Jessel sat beneath his favourite tree. He had finished his lunch and sat, enjoying the fullness. "Overate again," he thought, and smiled drowsily. Lynxes were plentiful, and nearly the only game in the forest. He'd have to travel into the city for other imported options. For him, they were as hunting insects for an eagle would be. He'd wrestled boars in Outland for food. For ease, and to spare the animal any unnecessary suffering, he used his bow for the lynxes. For as brutal as he was with a blade and his hands, he was as precise and silent with a bow. He had consumed the entire animal, in a ritual he repeated daily, which began with his telling himself that with food no longer scarce, he no longer needed to eat as much as he could not knowing where his next meal would come from.
He lived in the forest, but not as the other elves did. He slept on soft grass, wore the simplest spun linen, bathed in the streams, and foraged daily for food. His scars traced through the sun-darkened skin of his bare chest and back. Most clothes sold in Eversong did not fit his frame. Post-war society and the ravages of widespread addiction had left the elven population at home smaller, and slighter than before. He had kept his legs strong in the scaling of the hills around the forest, having been sculpted in the ravines of Outland. If he tried, he could even outrun his quarry, which for the practise and challenge he did most days, striking with an arrow close, or far if his luck was down that day.
He had chosen to live among the trees and the animals because of an icy reception upon his homecoming. As far as he knew, he was the only elf to have fought and braved the shattered continent of Outland, but to have returned prematurely. First, his green eyes betrayed an unclean pact, but when most of the native elves had too partaken and were betrayed by their own eyes, they had yet to find another reason to hate him. What the others were doing there across the cosmos was good for all, unquestioned by those at home. He was an unfortunate reminder of the potential for a less golden reality taking place elsewhere, and which might find itself yet again at the gates of their kingdom. This was true, and yet, if he had been embraced and welcomed, would he have chosen differently? The grand spires and colonnades were but castles of sand beneath the eternal constancy of the forest. He saw his reflection in the dark, glass eyes of the animals whose home he shared.
He had begun to doze, lilted to sleep by soft zephyrs across his skin in the blue twilight, when he heard a noise not of the forest's perpetual song. His senses had been heightened and he discerned much apart from vision alone. His hands were behind his head, he lay on his back, one leg crossed over the other, spinning his foot playfully in the breeze. He saw another elf, in robes, a homogeneous pillar of black against the backdrop of forest. His head was raised, in a distinct pride, his gaze cast out to the sea just at the forest's edge. It was this same elf he had seen before, on two, and now three, occasions. He was far enough that the distinguishing features of his face were obscured, but he was definitely that same elf each time. Always the same spot, the same, almost defiant, stance against the blank ocean horizon, the same displaced formality of clothing, and yet most distinguishing for him, the clear, dark blue eyes which reflected, rather than emitted their own light, the beauty of inaugmented, vulnerable, clean eyes, which spoke their truth whether their owner wished for them to or not.
The previous occasion Jessel had seen this elf, having identified him as one he had seen before, and interesting given these peculiarities, he resolved to make his acquaintance. He had grown used to receptions of dismissal and even disgust, not just a corrupted elf of Outland, but a "deserter" of their forces. The worst that could happen would be this similar reaction, and he'd return, no worse, to the peaceful seclusion. And yet, it was as if a light flashed when he first connected his line of sight to this pillar in the distance. Like a lifeline to another stranded boat in the open sea. Neither were in any better position than the other, but the struggle, and inevitable end, somehow seemed worthy of embarking on, if it didn't have to be endured alone. So that second time, he watched only, he knew one thing, that they shared something whether or not the other knew. No other elf had walked in such awe of the forest's canopy, had penetrated their consciousness so powerfully against the all-consuming waves in a gaze so fixed and pleading. He had associated the peculiarity of this elf with his unchanged eyes. The two surely had some place the same in this elf's being. He thought he was at peace with his decision he had made that second time, to share this unspoken, unrealized connection. He hadn't thought of it, but the fear of rejection which did not exist concerning any other elf he had met, did exist most potently, concerning this one elf. So this bond would remain safe in ignorance.
