I have walked this world for over three and a half centuries and yet… I have not found where I belong. Time, as I have learned, does not answer questions.
The trees of the Verdant Reaches knew my name. They leaned toward me as I passed, their branches bowing in recognition. Old friends, older than memory. They offered moss-soft places to rest, cradled in roots that curled like gentle hands. When the wind moved through them, it spoke to me in a language that was never meant to be spoken.
A language most elves forget as they get older.
Our elders say that once you choose your path and commit to a purpose, the language fades away. The world looks different after that.
I never chose. It wasn't a conscious decision either. I was not unguided. That would have been easier to explain. I had elders, teachers, hands reaching toward me with every good intention. Still, none of them could show me where my own heart had gone quiet.
I was trained to be a healer which was quite expected given the environment I grew up in. My fate was clear from the start even before I could name the herbs I gathered or grasp the significance of the chants I recited. My hands were steady. My presence… calming. The elders approved of it. I became what they needed me to be.
Or perhaps… I convinced myself it was what I was meant for. What truly matters to me? No one has ever asked. I enjoy helping people. It gives me a sense of purpose. However, I feel empty like I can't quite put my finger on it.
So, on a warm sunny day, I told Jo I needed to leave.
The words felt heavier than they should have. It was as if they'd been waiting years gathering weight in silence until I couldn't keep them unspoken any longer.
I sat by the water, watching the current take what it wished. Dead leaves… Fragments of bark… Pebbles… All now drifting without resistance. I briefly wondered if that was what I was doing.
"You're really going," he said.
"My love, I have to."
I didn't look up. If I'd seen his face I might have stayed or even asked him to join me. That would have been cruel because I did not know where I was going.
"I don't know what I'm looking for," I admitted. "You didn't do anything wrong to me, my Jo. It's just that… I can't breathe here anymore. Everyone assumes I'm content simply because I don't complain."
The river moved steadily beside us.
"You are content," he said quietly. "Sometimes."
"Sometimes," I echoed.
Sometimes I wake before dawn feeling peaceful.
Sometimes the light filtering through the leaves is enough.
Sometimes the world is gentle and I respond in kind.
But—
"It's fading," I said.
For a moment, silence hung between us. Jo stepped closer and I could feel the movement of dirt beneath his foot.
"Please stay," he said.
"I'd disappear," I whispered. "But not in the way you might think. I'd still be there fulfilling my duties but I wouldn't be… me." The river whisked my words away, perhaps taking my last traces of hesitation with it. "I do not think Elandra gave me this life so that I could remain comfortable. I think she gave it to me so that I would see what others turn away from."
Perhaps it was pain, change or the unknown. Jo didn't answer straight away but I think he understood.
"Then go, my love," he said at last. "I will not ask you to stay where you cannot breathe." My hands tightened in my lap. "And I will not follow you where you are not ready to be found."
That nearly broke me but I swallowed it down. Grief, like healing, is something I've learned to carry.
"Thank you," I said. "I love you and I will always think of you no matter where I am in the world."
I don't think that was enough but it was all I had.
I left before sunrise. I did not say goodbye again. Some departures are less cruel when they are quiet. I have noticed that the trees did not stop me. I could not hear their whispers.
I walked further than I ever imagined. Each night I prayed for a dream of Jo. Some nights, Jo came to me in dreams. On other nights, a lone white wolf watched beneath a moon I didn't recognise.
I traversed moss-dark roads, treacherous frost-bitten passes and villages whose names I only learned upon my departure. When the land gave way to the sea, fishing vessels and merchant ships often turned me away. Who would bring a woman much less an elf on a ship across the vast ocean?
I expressed my gratitude and appreciation to those vessels less superstitious than others who accepted me as a passenger.
By the time my feet touched the soil of this continent, I felt a sense of destiny. The trees started whispering lightly on my ears again. This was where I believed my search for life's missing pieces would finally lead to answers. It was a difficult beginning, though. At least before I met Juria… and eventually, Claudemund.
Stepping into a tavern sometimes felt like a hush settling over the room before the door even closed behind me. These humans seem to look at something ancient, torn between whether I'm holy or a danger to their way of life. I heard the murmurs, of course.
Forest-born.
Witch.
Elf.
The last one often spoken as an insult, not because of what I was born as.
I pretended not to hear. After three and a half centuries, you learn which wounds need tending and which are merely scratches from frightened tongues.
I did what I do best. I healed where I could.
