Trade a Smile (Xelhes)

[Syllke Skyglow]

Fall 50, 511 A.V. Syllke sat as quietly as he could, trying not to move his hand over the pad of paper any more than was necessary. This time he had been wilier than the little chipmunks. A few days before, when he had brought nuts to set out, to lure them into the open so he could try to sketch them, they had simply grabbed the nuts and scampered off. Today, he had placed the nuts in a jar, with an entrance too small for the little animals to enter, but open so they could smell the prize almost within their grasp. So far, it was working. The mated pair scratched and pawed at the opening, but he had had almost enough time to capture the lines he wanted. Just another minute and . . . The sound of footsteps rustling through the fall-dry grass sent the little animals skittering back into their burrow under a shelf of rocks. Syllke, not at all put out but only curious to see who the intruder was, turned his head to look over his shoulder. It was a young man he had seen about town, but one he did not know, at least not more than a name to put to his face. If he recalled correctly, those who did know something about the fellow had dropped a comment or two about him being a loner, or standoffish, or not one given to being overly friendly. Exactly the opposite of Syllke himself. He couldn’t let an opportunity like this pass. Putting his pad aside and swinging his body about so that he was halfway facing the other, though he was still seated on the ground, he smiled broadly and said affably, “Beautiful day. Out for a walk? You’re Xelhes, right? I’m Syllke. Syllke Skyglow.”

[Xelhes]

Fall 50, 511 A.V. Despite the fall season, the weather for the day was clear, a faint breeze apparent, yet even with that it was neither cold nor warm. It was far nicer than Xelhes had anticipated, as at this time he always expected it to be cold, a prequel to the season that had not yet arrived. With such enjoyable weather, the only thing he could think of was spending time properly and going outside, before the weather became uncomfortable. Originally, he simply walked around the main populated parts of the settlement, looking around, seeing what others were doing, and on an occasion or two giving a polite greeting to some of the people who tolerated his original antisocial persona. He was slowly getting better, deciding it would be better to befriends others, than attempt to stay away from them. It was during his walk that he eventually phased out of reality, his own thoughts consuming him. He was finally about to decide on a weapon to use, based on some of the memories he had regained. He could not remember the memory now, not in his mortal form, but he had wrote it down previously, in order to make sure he would know. Now, he simply had to go buy it, and learn how to use it once more. Having memories of a weapon did not mean he could use it as fluently. No, this body was different, it would need to be trained to use any weapon properly, and mentally he would need to retrain himself as well. To wield a weapon required both body and mind to be sharpened and focused, only having one of the two would not be sufficient. It would only mean death. Eventually, voice broke through his thoughts, bringing him back to reality, and confusing Xelhes a great deal. He had no idea where he was now, seemingly having continued walking unconsciously while his mind wandered. Obviously he was still in the Denval area, he had to travel out into the lands beyond it, but still it was surprising. "Y-yes, my name is Xelhes." He felt like a fool for his display, but knew he could not fix it now. Looking past the man he noticed the jar with nuts in it, as well as the pad he had, though he could not see what exactly the man had been writing on it. When Xelhes realized what the man had called him, he looked at Syllke curiously. "Your name is Syllke? Would you happen to know a man named Vanos Strongarm? I met him one night while reading in the Lyceum, and he spoke of one with your name highly. He said you love to tell stories, which caught my interest as I love hearing stories, and telling some as well, though I do not have many." Xelhes gave the man a small smile, one that was hopeful. He did hope this was the Syllke that Vanos had spoke of, and he assumed it was, as Syllke was not what he would call a common name. Hearing stories, learning things, being able to tell of his own experiences, these things always made Xelhes excited or happy. It was one of the few times his guard would drop by a decent level. As well, this man so far had been extremely friendly, and had introduced himself rapidly. Maybe this was the kind of person Xelhes should spent some time with if he wanted to develop people skills. The people of Denval were kind, showing him more kindness than he deserved, and yet now that he wanted to make better ties with others, he was partially too late to do so. Most of the settlement had already created an idea of who he was, someone that preferred to be alone and sometimes cold, which in turn caused others to normally not go beyond a friendly greeting. Xelhes wanted to change this image he had created of himself, for being alone was not all that it should be. "Do you mind if I sit with you...and ask what the purpose of the jar and pad is? Were you writing down something, or observing some animal or action?" Yes, try to be kind, and do your best to keep a conversation going, on a positive note. Xelhes kept telling himself that, hoping he could stick with it.