However upon seeing him this third time, what he wanted to be happy with, fell away and was replaced by the longing to know this other elf. His training and experience in Outland had him always consider outcomes and possibilities, and to plan for all occasions. He had no plan if this other would turn him away, if the assumptions he had made were untrue, and yet he had made a decision similar not long ago, to leave Outland and the elven legions there. He did not consider how his future would fall before him if he chose this. But the decision came easily, as some dim glimmer deep in his mind, from some ancient place, told him that the decision to stay was a decision to die, and with peace, he could leave, whatever would happen. That same story played in his mind now. He could sit there, forever, and turn away; this "unspoken bond" would eventually dissolve away into a bittersweet memory. He could decide to die, to whither unknown beneath the tree like all the leaves indistinguishable from the rest year after year.
He stood, and with purpose silly for greeting a stranger, he walked toward the pillar in robes. "Hello." All it would take, he told himself, was one word. The other elf, seemingly unaware of the other's rather lengthy advance, turned his head swiftly beneath dark curls of hair. The blue eyes were piercing and for a brief moment his face showed surprise, curiosity, even fear, before fading again into suspicious scrutiny. The elf's face was worn and sad, but beautiful.
"Oh, hello." Tenemire shot a quick, inauthentic half-smile. He did not enjoy being dragged out from his thoughts. The other elf was overwhelming. He was tall, and broad, he wore no shirt or shoes, his hair was short in the military fashion, his eyes flamed green.
"I... we haven't spoken, but I think I've seen you here before."
It had connected. This was that same elf he had espied the last time, sleeping beneath the tree, the one on whom his gaze was affixed longer than was appropriate. At this realization, Tenemire tried to stifle a smile and looked downward. "Oh yes, I do believe I have seen you here before."
"I live here."
Tenemire looked around. There were no homes or huts, no spires in this area of forest. His eyes flitted. "Where is here?"
"Oh..." Jessel had failed to remember his lifestyle was not well-accepted in society. Shame almost halted his speech under the watchful, pleading eyes of this not entirely friendly elf. But he remembered who he was, why he lived as he did. "Do you see that tree?" He had stepped to the side of Tenemire and slightly behind him. Wary, Tenemire inched away; it had been long since another elf was so close to him. Jessel was pointing with a muscular, outstretched arm, with tense precision, to one of the ancient trees at the edge of the forest; it was rare a tree could grow to that size so near the shore. Usually the forest's edge by the sea was populated by more modest trees.
"Yes, I see it."
"That's where I eat and sleep."
Tenemire turned his head, and for a moment only stared. "You're... homeless?" Tenemire had grown more wary. Jessel laughed heartily. He hadn't ever perceived it that way.
"I suppose, in a way I have no home, but for the forest itself."
"Oh... I see." Tenemire stared past the tree. "I suppose, we all wish we could do that, on some level..."
Jessel smiled. "Actually, I don't think we all do."
"Perhaps then, it is only I that do."
"Come, join me then." Jessel stepped aside, bowed, looking ever peculiar in such a formal pose, unclad and unshod as he was. Yet the movement of his muscles was smooth and graceful. Tenemire eyed him, and smiled suspiciously. What had he to lose?
They walked in silence to the tree. Jessel had a fire there, and little else. The waves sounded distantly; the air off the ocean was warm, strange, given their latitude. Jessel motioned to the ground at the base of the tree. Tenemire sat awkwardly at first. He lifted his cloak trying to not sit on it. His legs were bent to his side and he sat upright. Jessel bent down and balanced himself on the balls of his feet, the muscles of his legs pulled taught. He looked from the sea into the forest, enjoying the peace and beauty he felt in his "home."
"I don't suppose you have some hidden store of anything to drink somewhere around this tree do you?" Tenemire asked, half jesting.
"I don't drink."
"Oh... that's for the best, I suppose."
"Why?"
"Not for you, I mean, for myself, or in general, I suppose." Jessel didn't respond. He certainly is comfortable in silence, Tenemire thought. He watched as the elf surveyed his surroundings, with a degree of pride in his features, but mostly of contentment.
"You are... fond of the forest, then?"
"This forest is all I have. It's why I went. It's why I returned."
