolescence which elves enjoy. He was slighter of build than the adults, and a hair shorter; his skin was darker, from his placeless romping; and his hair was lighter than the deep reds of his people. The very difference in his appearance as opposed to his kin heartened Nicholai a bit and kept him from the despair he was slipping into.

"And I had never seen a sun elf, until today," said Nicholai. "And you are certainly the first adolescent one I have seen."

The elf scowled. "I am no adolescent," he said. "I wager that I am older than you."

"Perhaps," said Nicholai. "But I am not so old."

Because the boy was not as aloof and cautious as the others, Nicholai could tell that the boy was trying hard not to be offended at the attention Nicholai had drawn to his youth. He felt sorry for the boy.

"But I know little," said Nicholai. "And even if you are young, I perceive that you possess the great strength and will of your people."

This half-rescue of Nicholai's pleased the elf, and his face lightened to resemble the poker faces of the rest. "What is your name, human?" he asked.

"I am called Nicholai," he said. "What about you?"

"My name is Fjorn," he said. After a pause, he added: "And I would like to go with you three to Fratyra."

This proclamation, said so simply, sent Nicholai's mind reeling. He thought briefly of the perils that even he could not deign to dwell on; of the hurt in his arm which had began to flare again; of families and friends left with no comfort at their bereavement. He felt, too, the weight of the loss of the people of Terazen, and the irreparable divide erected now between the dead who were meant to be immortal and those left with the gift of life but only as a broken, unsolvable puzzle.