[Syllke Skyglow]

The young man seemed quite taken aback at Syllke’s greeting, almost stumbling over whether he was, in fact, Xelhes or not. Syllke grinned. “Yes, I know Vanos. We’re good friends.” Syllke looked the slightest bit puzzled. “I’m sorry to have missed you. I don’t know if Vanos mentioned it, but I live at the Lyceum, and work there.” His gaze swept up to Xelhes’ slightly anxious looking face. “Next time you’re there, look me up. Vanos is right. I love to tell stories – and to hear them. I’d love to hear some of yours.” He patted the ground and replied readily, “Sure. Have a seat.” His gaze went back to the jar and he was fairly certain the chipmunks would be too shy to reappear. So he leaned forward, then crawled to the jar on his knees and picked it up. Dumping out the nuts into his palm, he tossed them over towards the entrance to the den under the rock. Turning, he sat back on his heels and smiled. “Yeah, I was just trying to do some sketches – of chipmunks.” He nodded over his shoulder. “There’s a couple that live under there.” Looking back at the discarded pad, he added, “You can look at them if you like. Nothing very fancy.” He settled down, sitting with his legs crossed, arms resting easily on his knees. Plucking a blade of foxtail, he dangled it idly, asking, “So, what brought you to the Lyceum? The books?” The Vantha frowned slightly. “Most people come during the day . . . “ He was recalling some of the other bits and pieces he had heard about this allegedly introverted individual, though in large he didn’t pay too much attention when people spoke of others he didn’t even know. But he had heard . . . “Oh! You’re an Ethaefal, right?” He looked at Xelhes with a curious but open expression. “A child of Leth? Do you only enjoy reading at night.”

[Xelhes]

Fall 50, 511 A.V. So this was the man Vanos had spoke of. He seemed rather friendly, though almost in an overbearing manner, or so Xelhes thought. Friendly was something he was looking for however, and this would be a great time to learn how to be friendly as well. "No, I do not recall Vanos mentioning you living or working there. He just said you were always there, which makes a lot of sense now that you told me it is your home. It would be a never beneficial place to live, at least for me. I love reading the books there, though I am starting to run out of topics to read, for now." Most of the books that had interested him had been read various times, to the point that all interest had been lost. Now he was busy trying to find something new to read, to indulge his time in. Nodding with the statement of loving to tell and hear stories, Xelhes began to think on if he knew any stories. There was not much he could say, not in this form. Yes, there were glimmers of a different realm and maybe a life from before, but nothing really he could talk about. Maybe during the night he would have better stories, when he could remember more. "Maybe sometime I could tell you some, once I have a better memory. I know there are some stories I can tell, but right now none of them come to mind." Taking the seat beside Syllke, watching as the man removed the nuts from the jar, and then threw them at a rock. The action was confusing to say the least, until Syllke clarified. "Chipmunks? So they have their den near the rock?" If that was the case, then it was probably Xelhes who had made it so they ran, due to whatever noise he may have been making. Hopefully Syllke was not angry; he did not seem angry, but people were sometimes adept at masking their emotions. Taking the pad off the ground, Xelhes looked at them for a second, tilting his head slightly as he considered them. The drawings did not seem completely finished, probably due to Xelhes' interruption, and maybe not as skilled as Xelhes had pictured. When he thought of sketching, a near perfect version of the subject came to mind, despite the fact that he had little talent at it himself. " If you do not mind, could I try to redraw what you did? I am not very skilled at art myself, but I draw sometimes in my spare time. Unlike you however, I have never been able to draw living creatures; only simple objects. Anything else and it becomes a rather...painful experience." Watching Syllke play with the grass idly, Xelhes thought for a moment on his answer. Really he had never thought about it, maybe it was the books, or something else. "It might be the books, but just being in the building helps to calm me a bit. The Lyceum is simply a great place to learn, there is much to learn, and most people are rather respectful. I do go during the day, but at night it is quieter as well; plus there are more books available with less people present to be reading them." There was nothing worse than wanting to read a certain book, but another already possessed it. It was almost infuriating. With the statement on him being Ethaefal, and enjoying reading only at night, Xelhes could not help but laugh. The very idea was humorous; being a child of Leth making it so he only enjoyed to read at night. True, he changed form during the night into one of a celestial being, but it did not change his personality to an extreme extent. "Yes, I am an Ethaefal of Leth, however I enjoy reading at all times of the day. Reading is something I enjoy to do, regardless of what form I occupy at the time. However, I do find being in my Ethaefal form more comfortable than this one; my various memories return, and I feel more...completely, I guess." Sighing a little, Xelhes knew just how impossible it was to express the difference in words. This form, though it was just as well suited for use, was not the same as the one he took on at night. At night, everything was clearer, he did not require food or water, and in general he felt an overall sense of well being; not to mention memories he could not recall during the day. The gap between the human and Ethaefal forms was one of immeasurable distance.