"When did you return?" Hearing of elves going to Outland was commonplace, but he had never yet encountered one who had come back.
"Recently."
"I hear there is a place there, an enormous wetland that spans the continent, a font of life for a dead world." Tenemire spoke quickly.
"Zangarmarsh." Jessel enunciated, and half-smiled, looking in the distance. "It's no emerald dream." He sat back now, knees bent against his chest. Tenemire found that for one who slept under a tree, and wore the minimal amount of clothes to still be considered somewhat decent, he was remarkably clean; his face was cleanly shaven, and he smelled of the sweetness of a freshwater stream. He was confident, not boorish in how he held himself. He neither purposefully distanced himself from Tenemire, nor encroached into the other's space. The elf's natural, calm comfort, put Tenemire at ease, despite himself.
"I hadn't considered that such a wild land would not be easily liveable, and yet you live so here don't you?"
"The elves that cultivated this forest loved it, loved what it could be; they were an integrated part with it. Zangarmarsh filled you with awe, but it evolved to flourish in a wasteland, it was no place for we who evolved here, to flourish within this forest."
"Perhaps then, you might share more of these insights into the cultivation and evolution of a forest." Tenemire said, flippantly.
"You've seen then, what has changed? It is not the same forest I left, and one so far from what it was before..."
Tenemire stiffened, "I am interested in this progression of things, yes."
"Why?"
Tenemire hesitated, "I'm a botanist."
"Is that so? There was a botanist up in Kael'Thas' ranks. 'Fray' something."
"High Botanist Freywinn."
Jessel laughed. "Yes, that was it. The one time I saw him he didn't seem very friendly, like most in the prince's circle."
"I couldn't tell you a thing about him personally. He was my one-time teacher, mentor, and simultaneous object of my attraction and source of deep feelings of inferiority."
"Oh, gods why?" Jessel laughed.
"A good friend of mine and fellow botanist asked the same question. I lately am not so sure. Much has happened between my days as his student and now."
"And what is now?"
"I told you, I'm just a botanist."
"I don't think you're just anything." Tenemire caught the slightest tremor in Jessel's voice. What a strange fellow he was.
"I don't understand."
Jessel rose to his feet, and not comfortable remaining seated, Tenemire followed. "You're not like any elf I've seen since coming back."
"Why is everybody so concerned with my eyes?"
"So you know."
"I know nothing."
"Why haven't you changed like the rest?"
"Well, I have a theory, anyway, I haven't used the crystals to channel magic."
"You mean you've withstood all this time? One moment of weakness, that's all it takes..." Tenemire did know to what he was referring, but the more he understood, the less he wanted to.
"I haven't, not yet."
"Why?" this persistent questioning began to annoy Tenemire, who now after considering, could find no clear answer.
"I'm... a child of the Light." It was a reflexive response. This had struck Jessel in a way which Tenemire thought he saw had elicited an emotion he would not have predicted from such a confident, and physically beautiful elf, shame.
"Would that we all could have been so fortunate."
"I am not so fortunate, trust me. I am a poor representative."
"It would appear, you are not so much as you might think."
"I don't know what you want," Tenemire laughed, "it would be terribly hypocritical of me to offer you any kind of guidance for this kind of thing. We do have priests for that, you know."
"Yes, yes, I know. We had them, too, in Outland." Jessel tried to stifle a yawn, and Tenemire perceived in his face that he had grown tired.
"I'm sorry, I do suppose the sun has mostly set now."
"No, don't apologize. It's part of living this way, I rise and set with the sun."
"Well we have radically different schedules," Tenemire laughed.
"Oh really?"
"I'm practically nocturnal."
"Oh wow, well that's not too unusual. At least it wasn't in days past. But I've kept you and it's dark now, can I walk you home?"
"No. That's alright. The forest is actually mostly safe these days." Jessel extended an arm and his hand fell upon Tenemire's shoulder; he perceived its bulk and warmth.
"I'd like... it can be a lonely place, the forest. If you need a place to rest, my tree will always be here, for you, now, that is..."
"Thank you. I will remember that." This would have been a polite response to end the conversation for his escape, but as he heard it he was surprised by its sincerity.