Dear Diary 5
July 6th 2009 19:50
Dear Diary,
We spent our day traveling into the forest; the border is only half a day away. We have only stopped for two hours and then we must resume our travel with lanterns. It is too risky to rest here; this is where the enemy's forces are thickest.
For the first time I heard the common language come out of the girl's mouth; she can't say much yet, but she said hello to me under Shalorin's instructions and gave me her name. I smiled and said hello in response, giving her my name. Shalorin is glowing with pride today. His pupil, Kaya, is a fast learner; something tells me she is indeed a brilliant girl and that I have simply never been able to break through the language barrier.
Very few Fidolians ever made it into our territory under any circumstances, except those who at least knew Appollinian. This is not because we did not welcome them during the time of the Great Alliance, but simply because it was so far for them to travel. I never fully learned Fidolian as such; there was no need so long as I did not intend to go into Fidolius itself. I learned some basic words to communicate with them if I ran upon them in Appollinia or the Drakor lands-but since I only traveled among the rich circles in both lands the only Fidolians I had met spoke at least one of our languages, and since I was fluent in all three, I never needed to use what little I knew and thus forgot most of it.
The girl has been very helpful, feeding and grooming her horse and mine. Shalorin has always preferred to be with his own horse; he raised her after all. Midnight, though I love her dearly, truly likes the little girl-and I enjoy watching the girl's face light up when she's around the horses. More and more these days I am wondering if she is a half elf.
Shalorin talked to me as soon as we stopped for a little while; told me of the girl's intelligence, and asked again where I had found her. I told him the simple truth and he looked at her, an eyebrow raised.
I wonder if she is a half elf, he said, for she learns so quick and her high cheek bones. She looks almost half elven but I cannot tell.
I know, I responded with a slight sigh, I've been wondering about that for some time now.
It might explain why you found her in that state; not only are the Fidolians ashamed of their associations with the Elves, to the point of some half elves being out right murdered, but some Elves feel the same way about the Fidolians. Some of our soldiers kill them for fun. She may well have come from a village of Elves, humans and half Elves, where a number of each lived in harmony. The village may have been burned for the closeness of the species.
It's a thought. I know she said something about burning where I asked where she had come from; but I did not understand the rest.
I will see if I can find out.
He walked away to groom his horse and to speak to her, and I began to write in here. The brief stop has been good for my men and for my horses. They are eating, grooming their horses and then we will begin to pack up again. But we needed food and the horses needed food and rest. We must all be on our guard with every moment that we are here. Once we get to the main camp we will be able to sleep, to rest. Until then we must push forward.
Soon we will have to fight; fight our way through a force of men, fight our way back to our land, our territory. I wonder if they will simply let us pass, wanting us out of theirs. But something tells me they will attack us, thinking to kill us on their land so that we may not reach the main force. I will not let my men die here or now, not when we have already come so far.
I do fear for their lives. I wonder and it nags at me, ever nagging in my mind. I fear for my men, but not for myself; I know I can fight off a dozen warriors. Fidolian warriors are not that well trained-and even if they were well trained, that would only be for humans. Elves have centuries in which to train; I myself have devoted my entire life to swordplay and general fighting. The deadly dance has always fascinated me.
But I do not want to have to kill tonight. I do not want to kill anymore. The bloodshed is sickening, haunting. Shalorin tells me of his dreams; dreams of blood, dreams of death, dreams of burning. When all you can smell for miles is sweat and death, it makes you sick, and you never ever forget it. War leaves its mark upon us all-so it is written in many places of Elvish literature and so I am writing it once more now.
I wonder if these dreams will ever leave us. Perhaps, when all of this is over, they will grow shorter and further apart; I doubt they will ever fully leave us. We have done horrible things here, in this place-and we will pay for it for quite some time. We will pay for it in our minds. Some will most likely go mad, especially the humans when they grow old. I am sure I will endure it, and that Shalorin will as well. But it will always haunt us, what has happened here.
It is time to go now; time to travel to our final destination.
