They were the grandchild of a family that had been raised by Wraithvine, though mother still called Wraithvine "grandfather" when she spoke of the elf, and set out to meet the elusive mage. They used scrying, with a polite message of who they were and that they was seeking to ask Wraithvine to visit sometime and join the family who was preparing for the fall harvest festival. -- Anon Guest
Lyssa was almost at the age when adventuring could be allowed, but this was more important than Granda's prohibitions. Great-Granren was the quest. Find the peripatetic Elf known to all as Wraithvine, and invite them to Harvestfest.
...for what may be the last chance to see hir adopted son alive.
Granda was getting thin against the world. His old body was wearing out. He wanted to see his Rennie once more before he went and Lyssa couldn't ignore a request like that. The big problem was that immortals like Wraithvine hated 'goodbyes' and 'lasts'. Especially when they came together.
It was an effort to purge them from her vocabulary. As a very amateur magic-user, it was easy for Wraithvine to know who was trying to reach hir. And to send a message back.
"Lyssa Raythson... I sense sadness in your soul. Is all well?"
"Granda wants to have you over for Harvestfest. His eyes are going, and he wants to see you before they're all gone." Two truths. Technically. Don't mention the rest of it. Don't say the bad words. "Can you come? Please?"
An immortal like Wraithvine was hard to fool after so many millennia walking the world. Therefore the unmentioned truths were a polite fiction maintained between the two of them. "For Hembrie? Of course. I will even expedite my travel."
Wraithvine certainly knew about teleportation circles. They made hir virulently sick to use them, so ze definitely knew about the time constraints surrounding the invitation. A day or two. Perhaps three, and the Elf who started it all would arrive in Applevine Grove.
Lyssa still used some of her amateurish scrying to keep track of their adopted ancestor. Anxiety being one hell of a drug, she did so daily. Seeing Wraithvine sleeping off the post-circle nausea in an inn somewhere. Seeing hir purchasing new maps and supplies at a chandler's.
"Patience, child. I am close, and I will not be long."
Ze kept hir word. Ze always kept hir word, and when it was beyond hir control to do so, ze tried hir heart out in the effort.
There are some things even immortal Wizards can't do.
Granda was very pleased to see his Rennie once more, and let Wraithvine the Eternal lift him up as if he were still a child.
How many families had Wraithvine begun with two kind hands? How many goodbyes, like this one, had occurred with the adopted progenitor? How many times did it have to happen for an Immortal to grow tired of 'last's and 'goodbye's?
Lyssa tried to focus on the celebration, and not the inevitable. Enjoy the moment, so that there would be good memories. It was difficult, but only in small places.
She listened to the stories they exchanged, readying them for the oral history of the family. Laughed at the jokes she had heard a thousand times. Ignored it when the two old folks shared pipeweed and ale at the closing of the day.
One last Harvestfest. One last celebration.
Before time and death did to Granda what it could never do to Wraithvine. Before the world would spin on, and time would change other things, and Granda would only be a memory.
Even good memories hurt, in their way.
[Image (c) Can Stock Photo / Briansc]
If you like my stories, please Check out my blog and Follow me. Or share them with your friends!
[89 remaining prompts] Please don't send any more prompts for now. Thank you.
