The Prophecy

3rd Movement: The Wolves of Astínn

9 Misen 1308 – 2:00 a.z.(1)

Getting her wolf and horse ready for the journey proven to be a little touchier than Half-Moon expected. Mostly because they were slightly taken aback by the many hesitation of the young girl, but partially also because they had hoped to go somewhere else altogether. The Walk of the Prophecy was not so much exciting to them, being one of the most populated and "civilized" Walks of all.

Also, Slindy-La-Douce, their final destination was far away and they had to get there on a shorten schedule would could be challenging for Fenril, despite being strong and resilient. Flavie was offering him the option to be carried by her, as Half Moon was coming back from her house with necessity items for the trip. She was dressed in puffy pants that were tightened above the knees by long travel boots that were far from new. A long tunic in the color of the forest and embroidered with leaves and flowers of the woods reached halfway up her thigh. It was tightened at the waist by a wide belt of worked leather. Finally, a long and wide coat washed by the sun, soiled with mud and other dried dirt completed Half Moon's traditional traveling outfit. A sharp dagger shone intermittently at her belt. Her face was proud and bright with excitement, as it always was when she went on an adventure.

She was beautiful like that, and no being could have contemplated her without being dazzled by such beauty. But the thing was: she did not know how beautiful she was. All she knew was that she was half elf. Nothing more, nothing less. To her, it meant a lot. Her greatest desire would have been to be born an elf, but fate had decided otherwise. Her father had loved a human woman... Luna.... However, she was not a human woman like the others. She loved the Elves.

After saddling Flavie and harnessing Fenril for the trip, Half Moon sat on her friend's back and sang the departure. She galloped through the old town of Elwìnn, sometimes having to jostle some dizzy Wise man who, waiting for the Great Pope to leave with him, took up all the space in one of the tiny, resonant alleys of the elvish city. She crossed in a gust of wind the ebony bridge of the South, the one called "The Shadow of the Sun" because, whatever the weather, it was always shaded.

She went quickly, Half Moon, encouraged that she was by the voice of Ounà(2) who whispered in her ears, songs of joy and freedom. And Flavie heard them as well, at it gave her strength and speed. In the Musical Forest, the waterfalls sang and answered each other by pouring thousands of golden droplets from the sun. Passing through the shady groves, crossing the large temples with their living, rustling pillars, crossing the swirling streams, Half-Moon and her little troop would go deeper and deeper into the Green, faster and faster. Time was running out. The Wise Elves were about to leave and, with their winged mounts, they would be much faster than our friends. Half Moon did not want to be outdone, she wanted to be where History would be made: at the Council of the Sacred Volcano.

Half-moon liked risk and hardship. They had always accompanied her in her life, from early on. She had learnt to accept that, to accept that life could be hard and unfair and you had to work for it... She had made that harsh reality a positive companion: it was what proved to her that she existed.

She was not "pure" enough to ride the wonderful moon-colored horses. Whatever it meant exactly. She would have liked to try one day, to ride those flying horses, just to have a feel of it, but she never questioned the Pope's refusal to let her even try to ride one of the winged horses. Sure, the first time, the refusal had stung, and she had been upset to the point of saying not so nice things to Old Bear. But it was a long time ago... when she was about fourteen years old? No, she was nearing her twenty years old... Many things had changed.

Although, because the Wise elves were riding the winged horses, Half-Moon was on a very strict time constraint if she wanted to arrive to the meeting place, The Palace of the Four, not too late, or at least fashionably late to yet be able to enter the Council.