View source for Musings in Illistim, 5116 (short story)

{{creative-work | title = Musings in Illistim | type = vignette | author = Charna Ja'Varrel'Kav | author-displayed = player of [[Charna Ja'Varrel'Kav]] | date = 2011-06-17}}

Moonlight cast its silvery glow upon the window pane and brought with it a light zephyr that set the window sheers to fluttering.  The cooler air was welcome to the half-elf that tilted her head against the smooth wooden pane, her wild hair clinging to the surrounding fabric.  At her side was the ever-present mastiff, his front paws upon the window’s ledge and his chin rested between them.  His tail would wag every once in a while when he caught sight of something in the yard beyond, but otherwise, he was silent.  She toyed with the tufts of fur near his ears, her fingers lightly playing with the folds there and occasionally flipping the ear up onto his head.

She was feeling pensive tonight.  It had been months since her last bout of mania, which troubled her slightly and made her wonder, once again, if perhaps Zelia had abandoned her and this was her new life, her new way of living.  The upside of the lack of manic moments was that there hadn’t been the corresponding fall into despondency in some time either.  It wasn’t an open wound anymore, it was something she could poke at and analyze.

In the years since the changing of her life, she’d seen very little of her brothers but she remembered the night that she’d received Drigore’s forgiveness and would wear it like a badge in her sorrow.

I’m sorry. She had said to him.  And before she could say more, he kissed her on the forehead and left her side.  He didn’t need to say more.  Fleckle and Ghrym were gone, no one knew where and the heartbreak of their departure had long ago been healed.  The last she had seen of Nyrithorn had been the night that she gave up her vambraces and moved to the Nations.  He had been true to his word and removed them from her so completely that she’d not been able to find him for a very long time.  But then, she’d put a mountain between herself and them just so that she could withdraw from the darkness that was seeking to steal her soul.

Her Elf was her constant companion during those first harrowing nights and nearly every day beyond that, except on the rare occasion that he had business and she could not follow him.  And they had traveled beyond the borders of the places she had known.  Their feet had carried them everywhere that the land could lead them and sometimes by boat.  She had always enjoyed it but always asked that they never travel to two places: The Sand of Fire and Solhaven.  She had mastered the elven language under his tutelage, her accent nearly evaporating over the time they’d spent together and her knowledge of the cultures of Elanthia had exploded.  His travels had taken him to so many places, his business dealings requiring that he honor so many different customs, and through it all he had taught her everything.

As the years passed, she became accustomed to wearing sage green robes and bloused pants with sandals.  Her weapons were only needed on the roads and she carried only a single dagger on her while indoors; even forgoing it sometimes when they were alone in their home.

Their home... she mused.  It truly was their home now.  He had opened it to her when she was wounded and in need of shelter, but left it open to her all these years.  They had never formalized their relationship, there was no need.  Each of them accepted what they had for what it was, or at least she had.  This was home, this was a sanctuary, and it was hers.

But now she stood at the window, watching the moonlight on the grass and she thought of another home.  The thought of it was so strong that she had taken her old clothing from their storage bin and donned them.  Her viridian and copper vest lay over the linen tunic, the old copper belt clung to her narrow hips, and her many strapped trousers were accented by her hidden and unhidden sheaths.  Glancing at the corner, her fingers toying with the key that hung around her neck, she stared at the boots and wondered if today would be the day that she put them on.

It was a familiar longing.  One that she had thought was long dormant and that perhaps she’d never feel again.  If she closed her eyes and tilted her head just right, she could hear the gulls and smell salt in the air.  If the breeze flowed just right over her skin, then it almost felt like it was coming off the bay.

She’d attempted to puzzle out the sudden return of the yearning.  What made her long for that far-off place, what made her long for those old familiar faces, but even more importantly, what stopped her from ever wearing those silly boots and going back?  Back to ‘Haven.

Chewing on her tongue, she played the scenes over in her mind.  Who would be there?  What if no one remembered her?  Worse, what if they all remembered her?  What if they hated her, hated that she’d left so completely, or worse that she’d not stayed gone?  What if they wished she’d not returned?  The questions swirled in her head and she felt the pull of despondency once more, that tug like an undertow threatening to pull her down into the depths.

The mastiff nudged her, forcing her unfocused eyes to fall upon his chocolate brown gaze, and she smiled.  No, today was not the day but perhaps soon.