[Syllke Skyglow]

Syllke did not pay too much attention to Xelhes as he looked over the sketches. He worked to satisfy himself, for he had learned as a child that there was little to be gained as an artist in trying to please others. For him, his art was how he learned about the world, and himself. He created something new, and unique, as opposed to simply trying to recreate exactly what he saw. His works were an incorporation of all his sensory perceptions of what he was focusing on, and something more subliminal, more visceral, that went into each drawing or painting or carving. When Xelhes had finished his perusal and posed his question, Syllke replied easily, “Sure, if you like. Though I’d recommend starting from a blank page, and simply drawing what you . . . feel. If you’d like, we could come back and see if we can’t coax those little buggers back out. You sit, you watch, you . . . soak in the . . . the . . . “ He searched for the word he wanted. “The . . . sensations. What they make you feel, when you watch them. Their sounds. The smell of the air. The feel of it brushing against your cheek. All of it.” The Vantha snorted. “You’d think for someone who taught art that I could do a better job of explaining it.” He smiled at Xelhes. “But sure. Take those if you want.” His indicated the sketches. “Keep them as long as you like. I can always draw more.” He hesitated, then added, "I'd like to see yours, sometime, if you'd like to show them to me. Other people's art always . . . inspires me." He knew it might be a long shot. Many artists were shy to display the pieces of their soul that their art might contain. And many feared rejection. When you pour yourself into something, a dismissal of the work could easily be taken as a dismissal of yourself. Syllke had maneged to get over that type of feeling many years ago. He leaned back on his hands, stretching his legs out in front of him. “I wish I could help you locate more books. The Lyceum has the most volumes in Denval, of course. I’m sure Captain Astrid has her own collection, in her office, though those probably wouldn’t be of the variety to interest most readers. And there might be some at the temple, or the clinic – but again, pretty specialized.” Syllke turned his head to look at his new companion. “What do you like to read about? History?” His mind twisted away to the other Ethaefal he knew, or knew of, residing in Denval. They were certainly an intriguing race, and of course their more heavenly forms were truly spectacular. Xelhes’ would be as well, no doubt. But he had the sense that the race was, in the end, a melancholy one. There was just something heart breaking about having been ripped away from their god, or goddess, and thrown back to earth. They apparently had to struggle to reintegrate themselves in a world that they would really rather not inhabit. A lonely pursuit, sometimes. He wondered how this one beside him was faring, for he had heard that Xelhes had fallen right here, in the water off the coast of Denval, and quite recently. “Do you miss it?” He asked, more softly. “Your past?”

[Xelhes]

