Flitting Through Life

The elven children were communally beautiful, and sometimes that made it hard for Murtagh to differentiate between them. They all had glittering eyes of various colors, unlike humans in their limitation to a select few. Their hair was either bright silver or shiny black and was pin straight, always long and flowing.

Murtagh remembered when he had been a youth still. His hair had been short and unruly while his own body was lanky, just skin and bone waiting for muscle. He remembered his father being looming and tall, dark hair and even darker eyes staring down at Murtagh in what could only be described as annoyance. Or maybe it was just pure anger and blame. That would be enough reason for why he'd sliced him open from shoulder to hip with his sword that now hung in Murtagh's cabin without a use.

Human children were cute at best and then got beautiful or handsome (in the lucky cases) before becoming weathered with age. Elves were peculiar to Murtagh in how they were born so utterly bright. And then they would shoot up in body and mind, their ethereal fairness only slightly diminishing. These elven had both grace and intelligence. It really was no wonder why they were talked about throughout the races even if they hid away in their forest.

"Rider, Rider!"

Murtagh sighed and turned to the child who was addressing him, and stared for a few moments as the boy's name eluded him. But it mattered little as the elf asked a question Murtagh easily answered before bounding back towards his peers.

His name is Draumrrïs, Thorn told him from behind with a rumble.

Murtagh snorted and leaned back on his dragon's flank, enjoying the way the sun was playing on his forearms and the soft whispers of the children all around, some singing.

They were doing an outdoor exercise where they were told to call something of worth out from hiding. Murtagh was secretive in what they were calling, only giving a short riddle. This forced them to be inventive with which ancient language words to use to spell the thing out. Some of the children were still sitting under the large pines, muttering strings of words. Others, like Draumrrïs, had grown impatient with that method and had resolved to physically search for it.

And the teacher, or 'Rider' as they had grown to address him as, was sitting in a pocket of sunshine secretly enjoying their bafflement.

Or, that was, until a little girl came and held up a butterfly of orange and gold that fluttered lightly, but not enough to propel it off the little palm it had settled on.

Thorn arched his head over Murtagh's shoulder and gave a gleaming smile full of fangs. The girl did not smile back though, as she did not see the dragon's grin; she was too focused on Murtagh and his empty expression.

"Why do you bring me a butterfly?" he asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Her blank face that failed to hold her excitement down faltered.

By now the other seven children took account for how the eighth was standing in front of their teacher with her hand outstretched with the item they were still dearly searching for. They soon leaped over to her side, their noses sniffing and eyes blinking at the simple insect that sat in her open grasp.

"I absently take and bring life from crowns of gold,
A tireless traveler of many changing colors but not tales."

Her voice was too soft for Murtagh's taste and her eyes had wavered from his own down to her bare feet.

"So you have recited my riddle, but how have you solved it?" Murtagh asked as he sat up with a soft grunt.

The action caused her to take a few stumbling steps back, the others easily getting out of the way as Murtagh stared her down. He was trying not to make his face menacing and simply passive, but the girl looked absolutely terrified none-the-less. This made Murtagh wonder a bit, as most of the children feared him in an indifferent way; he outright startled this one.

"A butterfly carries pollen from flowers, and usually pollen are in rings on top of flowers, so they could be interpreted as crowns in that regard. And the golden pollen fetilizes and brings new life through the flowers. Butterfly wings change color in the sun or depending on the species, but their lives and stories do not change because they all fundamentally have the same daily routine of flying around collecting nectar for sustenance before they die from a short lifespan," she explained in length.

Murtagh blinked at the lengthy explanation, but couldn't stop the small smirk of satisfaction from forming.

It seems, little one, that you have beat this old partnership with ease, Thorn said with a grumbling laugh from behind. Murtagh couldn't help but roll his eyes and elbow him in ribs. It probably felt like a mosquito bite, but it made Murtagh feel better.

"Quick thinking," Murtagh offered gruffly as he turned to the other children. "I would have also accepted a bee. Now, why did the rest of you not solve it?"

While the others sat around him with and explained their own thought processes and how they thought he had meant a jester or even sickness, Murtagh saw the girl who had solved the riddle sit down with her butterfly. He could tell she listened to the others by the twitches in her ears, but her eyes stayed on the small, winged bug before her. It looked like she was going to stroke its glistening wings a few times, but then her fingers would come back. Finally she gave a fleeting smile before letting the butterfly go with a few whispered words of magic.

As she lifted her face to watch it flutter away in the sun, Murtagh noted that her eyes were a deep red that almost swallowed up the black of her pupils. It was a color of rusted metal or dried blood.

