The Beginning of the End

The Begining of the End 5

Patrick stood in place for a few minutes, there was no one and nothing around for miles now. He stood in the middle of a field full of tall, lush grass, it danced and swayed around him as he allowed himself the short time to get adjusted. He slowly opened his eyes and took in the terrain of his childhood a little at a time. Things were so different in the human world, the magic of his people transforming what used to be a baren waist land into the lush Eden it is now. Once he had stepped through the door his daily disguise had faded away, he now stood there his elvish features coming back to him and his suit replaced with a knee length loin cloth of robin’s egg blue. He heard running water to his left and rabbits eating and playing to his right. He smiled as old childhood memories slowly came back to him, he longed to remain here for the rest of eternity but knew that was impossible at this point. He sighed and began to walk toward the river allowing both of his hands to rustle the tops of the swaying grass.

When he reached the river, he knelt and cupping his hands lifted some water to his lips then drank deeply allowing the cool sweet water to flood his mouth. As his eternal thirst was quenched, he began to feel invigorated and refreshed, some of the water dripping from his chin and falling back into the river, the small droplets causing the rings to chase each other across the river. He stayed where he was and watched the fish as they swam, working their way up the river. He stood and took one last look around before following the fish and heading up the river as well. He took his time since there was no hurry, once he returned to the mortal world no time would have passed. All the light elves returned to this place once every century to drink the water of life from the running river and to rest. Leaving the worries and problems of the human world on the other side of the door.

He walked along until he came to an old cobble stone bridge that reached only to the center of the river, he was required to cross at this point alone. He walked up the bridge stopping only a few feet from the edge. “State your name and your business,” came a soft. But commanding, voice from some point on the other side of the river. “Noralf son of Arne. The time of my battle has come, I wish to see my father.” He stood there and waited, knowing it would be an unknown amount of time before he received a reply. The suns began to go down and the sounds of the day were giving way to the ones of the evening, he turned to walk away from the bridge and prepare his camp site when the noise of shifting stone stopped him. He turned back around and watched as the stones on the far bank were joined by stones from the river completing the bridge.

There was a stallion with a fiery blue mane standing on the far side of the bridge and he walked up to him. “Hello, old friend,” Patrick said as he walked toward the animal, “I guess you are here to lead me to father.” He ran his hand down the horse’s neck and across his back. The stallion snorted as if in response and turned toward the forest and headed toward a nearly overgrown trail head. Patrick followed a few steps behind the great animal as they walked on in silence, fading into the woods as the overgrowth parted to let them enter then falling back into place leaving no trace of the passing.