Fevers, burns, rashes, coughs, and broken bones are common injuries. Knife cuts from foolish and drunken arguments. There are also grief when the living reach for the dead are also common, but quite tricky as some minds are more fragile. Some injuries heal quickly with a single chant or herb while others require more attention. Of course, I can help with recovery for broken bones but I cannot instantly put them back in place. That's not how it works. I'm not a miracle worker much to some people's disappointment. I cannot revive the dead either; I'm a healer, not a necromancer.
Despite asking for no payment, people generously gave what they could. Even the most impoverished would offer me a loaf of bread or dried fish. Women often gifted me warm clothing for helping their husbands or children. Occasionally I'd receive small trinkets neither edible nor useful but I kept them as mementos. And sometimes, after I had spent the night drawing sickness from a stranger's lungs, someone would thank me with tears in their eyes-
…then lock their door after I left.
I did not blame them. Fear is a poor host, after all. I missed Jo most in those moments. I often wondered what he would have said during those difficult moments when I was struggling to stay together. Sometimes, a joke I had no one to share but him. A cup of tea brewed too bitter, with no one to argue over it.
But I had to keep walking. Until I found Juria.
At first, I thought she was dead. Bits of blood marked her mouth. Her skin burned too hot beneath my fingers, then shivered cold an instant later. Her breathing came shallow and uneven. I knew the signs too well that this was poison from a wrong plant.
Travellers often met a far more unpleasant fate than they cared to admit. A seemingly harmless berry or a bright mushroom could be deadly. Hunger clouded judgement and pride led to death.
Luckily, I had boiled a remedy three nights before. It was foul and bitter enough to offend the gods but it bound certain poisons quickly and forced the body to purge what it could not endure. I knelt beside her and pressed the little bottle to her lips.
"Forgive me," I murmured a little too softly as if it was for myself instead of her. "This will taste unforgivable."
She choked and coughed. I could see she was improving as she became increasingly rude. She tried to shove me away but failed miserably her hand only twitching against the mud. Staring at me with fury and half-consciousness, she seemed to be torn between dying out of spite and living.
I'd read about her kind in old texts though most of them were written by people afraid of what they didn't understand. They spoke of horns scales beneath the skin and fire in the blood along with violent temper and dangerous instincts. However, they hadn't mentioned how pain could make even the strongest creature seem to yearn for their mother.
Dangerous, yes. But also frightened, poisoned, and alone. I had decided to stay with her through the night.
By dawn, I could tell her fever had broken.
By the third day, she could finally walk without swaying.
By the seventh, she insisted she did not need watching, then promptly collapsed while insisting she could chase the deer.
Juria spat her name at me on the second morning as though daring me to use it. She got startled at my footsteps. She would snarl before asking questions. She would put her hand on her axe for any sudden movements I would take. However, danger is not the same as malice. Having spent so many years healing wounds, I've learned to distinguish between a creature seeking harm and one that's never known gentle touch but has paid the price.
So I stayed.
Juria recovered badly. That is to say, she recovered loudly and dramatically. We found each other travelling side by side until we became comfortable sharing information about ourselves. Then, the horrible jokes came. The campfire became easier with two pairs of hands. Our nights became less hollow.
For a while, I imagined our journey would unfold like this: two travellers, one quieter than the other, sharing flickering firelight and terrible jokes under a sky indifferent to their plight.
That is of course, that night Claudemund arrived and ruined all our efforts at the campfire, insisting she had everything under control. These two simply couldn't get along but I managed to broker a peace treaty. Managing such contrasting personalities is challenging but not impossible.
By the time we finished eating the remake of our dinner, the fire had burned low and the forest had forgiven us enough to grow quiet again.
Almost.
Juria fell asleep first, as she often did after deciding she was still angry. She lay on her side beneath her cloak, one arm tucked under her head, her tail curled protectively around herself. Before closing her eyes, she pointed two fingers at Claudemund across the fire.
"I'm sleeping with one eye open," she warned.
Claudemund, bundled awkwardly in her cloak with all the offended dignity of a wet cat, squinted at Juria. "How industrious of you."
Juria grunted and then, after three breaths, she started snoring. Unfortunately for me and Claudemund, it was quite loud.
Claudemund's face flushed with offence as she stared at her. The first snore rolled across the clearing like distant thunder. The second frightened something small in the brush. By the third, Claudemund's expression had gone from irritation to genuine concern. I brought the hot tea I made closer to my mouth for warmth while I observed.