Even for a young elf she did not seem as beautiful as the others, too. True, she easily outshone any human offspring, but considering she was an elf and not human this did not account for much. In addition, her hair was too color-lacking. There was variation in the silver hair in the elven unlike the ink black, but hers was too pale to be rightly called silver. It was more of a white, especially in this bright sunlight.

As Murtagh nodded to the students as they left the field, he looked up to Thorn and asked, Who was she?

The girl who called the butterfly with care? Thorn asked back.

You heard her summon it? Murtagh asked as they began walking back to their cabin.

While you were busy basking in the sun like those lethargic werecats, yes, I listened to them all, Thorn said with a condescending flick of his head that Murtagh ignored; And she called it earlier before she presented it to you.

She was doubtful of herself? Murtagh asked with interest. Usually these children were headstrong when they got even the briefest of an idea or opinion.

Thorn gave a deep hum in affirmation.

The partners walked on without any more conversation. Thorn's rumbling steps shook numerous pine needles off as his large bulk ducked under branches. Whenever he was in pockets of sun from holes in the canopy above his scales would shine red spots everywhere.

You are yet to tell me her name, Murtagh noted as they arrived at the cabin.

If I am not mistaken, her name is Abrhvitr, Thorn said after a few long moments of thought.

You are not sure? Murtagh asked with a soft snort of entertainment. Thorn always prided himself in knowing all the children. Of knowing their names had been the first thing he had latched on to.

She is not from here and she is too young to immediately try her hand at the eggs, Thorn said with a huff; She came from a small town very deep in the forest.

Murtagh nodded in thanks.

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Murtagh could see how Thorn had not given much attention to her, as he had given her none at all. (What a great teacher he was turning out to be.)

Abrhvitr, as Murtagh had confirmed, never spoke. She also rarely made eye-contact with anyone, something the other Educational Instructors shook their heads down at. This girl was too shy for her own good, and they were convinced she would soon curl in on herself so much she would become nothing. She would be like the snake who ate himself from hunger in her solitary lifestyle.

But Murtagh saw that she was not incapable of being social, she just did not go out of her way. She was conservative and listened attentively with her head slightly bowed, respectful but not demanding. Murtagh could see that she enjoyed being silent and left alone to listen to what others had to say, keeping her own thoughts neatly filed in her own mind.

While he found it a little annoying, as there were only seven others, Mutagh let her be. He would let her learn her own way.

And while he did remember her name, he soon forgot about her again. But the girl continued absorbing everything like dry cotton. She continued to keep her pointed ears up and attentive as the hours and days passed in class.

Thorn noted that she was the only one who was yet to climb up on him and slide down his tail that he would flick at the last second, propelling the children up high before catching them in the net of his wide wings. Murtagh looked at him like he was crazy for thinking her not wanting to do that was crazy; he certainly did not want to be flung either.

Because of all this, Murtagh was surprised when he looked across his clearing with a tickling at the back of his neck, alerting him of someone else's presence, and saw her. Her hair was tied down in twin braids and they billowed lightly in the summer air that usually suffocated.

She was standing down the small stream, on a large smooth boulder that had bright green moss growing on the edges. Her hands were limp at her sides, but Thorn noted with his keen eyesight that her fingers were twitching the slightest bit.

But to Murtagh she seemed calm, collective for suddenly appearing at his domain without a word in advance. Her face was plain, no creases near her eyes from nerves.

Murtagh reasoned that she was his student and they could be oblivious and thick-skinned when it came to such things. He stood with a huff then, putting aside his fishing rod. When his eyes sought for her short form again, he found she was already gone. He focused and muttered a few strings of magic for his ears and he heard the soft rustling of needles and grass under fast moving feet; she had run away.

Murtagh turned to Thorn in his riverbed with a raised eyebrow and half-chuckle of confusion.

And I thought those kids could not get any more odd, Murtagh said.

Thorn moved his attention to Murtagh and gave a careless grunt before he turned back to where the girl had been, the nostrils on his long mussel flaring.

Color theme 087: Goldenrod; Word Count: 1,923

Posted on the 18th of February, 2011

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On the elven names I made:

Abrhvitr translates to 'of white' in the ancient language. This is in relation to her extremely pale silver hair, but also for her personality of simplicity. Mostly, her character refers to the aspects/values that the color white represents or relates to.

Draumrrïs is mix of the ancient language words dream (draumr) and rise (rïsa); I want the meaning to be like 'dream rising,' because a child is a huge gift and dream of many, especially to an elf community with few births. Also it sounded a little funny to give such a girly name to a male (haha).

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Ending Note: Would you look at that. The OC has finally been introduced - hoorah! But the romance is still leagues away, lol.