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Evening was turning the sky a brilliant kaleidoscope of colors: blues, purples, and oranges broken by gray shadowed clouds. Taran stood on the cliff’s edge and watched the sun sink further into the horizon. Smiling to himself, he remembered his wish as a child to reach the horizon and see where the sun slept at night. Now, so many years later and with so much travel under his belt, he felt himself wondering the same thing again, for he had not yet reached the horizon or the sun’s resting place.

The afternoon had quickly become evening, and now night was setting in fast. Taran knew he had less than an hour of sunlight left before he was engulfed in blackness. He left the edge of the cliff and his childhood thoughts, determined to set up camp before he could no longer see the ground. The day’s hunt had not gone well, only a rabbit to show for the day’s wandering. He’d skinned the hapless creature and decided the meager kill would make for a fine dinner.

He’d eaten in silence, alone with his own thoughts, and before he realized it he had devoured the entire rabbit. He’d eaten nothing since early that morning and had had little time to think of his own needs. He lifted the cup of water to his lips, drinking eagerly of what was left of it. He silently cursed himself for not filling his water supply before setting up camp, but with the moon above and no other light to guide his way he decided the task would need to wait until morning.

The fire was beginning to die down from lack of attention as he tried to force sleep. His mind refused to allow sleep in, filling itself with thoughts of things past and things to come. Only a small noise in the distance stopped the thoughts from parading through the elf’s mind. He opened his eyes and, pushing himself up slightly on his elbow, listened to the darkness. Among the sounds of owls calling out and the buzz of insects around him he could hear a voice. He strained to make out the words coming in a gentle song.

Taran knew the territory he was in belonged to the lands of the fey, but he had hoped that staying on the outer fringes until morning would keep him safe. Elves were rather unwelcome in fey lands, this he had known almost since birth. Stories of great wars between the two races had been told him as he was growing up, most of which he recalled now in quick succession, broken up with things he’d been told the fey had done to captured elves. He knew being found in this spot by a member of the fey race could mean his demise.

He quietly stood and made his way to his pack and equipment where he felt around for his broadsword. He remained crouched to the ground and silent as he heard the singing voice get louder as the owner grew closer to his camp. The faint fire crackled lightly before him, making Taran a shadow in the night air.

The singing stopped quickly. Taran raised the sword, sure that he had been spotted and would be called out within moments. Waiting patiently, his eyes locked on the dark forest beyond his camp, his mind played tricks on him. Pieces of brush would move, a squirrel jumping out just as he thought this was it. And the singing voice never began again.

After several long moments, he lowered his sword and stood, convinced that whomever had been out there was now gone. Maybe they had spotted him and gone for help, or maybe they had just run off in fear. But he hoped they left without knowing his presence in the area.

“Hello?”

Taran jumped, his lithe body returning quickly to his previous crouch, the broadsword raised for attack once again at the sound of the voice. His eyes tore around the area quickly, trying to find the source of the greeting.

“Hello?”

It came again. A woman! Taran stood slowly.

“Who is there? Make yourself known!” he called back to the second greeting.

He watched as some of the brush moved away before him and a small framed woman stepped forth. Her hair was red as the fire’s breath, the dying light of the fire dancing on the waves it made over her shoulders. She came closer to him, stopping on the opposite side of the fire. Taran could not help but be awestruck by the beauty before him.

“My name is Aasera. I mean you no harm.”

He stood for a moment, refusing to drop the sword to his side. The woman before him bore wings of the fey people, fragile looking wings that resembled those of a Monarch butterfly. “I am Taran. I mean you no harm as well. I only camp here because the day’s hunt brought me farther than I had planned and night set in quickly.”

He watched Aasera’s wings twitch every so often, as though they were eager to tear her from the Earth and into the dark night sky, away from him, even though he could not imagine those wings having the strength to do such a thing.

“Are you an elf?”

“I am. And I take it you are fey.”

“I am. I have never met an elf before.”

“And I have never met anyone of the fey race before. I have never ventured this far out to the west before. My travels normally take anywhere but west.”

“You fear the fey?”

“Do the fey not fear us?”

“Of course. Our stories are vivid.”

“As are ours. And am sure they match in some ways.”

Aasera smiled at him, unsure of why she had approached him. She had made her way towards the fire, not knowing what she would find. Upon spotting the elf she continued out to meet him against the cold feeling of warning in her gut. She had been warned away from such creatures as elves since her early childhood, and this was a move against her best judgment.

The two stood and watched each other in silent fear of the other. Finally, Taran could take it no longer. “Why are you this far from home?”

“I wander often. But it appears I have gone too far this night. I do not wish to attempt a flight home in the dark.”

“Why not? It is probably more dangerous for you to stay here than to fly.”

“I cannot go above the trees; my wings are not strong enough to carry me to such heights. In the poor light of the hour I am likely to meet my death by crashing with a tree. But are you a danger to me?”

Taran smiled at the innocent question. It was only now that he could see her youth past her beauty. “No, I am not. You are welcome to remain in my camp this night if you are not afraid.”

“I am not, so I thank you for your invitation.” Aasera sat down by the fire, folding her arms around herself and hunching over slightly. She looked up at the still standing Taran and smiled. “Won’t you join me?”