"It is not fatal," I said softly.
"To whom?" she whispered.
She might endure it out of pride… Or so I thought. Claudemund endured almost a quarter of an hour of pain before carefully rising. Her movements betrayed more suffering than she wished to reveal as she crossed the short distance to join me beside the embers.
"You're still awake," Claudemund said.
"So are you."
"That bloody woman…"
"Juria snores."
"No, that is a geological event!"
A quiet laugh escaped me, not wanting to disturb the subject of our discussion. Claudemund seemed startled, as though she had not expected me to find her funny. She sank onto the fallen log beside me, her hand briefly resting against her ribs. The humour faded from her face.
"I wanted to…" She glanced toward the dark line of trees, then back at the fire. "Thank you. For not throwing me back into the wilderness."
"You were injured."
"Yes, well. People have been less generous for smaller offences."
"That is true."
Across the clearing, Juria snored again. Claudemund winced.
"I think she hates me," she muttered.
"No," I said. "She distrusts you."
"A bloody splendid distinction!"
"It is, actually."
Claudemund squinted at me like I'd given her an incorrect answer. I turned my cup slowly between both hands allowing the warmth to seep into my fingers. "Juria is rough, often deliberately so. She learned early that if people feared her, they were less likely to look closely enough to hurt her." I looked at Juria sleeping by the fire, one hand curled near her axe even in dreams. "But beneath all that noise is someone softer than she wants anyone to know. A little girl, in a way, who has had to make herself large enough to survive."
Claudemund snorted before she could hold it back. I raised an eyebrow.
"Sorry," she said however not sounding sorry. "I am simply trying to reconcile the 'soft little woman' with the person who's about to beat the shite out of me."
"Yet, she did not lay a finger, did she?"
Claudemund then gave an unwilling laugh followed by the quiet that settled between us after it.
"I have lived long," I said. "Long enough to realise people rarely reveal their true selves. The cruellest can be sweet yet the frightened can growl. The proud can be starving and the useful can be lonely… Juria is not safe because she is gentle." I noticed a slight change of expression on Claudemund's face there after. "Juria is safe because she is honest. That matters more than the face she offers the world."
Claudemund gazed into the fire, seemingly struck by a realisation. Her stare lingered longer than she might have realised.
"Oh," she said at last. A small word. Almost a childlike wonder like she was handed a thought she did not know where to put.
I reached for the little kettle warming near the stones. "Would you like some tea? It may help you sleep. Juria's snoring can be a bit difficult at first but a calming blend really works wonders." Claudemund looked personally offended by the suggestion.
"I like coffee."
"At this hour?"
"At every hour."
"I see."
"But I suppose," she added, drawing the blanket tighter around herself, "I cannot be particular now that I am outside the pala—" She stopped as the fire cracked. Claudemund then cleared her throat with excessive dignity. "Outside the… parameters of civilisation."
"Of course, my dear."
Even in low light, I could feel her body tense. There was something she wasn't telling me but who am I to pry if she's not ready? I've learned to simply observe and wait for the right moment when the secret will come to light.
"I will not ask," I reassured her. She looked at me too quickly. Her fingers tightened around her cape as I offered her a cup. "You may simply sit by the fire, if you wish, Claudemund. No explanations required."
Claudemund stared at the tea as though I had placed something far more dangerous in her hands before accepting it carefully.
"Thank you," she said again in a softer, calmer voice. "That means a lot. Perhaps when I feel safer, I will tell you more about myself."
Across the clearing, Juria released another thunderous snore. Claudemund frowned again.
"My god."
"Yes," I smiled. "Juria does that as well."
***
A cold morning greeted me. As usual, I woke before everyone else to a pale grey dawn filtering through the trees and the faint glow of the last embers of the fire flickering beneath the ash.
Juria, still asleep, snuggled into her cape like a disgruntled bear. A single horn peeked above the fabric while her tail curled possessively around her pack. Every few breaths she snored, muttered and growled at something in her dream.
"No, you eat that one," she mumbled. I smiled.
Beneath her cloak and the spare blanket I'd put on her when she finally had fallen asleep, Claudemund had shrunk into a tiny shape across the remains of our camp. Only a curl of dark hair and the tip of her nose peeked out. Even with all the layers, she is still shivering. I rose carefully, took my blanket and draped it over her. She stirred but remained asleep or perhaps feigned it. I then fastened my cape around my shoulders and turned towards the sky.
