Your father calls to you, he's getting further away now, you can tell because his voice is getting quieter. You know you ought to return to him, but something inside of you is telling you to carry on.

"I'm coming!" You lie, following the dark stream in the opposite direction to the one you should. It's almost as if a voice inside your head is telling you, telling you to follow the stream, just a few steps further, just around this bend.

As you step around the tiny meander of the stream, your feet freeze in their tracks, horrified, disgusted at the sight in front of you. You can tell by the markings on his armour and the shape of his ears that he is an elf, was an elf, you mentally correct yourself. For after all, the figure lies there, an arrow piercing both his armour and his torso. Was this what you were meant to find? A dead body? You contemplate calling to your father, but have not desire to feel his wrath when you have not only disobeyed him, but lied to him, and to top it all, it looks as if you’ve killed an elf. For after all, you stand there, bow across your back, a nearly empty quiver, and arrows in the elf in front of you. The punishment for killing one of the fair folk is instant death for the entire village. You decide it’s best to remain silent for a moment.

You step a little closer to the body, and the voice in your head comes again, this time loud, clear, there’s not mistaking what it is. You’ve heard tale that the fair folk can speak through their minds, but surely that was only superstition. Your doubts are quenched when the voice comes again, more insistent this time

I’m not dead…yet

“Oh,” You sink to your knees in the muddy water, stuttering and stammering, nervous just to be in the presence of such a powerful creature, let alone talking to one. “I’m sorry sir,” you eventually stammer out, “Shall I…?” you trail off, reaching for the arrow sticking out of his belly.

NO! the elf snaps.

You recoil back in fear, afraid of being punished for doing something wrong.

Do not fear boy the elf’s words come again in your head. The words should be comforting, but they sound as if he is chiding you. There is no time for that. You must do as I say.

You nod dumbly, terrified of the elf, but at the same time knowing that you must do whatever he says, such is the insisting tone in his voice. The elf’s voice in your head directs you to a pouch at his side. You gently untie it, as you had been instructed, and go to look inside, only to have the voice inside your head scream NO! once again.

In a voice that is beginning to crack, and break from pain, the elf tells you of a city, far from your village, through the pass in the mountains, down the river, and across the sea, Methruen. You must take the pouch there, and it’s contents, without ever looking once inside.

The elf lifts a weary hand to your face, Tell her… he whispers, Tell her Elandir has sent you.

“Tell who?” you ask hurriedly, but it is too late.

The elf’s head lolls back against the bank of the stream, and his hand drops down beside him. It is only as his hand falls away, that you feel the burning touch of his skin on yours. Glancing in the murky water, you see the scar, already burning silver, in the shape of his fingertips. Gingerly, you lift your hand to match the mark on your face, and know at once what you must do. You push your hair across the side of your face to cover the distinctive mark, and shove the pouch inside your shirt, furiously making plans. You will leave in the morning. You start to run down the stream, splashing your way back to your father, already thinking up an excuse. But something makes you stop, and you turn back, to look at where Elandir lay. You turn just in time to see the blaze of white light, before his body turns into the clear crystal, preserving his form forever, with just a wooden arrow sticking out of the rock. You take a breath, and turn away, starting on your journey.