Light from the full moon was pouring in through the openings of the treetops just above a small clearing in the elven village, bathing the forest floor in an eerie glow. A howling wind bustled through the maze of limbs and bramble, picking up fallen leaves to dance with along the way. There was something so beautiful about the silence tonight; only the zephyrs conducting their orchestra of swaying trees made sound. It was mournful but alluring, relaxing and yet so haunting.
It seemed that tonight would be a night of solitude. All but the archers that guarded the forest were asleep – all but the archers and a young elf standing in the clearing for one last time, a tear rolling down his cheek as he took in the image of what he would no longer call home. "Kenavi." A hushed whisper called his name just as the tear fell from his cheek, flickering with the reflection of moonlight before splashing to the dirt. The young elf's hand quickly wiped away the moisture from his tears and turned to see his mentor stepping from behind the trees a little ways behind him. She had been watching him without his knowing. Apparently, it wasn't going to be such a lonely last night. Her head was tilted with concern, but a look of understanding graced her moonlit face. She always did have the gentlest emerald eyes. Kenavi said inwardly, prepared for goodbye. "You're leaving aren't you?" she asked knowingly. He said nothing, but a nod confirmed that she was correct. "I'll miss you, Kenavi. But you don't belong here." He understood the words she spoke. His heart agreed with her, but the memory of his father's voice said otherwise. Decisions were always difficult for Kenavi, even after he'd already made them. Myria Millcraft had encouraged him to leave the forest as if she had felt exactly the same as he; misplaced in a prison, beckoned to leave by some unknown voice calling out his name from unmeasured distances. It was time he discovered whatever it was his heart was so fixed on finding. So that one day, he could return to Myria and finish his studies.
A few moments of silence passed before she approached him. A meaningful embrace took Kenavi off guard. A tug at the strings of his heart formed a lump in his throat and tears began to well in his eyes. She had never hugged him before. In fact, no one had ever hugged him quite like this. A flowery smell from her rust-colored hair filled his nostrils as he swallowed his emotions. "Your father won't know I let you go. So don't worry about me, okay Kenavi?" she forced herself to laugh over the tears, but her voice was broken and he could tell her heart was aching. His was too. He loved Myria. She understood him. And when she let him go, she unfastened her necklace, placed it in his hand and closed his fist. "Keep it." He nodded again and smiled at her before pocketing the necklace. One smile was not enough to express all the gratitude he owed her, but he knew she understood. With that, he turned and walked away. He didn't look back. He wanted to, but he promised himself he wouldn't. Kenavi always did keep his promises.
And like the wind, Kenavi was now a free spirit. The only person who could tell him where to go and what to do was his heart. He was at long last guided by a beat of his very own. His footsteps hastened and a smile crept from ear to ear. "I'm free." His words were soft, but their meaning to him was louder than any banshee could shriek.
He managed to escape the forest without being detected by the archers. Hours were passing and Kenavi's feet were growing tired. The heavens were no longer a midnight blue, but an array of pink and cyan. That meant dawn was soon approaching. Now, it was time for a quick nap before daylight.
He came upon a wide-open meadow with dirt paths leading off in a multitude of directions. He wasn't sure where any of them led. Maybe he would have had he brought a map. But he didn't need to, for his destination was everywhere yet nowhere in particular. Just the thought of that kind of freedom uplifted his heart and tickled his spirit. A tall oak stood alone in the grassy meadow and Kenavi made his way over. He reached up and removed the burlap messenger bag off of his shoulder and over his head, then onto the ground so he could lay out its contents. Inside he found a wooden flute, a healing potion in a spiral-shaped glass vial, 6 pears, a feather blanket, a change of clothes and of course, his tattered old brown leather book and feather quill that he took with him everywhere he went. He folded up the blanket and used it as a pillow to rest his head against the trunk of the oak tree. Even though the wind could be chilling, his blinding chartreuse yellow cloak would keep him warm enough. It was undoubtedly the brightest color fabric he owned. Now that the adrenaline was no longer pumping, Kenavi sighed and closed his eyes beneath the hood of his cloak.
He dreamed of his mother that night.