"Elandra," I whispered, clutching my necklace as part of my prayer ritual, "guide us gently today. If You feel generous, please guard Juria's temper. And guard this new companion's body, for she's already tested it poorly. If danger lies ahead… let me see enough to meet it."
The rustling wind filled the forest with a strange silence as I noticed the light seemed to fade. A vision materialised: a large, silent white wolf moving between the trees. It wasn't hunting or fleeing; my senses told me it was following me or perhaps waiting for me to follow. Then as quickly as it had appeared it vanished as I exhaled.
The trees stood tall once more, their branches reaching skyward. The fire's embers flickered and died. Juria's snoring filled the air. Claudemund, shivering beneath too many blankets.
"Elandra?" I whispered to the wind. "I do not understand what it is you are trying to show me." Unfortunately, silence prevailed and no answer came. However, I'd learned over many years that silence wasn't always the absence of sound.
Sometimes it was a door not yet opened.
I went to the river to refresh myself. The water was cold enough to nip at my palms as I washed my face. I drank from cupped hands, listening to the gentle rush over the stones and Juria's distant sleep murmurs from the campsite behind me.
"I'll take your stupid wheel off…"
Juria's little murmurs in her sleep are always a laugh. Sometimes they're quite frightening, especially in the dark forest at night. More often than not, they don't make any sense.
Upon my return, the camp remained unchanged except for the light. I rekindled the fire and set water to heat, adding dried leaves and a calming root that released a faint honey scent when steeped.
Shortly afterwards Juria awoke with a violent snort and sat up straight, her hand instinctively flying towards her axe. Then she saw Claudemund. Her entire face went blank at the sight of the unfamiliar person in our camp until her memory returned.
"Oh right," she mumbled, her voice rough with sleep. "I forgot about this pathetic shit."
The pile of blankets moved. "I heard that, idiot."
Juria gazed at the pile of blankets before reaching over and lifting the edge. Claudemund glared up at her from within the cocoon, eyes narrowed behind a wild fall of hair.
"I am fucking cold," she said. "Give that back."
Juria dropped the blanket. "Fuck me. What happened last night? When did she start swearing like that, Luna?"
"Perhaps, you influenced her," I giggled. "At least we know she is doing alright."
"Then what do you plan on doing with this thing?"
From beneath the blankets, Claudemund's head popped up. "What in tarnation are you talking about? I am not a thing!"
"That thing," Juria gestured at her without looking.
"I have a name."
"Claudemund," I said gently, as I passed a cup to Juria before she could respond to Claudemund, "do you have a destination?"
The young woman hesitated, her expression for the first time since joining our camp losing its sharpness. "I…" She slowly sat up, clutching the blankets around her shoulders. "Truth be told, I haven't the faintest idea where I am." Juria frowned, clearly displeased with the response. Claudemund ignored her and continued, "I simply want to find a safe town where I can have proper shelter and not sleep beside a thunderous fart."
"Excuse me?!" Juria exclaimed, lowering her cup.
Ignoring the banter that is about to happen again, I set my own tea aside.
"Then it's settled," I declared, and both of them looked at me. "Juria, we will help her reach the nearest town."
"No."
"Juria."
"No, Luna. What is this, some kind of quest? Help the mysterious damsel in distress? Escort the bloody fucking suspicious piece of shite to civilisation before she explodes another person's dinner?"
"I could potentially do that again, to be honest," Claudemund jested.
"See? She's impossible," Juria argued.
"She is injured, Juria" I said.
"And she is fucking suspicious."
At that moment, I stood to make a point. "Juria," I said in my calmest voice, "when I found you by the river, I did not ask whether saving you would inconvenience me."
"That's different," she muttered.
"No," I said. "It is not. Someone alone, hurt, and lost deserves help. Even when they are difficult. Especially then, sometimes."
Juria looked away first followed by Claudemund looking down at her tea. I let her have the dignity of pretending she was not moved.
"Fine," she growled at last. "We take her to the nearest bloody town. Then she and that fucking thing can become someone else's problem."
Claudemund opened her mouth but I raised a finger and she quickly closed it again.
"Thank you," I said as Juria grumbled something into her cup.
After a moment, Claudemund murmured, "Thanks."
"Don't make it weird," Juria squinted at her.
"I would not dream of challenging your delicate emotional constitution," Claudemund frowned then sniffed.
"Oh, I'm going to throw her."
"No," I said.
Juria sighed and Claudemund smiled faintly into her tea.