* * * * *
Far off to the west of that tower, Elryia was doing her best to enjoy the sun, but a very dark, dismal cloud was robbing them all of the warmth and serenity that usually came with it. That cloud’s name be Gort. “How bloody big is this forest?!” the Dwarf yelled from the front. Oddly enough he was leading the group—eager to get around as quickly as possible.
“It’s a kingdom Gort, it is going to be big. All of them are.” Lanyan replied with sarcasm. Though Gort was in his mid-thirties and had seen Sharia forest dozens of times—and Lanyan had explained it even more—Gort still did not comprehend how massive it was. Or rather, he knew but thought complaining about it would perhaps diminish it somewhat.
The Dwarf grumbled and turned forwards again, “How many trees do ya need in one place?” he bickered, though this time mostly to himself. Despite having traveled for nearly two days, the group was only halfway around the massive outer forest of Sharia. Most of the group fine with this reality, all but two of them. Gort preferred dark corridors and dank tunnels as opposed to gleaming sunshine and fresh air, and he had no problem voicing his dissention.
Almost directly behind him rode Lanyan, just as eager to be finished—though completely silent with his grievance. His distaste did not stem from the open valley or vast landscape that lay before him. He had not been home in years and any other day seeing Sharia, even from a distance, would have brought him joy. But today he missed something more than his home—he missed his livelihood. He missed his weapon. Like a soldier without a sword, a mage without their magick; Lanyan was missing the one thing that made him feel like an elf. As much as he wished they could stop so he could venture into Sharia to retrieve one, it would not be plausible and would be, perhaps, a bit selfish. It would take more than a day for anyone who knew their way through, and Elryia and the others would have to wait outside, unless they were willing to travel with him—but that would take much longer. And as badly as Lanyan missed it, there were more important things at hand. So he accepted it and bore his struggle in silence, knowing it was unfair to burden anyone else with it. He could be patient.
Still further behind him, Elryia struggled as well—though hers was light in nature. Her bind was that of curiosity, to her right rode the solemn, soft-spoken solution to it. “Sam?” she asked quietly, slowing to ride next to him.
“Aye?” he replied, turning in his saddle to face her.
“Can I ask you something?”
The bearded man nodded slowly.
“How long have you known Grahamas?” she, too, turned to face him while she tried desperately to hide the enthusiasm in her voice.
“We lost touch for a long time, before that I knew him for nearly seventy-five years. When Daleforn was attacked, we separated for the length of Idimus’ entire rule. I’ve only been in contact with him for the past year.”
Elryia turned her head down and sighed, “The story of what happened to Highlace was quite sad…” She looked up at again, “Did Graham… Did he lose anyone special to him?”
Sam turned his head, quirking as a tiny smile made itself evident, “Like a wife…you mean?”
“No, I mean…” El stumbled over her words, blushing and looking away. Glancing back at Samsun, seeing the knowing smirk, she realized it was pointless to try and hide it. “Yes…” came her reply, nearly a whisper as she cleared her throat.
Samsun tried to stifle his laugh, pausing to think and idly tracing his finger over the emerald embedded in his axe. “No wife.”
“Oh…” Elryia said, trying to hide her own grin.
“I won’t tell him you asked.”
Elryia’s face turned crimson, “Thank you. He’s not one to talk about his past and I didn’t want to remind him of something painful if I did.”
“Aye, he’s always been that way—very quiet and reserved. He was always more concerned about the kingdom and his duty than about settling down.” Sam’s face hardened a bit as he began to ponder and rode forward slightly, half speaking to her and half voicing his realization to himself, “Come to think of it. This is the first time he’s ever been in love.” Samsun etched further as he trailed off, now sinking inside his own head as the past rolled back to him. Elryia almost stopped completely, her eyes widened, blinked several times, mouth gaping open.
Jeralyle passed by, not having heard the conversation, and gazed upon her with concern. “Elryia, are you well?”
Elryia blinked once more, looking between Sam, empty space, and then back again. “Uh…” was all she muttered, too shocked to form a complete sentence or even a word. Jeralyle stared, just as speechless before she finally snapped out of it. “I’m…” but her voice came out higher than she anticipated and she cleared her throat, “I’m well.”
“You sure?” Jeralyle asked again, prompting Elryia to nod as nervousness turned her eyes every which way and she tried to fight back the smile that threatened to light up her face. Jer couldn’t help but chuckle at her reaction and notice her giddiness. He left it at that and nodded as he moved on and gazed ahead at the dusty road and the horizon, which was getting closer with each passing day.
Elryia, off in her own world, rode well behind everyone with a glint in her eye and a serene look on her face. She kept that look long after her conversation with Samsun, but eventually it faded to one of curiosity rather than giddy excitement. Talking about Grahamas had made her think about him, and while she was consistently doing that regardless, this time she was hoping he was safe. She turned her head, looking every direction he could possibly be, and wondered.