~Alaendril
We spent our day traveling into the forest; the border is only half a day away. We have only stopped for two hours and then we must resume our travel with lanterns. It is too risky to rest here; this is where the enemy's forces are thickest.
For the first time I heard the common language come out of the girl's mouth; she can't say much yet, but she said hello to me under Shalorin's instructions and gave me her name. I smiled and said hello in response, giving her my name. Shalorin is glowing with pride today. His pupil, Kaya, is a fast learner; something tells me she is indeed a brilliant girl and that I have simply never been able to break through the language barrier.
Very few Fidolians ever made it into our territory under any circumstances, except those who at least knew Appollinian. This is not because we did not welcome them during the time of the Great Alliance, but simply because it was so far for them to travel. I never fully learned Fidolian as such; there was no need so long as I did not intend to go into Fidolius itself. I learned some basic words to communicate with them if I ran upon them in Appollinia or the Drakor lands-but since I only traveled among the rich circles in both lands the only Fidolians I had met spoke at least one of our languages, and since I was fluent in all three, I never needed to use what little I knew and thus forgot most of it.
The girl has been very helpful, feeding and grooming her horse and mine. Shalorin has always preferred to be with his own horse; he raised her after all. Midnight, though I love her dearly, truly likes the little girl-and I enjoy watching the girl's face light up when she's around the horses. More and more these days I am wondering if she is a half elf.
Shalorin talked to me as soon as we stopped for a little while; told me of the girl's intelligence, and asked again where I had found her. I told him the simple truth and he looked at her, an eyebrow raised.
I wonder if she is a half elf, he said, for she learns so quick and her high cheek bones. She looks almost half elven but I cannot tell.
I know, I responded with a slight sigh, I've been wondering about that for some time now.
It might explain why you found her in that state; not only are the Fidolians ashamed of their associations with the Elves, to the point of some half elves being out right murdered, but some Elves feel the same way about the Fidolians. Some of our soldiers kill them for fun. She may well have come from a village of Elves, humans and half Elves, where a number of each lived in harmony. The village may have been burned for the closeness of the species.
It's a thought. I know she said something about burning where I asked where she had come from; but I did not understand the rest.
I will see if I can find out.
He walked away to groom his horse and to speak to her, and I began to write in here. The brief stop has been good for my men and for my horses. They are eating, grooming their horses and then we will begin to pack up again. But we needed food and the horses needed food and rest. We must all be on our guard with every moment that we are here. Once we get to the main camp we will be able to sleep, to rest. Until then we must push forward.
Soon we will have to fight; fight our way through a force of men, fight our way back to our land, our territory. I wonder if they will simply let us pass, wanting us out of theirs. But something tells me they will attack us, thinking to kill us on their land so that we may not reach the main force. I will not let my men die here or now, not when we have already come so far.
I do fear for their lives. I wonder and it nags at me, ever nagging in my mind. I fear for my men, but not for myself; I know I can fight off a dozen warriors. Fidolian warriors are not that well trained-and even if they were well trained, that would only be for humans. Elves have centuries in which to train; I myself have devoted my entire life to swordplay and general fighting. The deadly dance has always fascinated me.
But I do not want to have to kill tonight. I do not want to kill anymore. The bloodshed is sickening, haunting. Shalorin tells me of his dreams; dreams of blood, dreams of death, dreams of burning. When all you can smell for miles is sweat and death, it makes you sick, and you never ever forget it. War leaves its mark upon us all-so it is written in many places of Elvish literature and so I am writing it once more now.
I wonder if these dreams will ever leave us. Perhaps, when all of this is over, they will grow shorter and further apart; I doubt they will ever fully leave us. We have done horrible things here, in this place-and we will pay for it for quite some time. We will pay for it in our minds. Some will most likely go mad, especially the humans when they grow old. I am sure I will endure it, and that Shalorin will as well. But it will always haunt us, what has happened here.
It is time to go now; time to travel to our final destination.
~Alaendril
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