On Butterfly Wings

“Are you sure this is the correct path?” Torrin looked over at his red haired companion with worry in his eyes. They had been traveling for days now, and things were beginning to look the same to him. He feared they made no progress, instead possibly having made a large circle. 1

“Aye. I am sure,” Alvar told him, his eyes locked on the path ahead. 2

“How can you tell?”3

“My friend, for as long as I have been wandering, I have at least learned some secrets. I have left marks on trees passed, and none of those marks have come into view again. So I venture to say our path is strong.”4

Torrin nodded and continued, the worry not leaving his fine features. Night was still hours away, yet the sky grew dark above them. The dark haired elf searched his senses to find how long they had until the storm drew in on them. The scent of rain was crisp on the air. Not much longer. Not that a storm would stop Alvar from his traveling. 5

The two wanders struggled on, keeping their footing in the dense forest becoming more of a challenge the deeper in they went. Torrin wondered at this idea, for he was sure no one was tracking them as they moved. There was no need. They had not given details of the journey to anyone, nor had they given any information on those of Alvar’s race that they sought. 6

Torrin had been honored when the fairelf had approached him. The two had become friends decades ago, even though Alvar was known to not stay in his land for long. He came only once in a while to gather supplies and rest, as well as to visit his friends and what remained of his family. But the fairelf had always been the restless type, and his father not worrying too much about him, had no one to stop his wandering even as a child. 7

Alvar was almost three hundred fifty years old now. At the tender age of ninety he had realized he was not the same as his childhood friends. He had grown up with the elflings and was raised as one, too, but no one knew the secret he hid. Not even him. Because until his ninetieth year, he thought all the elflings tucked wings beneath their shirts. He discovered this was not so by accident. He wandered into his brother’s sleeping quarters to catch him undressing. His back was free of wings and Alvar asked him why. And so his father was forced to tell him the truth. 8

His mother, Aasera, had been a lovely fey woman, his father told him. They met one night in the woods while he was hunting alone. Her hair was red as the fire’s breath, and her eyes like emeralds shown bright when she smiled. For the first time in his long life, he truly believed in love at first sight. But an elf and she fey, they decided to keep their love between only them. Until the night Aasera vanished. His father spent the night searching for her, making his way to the edge of her land, fearing an elf was not welcome there. But she never showed herself to him.9

It was many months before Aasera made herself known again. In fear, she searched for him, knowing his hunting path. When they met, his eyes grew wide at the sight of the red haired child in her arms. He was half elf and half fey, she explained, a product of their love. But her people thought him an abomination and wanted her first son destroyed. He took the child into his arms and looked into his eyes. He agreed to take the child into his home and raise him as an elf. 10

He never saw Aasera again. 11

Alvar had gotten the desire to search for her shortly after, and with this news his father once again thought fit to break more news to him. He was unsure of the truth of it, but he had heard that Aasera had died only five years after Alvar’s birth, of what cause he did not know. 12

But he would not rest and began the quest to find the truth. Not knowing where to start, he made the choice to ask around his own land of this fey woman known as Aasera. No one knew of her existence, let alone her death. And thus began his wandering.13

At the age of one hundred seventy, Alvar met another fairelf. It was at this time that he was called a fairelf, because until then he was only a Halfling, known to the elflings in their jokes as a whispie. His birth had been a mistake of sorts. Or as his father had told him, it was merely unplanned. No other had existed to his knowledge that were just like him. But when Aasera had made it known her son was a Halfling, talk began to travel. The child was watched, his mannerisms recorded. And attempts to breed more fairelves began. When the second fairelf was bred, the fey decided this young child was a wonderful warrior, holding the strengths of both races in herself. 14

Alvar was the beginning of a new race, created by elves and fey alike in their first alliance in many centuries. And now this race was his newest reason to wander. He wished to find his own, and once again the truth. For if the news he heard was true, these people needed his help. They needed to be freed. 15