Fall 50, 511 A.V. Looking over the sketches carefully, Xelhes began to wonder how to improve them, or replicate them. They seemed to be only slightly above his level of talent, thought even then it would still take him time in order to draw them out again, let alone at the same level. Sometimes when it came to art, even a small amount of talent above another was all one needed to be far better. It had been some time since Xelhes had actually drawn anything though; becoming engrossed in his books and readings. Maybe he would start again. Syllke's words made Xelhes smile. Despite what the man may think, what he said made sense, or at least to Xelhes he did. He knew how it felt to draw something, especially something you wanted to, and letting it sweep across your mind. Letting it consume you, until your art was done. It was a feeling Xelhes himself would not be able to describe, and when put into words only another who enjoyed art could understand it. Maybe that was why Xelhes knew what Syllke meant, as he always did enjoy art; it showed much about a person or culture. "Do no worry, I understand what you meant, and for a feeling that is nearly impossible to express, you did a good job. I do not even have words to describe how it feels to become engrossed while drawing; maybe that was why I use to do it so much." After Syllke said he could take the sketches, Xelhes carefully tore them from the pad and placed them on the ground. Putting the edge of his foot on it, Xelhes observed them for a moment before picking up the pencil; starting to draw his own version of them. While drawing the basic shape of the animals, Xelhes tried to switch his focus between the paper and Syllke, answering with a sentence, pausing, and then continuing. "I am sure there are more book, I just need to search harder." The basic shape one chipmunks body had been made, though with an excessive amount of lines that would have to be erased later. "I prefer almost all kinds of books or literature; history to math, anatomy to plays." Pausing for a moment, he made a strange expression; like a man who had just forgotten something he was about to say. "Oh, yes. The only thing I have difficulty with is poems; they simply go over my head. Nice sounding words and such, but beyond that I fail to grasp at most of their meanings." It did not mean he disliked reading poems, but Xelhes was not fond of the idea of reading something and not being able to follow it. What good was there to reading something you could not understand? With the brief pause Syllke made while in thought, Xelhes went back to drawing. Most of the current excessive lines had been removed, so the Ethaefal began to work on the arms and tail. It was a rough look, though slowly the appendages began to look more and more like what they were suppose to. Yes, the drawing in general was still rather harsh but for someone of Xelhes' artistic talent, it could have been a lot worse. When Syllke asked his next question the Ethaefal had to stop, setting down the utensil, though maintain his gaze on the paper. "Miss it? Honestly I am not sure. Most of my memories and past is gone during the day. I do know some of the memories I recalled are good, while some of them are sad; just like any other. I am waiting for a time when I regain memories that seem the strongest; that pull at me. If I find those, I think I will try to relive as that the individual I once was." Shaking his head, as if he had lost focus for a moment, Xelhes gave Syllke a htoughtful gaze; a small smile included as well. "I have no childhood in this form, yet with those memories I can find one. True, I most likely will not be a child in them, but I can think of them as the memories from my childhood; something to fill the void. The only real memory I have is from the time I fell and entered Denval; yet even then those first few weeks are gone. It was like a new baby being born; so how could I remember everything in the amount of learning I had to do in those first few days?" Looking back at the drawing, Xelhes pondered on it. Should he start on another part? Picking up the pencil he began to add finish touches to the minor shape of the chipmunk's hands. While doing so he tried to think of something to say to Syllke, not wanting to simply let the conversation to die. "Would you mind telling me a story? It does not have to be a true one; maybe a myth or legend of Denval?" With Syllke possibly doing that, Xelhes could come up with something to say himself. The man seemed genuinely kind like most people in Denval and Xelhes did not want to seem rude. Besides, being around someone as open and seemingly happy as Syllke made Xelhes feel more comfortable than normal, like he did not have to worry about the consequences of befriending someone. It was...nice.

[Syllke Skyglow]

