Quiet Return

[Alais d Nitesong]

There are memories we cherish for a lifetime. Images we commit to memory for the indelible impressions they leave upon us. Some memories we would like to forget. We would like to obliterate them from our minds for all time, yet they linger where they are not wanted. Haunt us in the quiet moments, or break free to run amok at the most in-opportune times.

The images of that valley intrude upon each coherent moment I have. Flooding past the bliss of oblivion, where there is no pain. I try to remain in the warm cocoon of nothingness. I want to keep out the memories, yet they force past the darkness into my thoughts.

I can hear movement beyond the magical construct that surrounds me. It is quiet and purposeful, but not threatening. The ley lines here are magically enhanced by powers way beyond anything I have known before. I do not move. There is too much pain associated with trying to move, and so only my mind works. I have tried to focus on the magic, to keep the unwanted memories at bay, but that endeavor has been without success.

[Alais d Nitesong]

Pain. It was everywhere.

For an unknown time, it was all I could sense. I could feel it. I could taste it. I could breathe it.

My island was awash in pain, and so too am I. We are bound together, the land and I.

I could hear Garl and some of the Silvers just beyond the sanctuary he'd brought me to. But I could not bring myself to move for what seemed like ages.

We, the land I would heal. But what would the scars be? How deep do they run?

I rose from the place I had occupied. Everywhere was destruction, death, decay.

The Silvers had begun work to clear the Isle of the remains of the invaders. They'd begun clearing the place that had been my home in progress.

The corner stone remained where it had been placed. It alone seemed to have escaped the twisting magic of the invaders. It alone remains pristine pale salmon, but there is no brilliant green around it. There is only blackened remains.

Garl paused as I walked amidst the ruins. His gaze following me as I surveyed the damage, leaning heavily upon my staff. The damage to my hand from sending the Annarans back to Hell had not healed. For elves, it signifies a deep and dangerous wound.

Even now, the cut opens, and my blood stains the white wood of my staff.

I moved quietly toward Garl. "Ah mus' needs r'turn tae RhyDin. Ah mus' see 'f th' blade ist well 'n trula gone."

He nodded, and I took advantage of the relaxed safeguards around the Emerald Islands to return to RhyDin.