Short story commissioned by Alar. Ferrinus and Faylona are RPG characters of his and his friend’s, respectively.
Twisting passageways, wide boulevards, narrow alleys.
The town held all.
But most of all, it held Ferrinus.
Ferrinus and the walkways.
It was a ghost city, dead. Quiet. Silent. He could hear his own footsteps, the rustle of his robes, even the dragging noise his wings made as they slid along the dusty stone in his tracks. He could hear all that, but that was all.
He looked left and right as he padded through the silent streets of this place. Everywhere the abandoned facades of once grand buildings reared their ugly, decrepit brick heads at the kid. He sped up once, slowed down, not knowing what pace to set for himself. He would not get tired, but he was neither in a rush nor too eager to dawdle in this eerie city.
Traversing the paths, Ferrinus wondered about what this place might have been like before its inhabitants left. He saw steps that looked manageable by humans, doorways tall enough to allow highborne entrance to the buildings. A mixed community, perhaps. Now he stood in a maze of ugly, sprawling buildings- the work of the crude humans. But before, he"d seen grand columns- the work of the skillful elves.
Ferrinus found no trace of life in the place. It saddened him. He liked seeing the fields and woods he was accustomed to, the wildlife that grew to be a major part of the culture that derived a half of who he was. His teal eyes, his blonde hair, his pointed ears- all constant reminders of where he wanted to be.
With Elves. Not alone.
Well, one particular Elf, really.
But definitely not here, in this ruined, abandoned place. While it held a certain morbid fascination for the naive Elf-child, he knew he preferred Faylona"s warm smile, the green grass and the towering evergreens that surrounded her cabin in the forest. Just the thought of her smile put a new gleam in his turquoise eyes and he picked up his pace. If he calculated right, he"d be taking a straight line through the dead city, straight to Faylona.
However the speed he"d picked up kicked him back, allowing him to trip in a not so dignified manner over the hem of his own white and silver robes, sprawling out in a mess of white and silver and golden hair. Not too perturbed, but instead filled childish glee and joy of life, he picked himself up and shook the dust off himself. And continued on.
His relentless footsteps suddenly died down until all there was the sound of his own breathing. He stood right before the town gates. They stood closed, rusted in place. Yet brittle and weak with time, and he had little trouble doing away with them and moving on through them, treading lightly with all the grace that is natural to Elves in his step.
It was a quite sudden change of scenery, from broken masonry to luscious forest. Suddenly sounds filled the world. And colors too. No more grays and blacks- greens and yellows and browns full of life greeted the child"s eyes. Birds chirped from on high, Ferrinus could make out the sound of a small stream running off a ways in the thick of the woods. He walked softly along the path he"d grown to know as if it were his own front steps.
As he tread, he quietly called out to her.
He passed butterflies fluttering through the dandelions, he made out sparrows and robins signing to eachother above him. The path made a sharp right, and he sighed in awe as he did each time he came this way. The most beautiful glade in the forest, full of sights to send his young mind spiraling in pleasure circles. The clearing literally sparkled, rabbits frolicked so innocently and carefree through it, the bird voices were amplified, and there was the homey hut in the center.
But most of all, standing in front of the door, waving, welcoming Ferrinus home, her long brown hair, rich as the gods" cloth, billowing out, was Faylona.
Ferrinus smiled widely and rushed forward, approaching her beauty, his teal eyes full of joy the likes of which had been absent from his life for the already passed part of his day, his speed causing the silver wings to lift up and seem to fly behind him in his trail.
Maybe her mysterious beauty held magic, magic that caused his wings to flap. Maybe it was the glade"s surreal feeling. Maybe it was just all an illusion.
But he flew to her, flew into her arms. Nuzzled his head into her shoulder. Their hair mingled, brown and blonde. Her eyes closed as she hugged him, embraced him, as he squealed with the joy of having someone to welcome him home.
It hadn"t always been like this.
And it might not always be like this.
But while it"s like this, it is pretty nice.