Syllke played idly with the stem of foxtail, brushing it over his palm again and again, as Xelhes took the sketch pad and began his own effort at drawing the cute little creatures. He contemplated what it would be like to have no memories, but couldn’t really fathom it. What would Xelhes do if he never could reach back into that past that might have been so very, very long ago? Syllke thought that too sad a question to ask out loud though. When Xelhes asked for a story, Syllke was glad for the opportunity to perhaps change the topic to one less melancholy. “Alright,” He said. “Let me think of one – but I don’t know any stories about Denval, so it will have to be a Vantha tale. “ He pulled himself more upright, tossed away the foxtail, brought his feet in to sit cross-legged, and rested his hands on his knees. When he took up his story, his voice was more melodic, with a gentle rhythm to it. “Once, long, long, long ago, there was a boy who lived in a peaceful village. The people of the village were happy and their lives were not too hard. There was food, and sickness rarely found them. Bears and wolves did not bother them. Ghosts and evil spirits did not plague them. They had a good life. But there was one among them who was not as happy as the others, or so it seemed. There was a boy who was smaller than those his age. His bones were delicate and his body was light. The other children teased him because he could not run as fast or climb as well. When they wrestled and tumbled about, he stayed clear and would not fight. The adults called him babyish. The children used more cruel words, and picked on him mercilessly. The boy became aloof to an extreme and never seemed to want to become one of the others. He would sit by himself and watch the sky as if he was dreaming. Finally, his father, in near despair, took the boy to the council of elders. The stern, but kind and wise, old men told the boy, “When you grow up, you must be a great hunter. You must learn to use the bow and the spear and the harpoon. You must learn to drive a team of dogs and set snares and wait patiently on the ice by the seal holes. You must learn to be brave and fierce and without fear. But you can not do these things if you do not begin now.” The boy said nothing, so one elder asked him, “Why do you not play with the other children? Are you afraid?” The boy said nothing. So another elder tried. “Why do you sit and dream when you should be strengthening your body and learning the skills of the hunter?” Still the boy did not reply, so the third elder spoke. “Each must pull his weight here. What will you do when you grow up, boy?” Finally, in a firm, clear voice, the boy said simply, “I will fly.” The elders could not help but snort and scoff. The father looked shocked and embarrassed. But a fierce gleam was in the boy’s eyes. Try as they might, to cajole and tease and threaten the boy to explain himself, he said nothing more. Finally, the elders consulted with the father in private, and told him their opinion was that the child was not right in the head, and there was nothing to be done about it. Sadly, the father took the boy home. Of course, life in a village is filled with gossip, and in no time at all, word had spread about what the boy had told the elders. The other children hooted with delight, having even more ammunition with which to tease the boy. They would flap their arms like wings and hop about and make the sound of a croaking raven whenever they saw him. More and more, the boy took to wandering up into the hills around the village. He would find his favorite spot looking out over the ocean and turn his face to the sky. But, soon enough, the children discovered his sanctuary and would follow him even there, to tease him further. The boy seemed not to notice, though, which made some of the children finally stop following him. But there was one boy who was a real bully, and he would not let the boy be in peace. One day, he thought of a plan and he gathered the other children together. They all went to the cliff where the boy sat, and their self-appointed leader stepped forward. “Well?” he asked boldly. “Has gazing at the sky all day taught you to fly yet?” All the children giggled and snorted and laughed. The boy said nothing and did not even turn around to face his tormentor. The bully asked again, “Have you learned to fly?” Others of the bully’s followers added their own taunts and there were ugly words called out. Still the boy sat silently looking up at the sky. It was as if he hadn’t heard them at all. This infuriated the bully and he stepped forward again so that he could grab the boy by the collar of his shirt, forcing him to stand. His hands gripped the boy’s shoulders and he towered over him. “We want to see you fly! Show us what you have learned! Show us what looking at the sky has taught you!” The other children pressed in closer too, and they all began to demand to see him fly. “Fly! Fly! Fly!” They began to chant in unison, as the bully leered evilly in the boy’s face. The boy’s hands went to the bully’s chest and he shoved hard, but the much bigger boy held tight to his shirt. There was a struggle, and to this day no-one can say what exactly happened next. Most of the children said the boy broke free and lost his balance and fell. A few said the bully threw him off the cliff. But one very small girl said she was sure that the boy broke free and jumped of his own accord, launching himself out into space. The children watched in horror as down towards the rocks below he plunged. Then all agreed, there was a flash of light so bright they could not look for a moment, and the next thing they knew a big, beautiful, fierce looking bird of prey swooped down to the narrow shoulder of land touching the lapping waves far below them. Its wings almost grazed the tops of the jagged boulders before the bird soared in a graceful arc, heavenward. Up and up he came, right at them, and they all of them, except one, yelled and screamed and cowered and ran. But when he reached the level of the cliff, he veered off, giving a mighty screech. The one little girl, though, who never took her eyes off of him, claimed she heard a faint laugh within that cry. She said it was the most joyous sound she had ever heard. The bird then flew to the village, circling overhead. All the villagers came running to look and they marveled at the size and speed and fierce appearance of this bird, the likes of which they had never seen. Its feathers were golden brown and its eyes were deep gold as well. Its talons were long and sharp and though it was the largest bird they had ever seen, it flew as easily as a puff of milkweed down on the wind. After it had circled three times, the bird gave a mighty cry once more and flew off to the south. The children had returned by this point and told their tale. The bully sobbed hysterically and his mother wailed inconsolably, sure that the boy turned bird would wreak some further evil magic on her child. The villagers were in an uproar, sure their village would be cursed by the same magic that had transformed the boy. The elders were in a quandary and had no answers. All they could do was to pray to the gods for protection, and wait. But the boy-bird never returned. Several years later, though, the villagers spotted the first of many such birds to come in the Fall and make their winter homes on that shore. The first to come were juveniles, who exchanged their grayish brown drab for the bright golden brown glory of that first bird. In the Spring, they departed, only to return in the Fall with more juveniles. The elders concluded that these were the children of the boy turned bird, and after many seasons had passed, they realized that the birds meant no harm and they even went so far as to share their winter stocks of fish with the creatures. For they looked upon them as a token of forgiveness for their heartlessness and began to believe that the birds brought the village good luck. They named the birds in honor of the boy who had flown, whose name had been Nektoralik – eagle, in the common tongue.” Syllke shifted a bit, leaning more forward. With his elbows on his knees he laced his fingers together and rested his cheek on top of them, looking sideways at the Ethaefal. “A transformation story. We have lots of those.” He grinned. “I guess you’re the read deal, though.”

