My mother was far from thrilled when I interrupted her weavings to ask permission to leave camp. The protests died on her lips when she saw that the man standing behind me was a lord. She tried to smile brightly but her blue eyes were clouded by loss-unusual in an elf. I knew her pain, her husband, the man who had given her four children had recently been killed on a hunt. Bored by the perpetual venison, he had tried to slay a boar and had given up his life. A shift of the wind, so innocent, so deadly, had betrayed his scent to the beast.
I tried giving my father's knife back to my mother. Renouncing my heritage was difficult, but no elf woman wanted an effeminate son. In my camp's culture, artistry was considered an inappropriate occupation for me. Hunting was one of the only values we had. I assumed my desire to share my ideas would eclipse my talent in the hunt and that my brother, Raga, would hunt for my family. That he would wear the mantle of the eldest son. Surprisingly, she clasped my hand gently around the knife's hilt. "You will always be welcome back home."
Wishing to fall into her arms, I debated whether showing my mother affection would shame my new master. I looked to him for guidance, but he had backed away from us and was staring into the forest. He was tactfully giving us privacy, and I was overwhelmingly grateful. Crying a little, and feeling ashamed at my tears I sought solace from my mother. "I am sorry that I will be unable to hunt for you."
"Nonsense, I am exceedingly proud of you. Your father would have been too, he always wished that I could use my talents freely, I doubt that he would have tried restricting yours."
I had thought that my mother's magic was concentrated in textiles. Certainly the close she wove were the warmest of any in my camp. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
Scooping up a pile of loose wool and herbs, my mother swiveled back to face me. A beautiful blue thread emerged from her cupped hand and coiled itself into a skein by her feet. "This string is the color of the song of new hope," she explained. "Funny, I had expected it to be yellow."
"How did you do that?"
"Remember that the camp I was originally from was closer to the human villages. Once I saw a picnicking woman in a yellow and blue striped dress. The uncommon beauty in her outfit shrouded the plainness of her face, and it struck a chord in my heart. I practiced it in secret, seeing if I could weave in color." The blue yarn was knitting itself into a square now, with occasional encouragement from my mother.
"You managed to hide this talent?"
"Easily. When I was tested, they only noticed an affinity for fabric. They didn't realize that I also was gifted in creativity. Your eagle eyes were a little harder to hide things from. Nonetheless, you didn't see that your father wore a lavender undershirt beneath his tunic. He was buried in it, in the color of devoted love."
"Father was normal though." I was grasping for reason. I had expected leaving would bring new experiences but I hadn't thought that everything I knew of home would be uprooted. I felt like a seed blowing in the wind.
"Yes, your father had a normal talent. But it was his acceptance of the unusual that set him apart as a man. Raga and Sinda have normal magical talents too, even if they are weaker than average. It is little Lim who appears to have received the strength that they lack." My mother cocked her head at the bushes where a songbird was stretching into a little girl.
I had always known that my youngest sister's talent was unusual. She had the power to transform things at will, and had been cultivating it since she had been old enough to read the spell books. Our Camp Lord had taken a liking to her, and was tutoring her personally as well. I never thought that she could apply her talent to herself though.
"When you come back, please bring me a flower from the King's Camp." She asked. "I'm starting a collection." I could hardly deny my favorite sister so I gave her an embrace in the meantime.
The storyteller began to pace, muttering under his breath. "I understand that you must go." My mother said, and she handed me a newly completed cloak. In the time we had been talking she had completely woven the blue fabric into a lining, and stitched it inside the standard brown wool for winter wear. "Stay safe in your journeys Zym." I hugged her again, mussed Lim's hair, and I was on my way.