The She Elf
Writing prompt: Your character is crushing on a girl, he flounders around her.
Keatoph taps the pommel of his sword gently with his thumb, the remainder of his hand resting on its hilt. He walks between trees, inhaling deeply, enjoying the smell of pine and maple. It is autumn, and the forest provides all of the colors one could possibly hope to find.
Beside him the she-elf Ophni walks. Despite her small frame, she is not lost in the world of leaves and gentle breezes. In fact, she appears as if she may be the centerpiece of it all. Her eyes dazzle, her hair flows, and Keatoph, though he does his best not to, notices.
Of course, our hero does not believe in complimenting the looks of the opposite sex without great caution. It is all too easy to convey something that is not meant, or to make someone uncomfortable. No, the young warrior knows that if her beauty is worth its time, the person underneath will be. And so he sets out to know her.
“How did you become a member of the Saraphinee?” He asks.
“It is the most prestigious clan in the elf world,” Ophni answers. “It was naturally the way to go.”
“Maybe so,” Keatoph replies. “But how did you do it?”
“Those are hard days, not quickly retold. Perhaps we could talk about something else. For example, where are we going?”
“Ah, yes,” Keatoph responds. “We are heading to the village of Dardek. Supposedly, there is a wizard there who can supply us with gear for our next endeavor.”
“Oh? I have never been to the western half of the Felhind Woods.”
“Well,” Keatoph sighs, “Brace yourself.”
“What do you mean?”
“I much prefer the cities and villages to the east. They are far more friendly and welcoming. Plus, there is the citadel of Peringath-” he stops himself. His face looks as if he has just been stabbed by a dagger. “-Or at least, there was.”
The elf observes him as they walk. His person is slowly piecing together in her mind.
“He is an injured soul,” she thinks to herself.
Even the way he carries himself is somewhat guarded. She has noticed it once before. He looks men in the eyes, but not to let them in. Rather, it is to keep people out. He engages regularly in conversation, but it is to amuse and to inspect. He is primarily social as an act of service, not as an act of self revelation.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” she tells him, acknowledging the desolation of the citadel. He turns his head away from her and they walk.
The moment passes and Ophni’s mind becomes preoccupied with other things. She wonders how many wizards there are in this part of the world. She is glad that the one they met the other day was friendly. The elf cannot help but ask herself what business he and his parliament of owls, or the fenghuang, had with her travel partner. However, she does not think now is the best time to ask.
“If you thought that Peringath was beautiful, you should have seen Asgafal during the starlight parade,” Keatoph chirps, bursting her thoughts. Our protagonist stares ahead of them at nothing in particular. Both happiness and sadness are in his eyes. “The roads would fill with light and dancing. Vendors would wheel out their carts full of caramel dipped apples. On the last day of the festival, there would be fireworks larger than the moon and as colorful as this wood.” He smiles.
“That sounds wonderful,” she smiles back, observing the trees. “You know, we have a pretty marvelous festival as well in Siledian.”
“Oh?”
“Indeed. There are lights and dancing also, but no fireworks. Instead, we use glow dust. The lights then, are not in the sky, but all around us.”
“I would love to see that,” Keatoph tells her.
“Maybe someday you will.”
“And you, do you think you will ever visit Asgafal, when it is up to par again?”
“Perhaps,” she responds. “I have been to many fair places. Still, where I truly long to look upon is the sea.”
“The sea is beautiful,” Keatoph acknowledges. “But it can also be frightening and deadly.”
“Is this not true of Asgafal and Peringath as well?” Ophni answers.
“Fair enough.”
The conversation goes on, and before either of them realize it, they have descended the mountains they were on. The sun falls. They grow to know each other’s likes and preferences a bit more. They compare and contrast their views of the world. Each of them sees the other a bit more clearly.
Keatoph had not intended to unveil himself to her. Still, as he lay on the ground a few feet from her, his bag serving as his pillow, he is glad. Ophni seems like a sweet person to the young hero. She also seems to take genuine interest and care about him.
“Perhaps,” he thinks to himself. “Perhaps.”
He falls asleep, unaware that they are both repeating the same word to themselves. They are so enthralled by the perhaps of each other, they fail to notice the egg twice as tall as Keatoph a few hundred feet away from them.
Read chapter one here.
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