[Xelhes]

Fall 50, 511 A.V. As Xelhes tried to add more detail to the chipmunks, he could not help but notice they were looking worse. Not being naturally talented at art did not aid in his attempt at drawing, nor did the fact that he had not drawn anything for a very long while. Lately he had simply been too busy with other things and drawing just had to be removed from his daily activities, though doing it now reminded him of why he started. Drawing made him comfortable and helped to clear the broken memories he had; lessening the load in general on his mind. Of course Xelhes would enjoy it even more if he actually had any talent in the skill, but it was what it was and there was no sense in getting upset about it. Glancing back at Syllke he noticed the man watching him, though the expression on his face was one that did not suit his personality. It seemed like he was in deep thought, but not happy thoughts. The Ethaefal simply gave Syllke a small smile, waving his hand back and worth to break the man out of his unpleasant thoughts. With the answer that Xelhes got from Syllke, he stopped drawing and focused on the man. He was happy Syllke was going to tell him a story, regardless of what is was about. Stories were always fascinating things and in his past life he had told many to the children. Xelhes had no idea if he could tell any of the tales to Syllke considering they were meant for children and lacked any real essence. Fairy tales crafted by a woman who only wanted them to entertain children, and nothing more. Picking up the foxtail stem that Syllke was playing with, Xelhes himself began to twirl it around in his fingers, though still looked at Syllke. He did not know why but he wanted to keep his hands busy after drawing, but if he did draw he would not be able to focus on the Vantha properly. Xelhes had no desire to be rude to the man, not now. He did not want to be rude or cold to others anymore, not after learning the truth of his fall and the life he once had; that he still could have. Listening to the story, Xelhes could not help but imagine the scenario in his mind. It seemed so true: a boy who had a different dream compared to others, and was ridiculed for it. It was the image of the bird that truly made Xelhes smile thought. A beautiful bird rising, proving all those who doubted it to be the true fools. Xelhes found it to be a rather beautiful story, thought slightly sad as well. The boy had obtained his dream, but it costed him the form he once had. He knew how that felt, to an extent. Despite it being a completely different gender, he had lost that form and missed it. Things had been easier then, and people treated him differently than they did when he was male. He did not know the reason why exactly, but now it was this body that almost felt foreign, and Xelhes did not know if it was because he simply missed his old life, or if he was slowly becoming more like Isolde; the memories meshing with his mind completely. Once the story ended Xelhes let out a sigh, though not one of irritation or boredom. It was one of peace, as he gave Syllke a small smile. "It was a beautiful story, Syllke" The Ethaefal said, the smile in his voice apparent. When the Vantha spoke of Xelhes being the real deal, a living transformation story, he could not help but shake his head. It was true he changed form, but still..."My transformation is not nearly as great as the one in your story. The boy changed into something else to live his dream; to become his dream. When I change, I still feel mortal and bleed, I just look different and use Leth to sustain myself. Despite what others thought Xelhes no longer thought of his other form as being a separate being from his mortal form. It was more comfortable and less fragile yes, but it still felt like his mortal human form. With the memories and simply thinking about it, the two forms seemed almost as if they were one in the same to him now. One was more comfortable yes, but he had grown to accept them both to an extent, despite also missing his form as Isolde. Smiling, Xelhes said, "I could try to tell you a story if you want, though I doubt it will be as good as yours. The only stories I know are the ones I made up for children in my past life, so they will be rather lacking." Xelhes wanted to try to tell a story, even if it would be a horrible telling. He could not tell of the Amber Tree, but there was another story or two he still had but he was unsure on if he should tell the story with a happy ending, or one of tragedy.

[Syllke Skyglow]

Syllke smiled. “I’m glad you liked it.” He tilted his head a bit as Xelhes tried to explain how his twice daily shifting from one form to another was not as extreme as the boy in the tale. But Syllke concluded that it would only be understandable to one who went through it himself – or herself, like Nashira. “Well, I will accept what you say, for you know best how it feels – to change back and forth, with every dawn and dusk. It must be odd – but I can see that it would not be as exhilarating as changing into something you wanted very, very much to be. I’d love to hear a story – no matter what it’s about. Go on, pick one. Give it a try.” OOCSorry to be gone so long. I had a cold and it kinda killed my muse. And then I had to do catch up at work So, again, apologies.