Agantra sits on the stump of what she now knows is called a tree, reminiscing on what lead her from her desert home to this grand forest. She flips through the journal; a wine bottle, Gertude gave her a gift, sits in her other hand. Her memories of that year were as fresh as ever.
***
The five hundred years of memories of the desert that had left Agantra restless, a condition not helped by the ever living and never remembering nature of the rest of the elves. Her time among the hunters had shown her a glimpse of a world beyond the shining glass cities of the elves and the dunes that surrounded them, leaving her with the feeling that she could not stay among the spires and caves that had been her home.
The border of the city was ill defined, but most elves considered them to be where the magically watered fields gave way to the untended desert. Before Agantra crossed into that desert, she checked the sword of elegant glass construction. It still rested lighter than sand in its scabbard by her side. The only other adornment to her simple garment was a small travelling pack; hopefully, it would be all she needed.
With one glance back at the rising sun’s light passing through the glass monument of elven glory, she steps over the boundary. Her journey out of the desert beginning in earnest.
The first day’s travel was boring, mostly occupied by walking over the uncounted dunes, broken up only by the occasionally by a sip of water or bite of food from her bag. Strictly speaking, she ate more then she needed, but the potential starvation in the future was better than total boredom of a completely undistinguished walk.
The night was worse, as the hunger in Agantra’s heart kept her awake. She lay there under the stars she had seen for millions of nights before; she felt a kinship for the moon flying above, eternally shifting its face, without meaningfully changing. Occasionally she closed her eyes, opening them just seconds later to be disappointed by the moon’s position, still high up in the sky. Her fingers left small marks in the sand dune from their rhythmically silent tapping. Agantra hummed to herself, her songs were swallowed by the desert winds. But still she sat there, like the sky, unworn by time or sand, her left hand slowly tracing the intricate patterns covering the hilt of her sword, and her right hand still tapping. Occasional she pulled out the bone engraved with records of human language, wanting to practice their unusual tongue before she remembered she could not see in the dark. She carefully she put the records of bone back into her bag, and continued humming. About halfway through her hundredth repetition of an elven ballad, she faded into sleep.
The first rays of sun light woke up Agantra, and she began her pilgrimage again. The desert would wash away any sign of where she lain within an hour at most. With luck the day would offer some entertainment, or some food, of which she had enough to last at least until tomorrow.
About halfway through the day, the latter of these hopes was about to be answered, as she arrived at the small cave system that served as a town for the elves. She could have recalled the name but did not care enough to. Agantra only spent enough time at the outpost to replenish her food and water, before she set off again, depleted by the bored feasting of her walk. That was the last bit of any true civilization for a while.
The days and nights after that were much like the first. Boring long walks across the desert, only occasionally broken up by the massive forms of the desert beasts that Agantra avoided. As much as the boredom in her chest would feed on anything, fighting a creature she had already killed dozens of would have barely been a bone for her boredom to gnaw on. And a smaller part of her acknowledged that they would be impossible to kill without a group.
Just as she was thinking that she could not stand another day of movement for movements sake, she reached her next stepping stone: what passed for a town among humans. The building made of stone were nothing compared to the beauty of elven glass but provided some shelter against. A small river that winded its way through the town, was Agantra‘s guess for the town location, as it allowed the various farmers that she could see dotted around to maintain a livelihood.
Agantra pulled her cloak over her sword as she approached the hamlet and was glad that she had spent the at least some time learning how to speak human. Then she walked over to the nearest of the humans, who from the skin was gritted as the desert and was wielding a farming tool that Agantra could not name. She guessed from that tool that he was a farming tool though she did not know it name.
“Hello human, I beseech thee to direct my path to the nearest forest,” overenunciated Agantra.
“What you say lady?” said the Farmer, startled by her approach; she guessed human ears were just for show, cause any elf worth the food they consume would have heard her coming. After pushing down her snark, she took a few second to process the words that the farmer said.
“I have an appetency to see a forest, human, where would one be?” said Agantra.
“Why are you talking about forests? We’re in a desert,” responded the man. It took a few seconds for Agantra to translate the words from the human tongue back into elvish.
“If you cannot provide a forest, are you aware of any piepowder in this hamlet?” Asked Agantra, switching focus to finding some sort of merchant who might know the way to a forest.
“What now? No, I am not aware of any pie or powder in this town, what does that have to do with a forest?” Asked the man equally as exacerbated by this conversation as Agantra.
Taking a deep breath, Agantra walked off, as the farmer went back to his farming, keeping a suspicious eye on her. As she strolled around the hamlet what she found were mostly homes and farms, nowhere that a merchant would stay, but just as she was about to give up and just start walking without any directions, she spotted a small cart hitched to a donkey, with an older human woman tending it.
“Are you a piepowder?” asked Agantra, as she strode up to the women. The woman paused for a moment in respond to the words.
“Yes, you could say that dearie, but I haven’t heard that word in a long time, most people just call me a merchant these days,” the woman replied.
“Hello, I am Agantra. Prithee, you take me to a forest,” said Agantra, getting excited.
“Well, hello there Agantra dearie, I am Getrude, and yes I could do that for a doit,” said Gertrude, her smile that of one always ready to do business. A smile bloomed on Agantra’s face as she pulled out the small pouch of glass coins.
“Would these be enough? And also, can you stop calling me dearie, I am hundreds of centuries older than you,” responded Agantra.
“Sorry about calling your dearie, but also I cannot take elven money,” said Getrude, before she noticed something. “However, you look like a competent man-at-arms, or woman-at-arms, with that blade under your cloak. So, if you are willing to guard a poor old woman who others may want to take advantage of that, I can take you to a forest,” said Gertrude, playing up her hunch to emphasis her point.
Agantra agreed, without a moment of hesitation.
***
The year of travel with Gertrude did nothing but amaze Agantra. None of the human cities came close in grandeur to those of elves, but they were certainly larger and more densely populated. But what really impressed her were the natural environments: forests, mountains, seas, and coast, each of them more wonderful than she could have ever described when she was still in the desert.
As the year draws to a close, she reflects on her journey. The hunger however is not gone, her feet still desire to wander, and as she sits in the forest she realizes she is at peace with the restless wandering. So, with her year up, she decides to continue in the human world, at least for a few more decades.
