It is generally believed that elves do not exist and that pixies only fly in the restless imagination of the young; that there is no such thing as magic. This belief is usually held by people who live dull and monotonous lives, people who grew up because they thought it was expected of them, people who are tired, without real hope and, most importantly, wrong. They do not see the magic that is in the world, the wizardry of early sunlight broken into a thousand colours in morning dew, the ghostly dance of the northern light amidst the blackness of the night. They do not see the spells wrought around them, cannot hear the soft laughter of the wind playing through the leaves of ancient oaks. They do not see the elves and pixies hiding behind those trees. They do not see. Or maybe, they have not yet met anyone to show them.
This story is about the whispers of the wind and the voices it carries.
It happened a long time ago, in a land far far away, as is usually the case with stories that are still happening, and not as far away as some would have you believe.
The essence of magic
There was a forest. There is always a forest, because forests mean life and mystery. This is because forests are a sign of what we are slowly losing and as man draws further and further away from the trees, the enchantment of the forest will grow, until one day there is no more forest, only a lingering enchantment, until that too is gone. Still, this forest was special even then, so long ago and so far away. In it lurked an elf, which in itself is not strange for elves are wood dwellers and they take great joy in strolling under the great trees and breathing the rich air of leaves and life. This elf however was lost, and that is strange. He had dwelt through the land for days, or weeks, or maybe months, he did not know. Even if he tried he could not remember, it seemed to him as if he had been lost for ages, though he could vaguely remember a time where he hadn't known he was lost, but even that was remote and distant. The elf did not smile, and this too is strange. He continued his march, but only because staying seemed little better than going on, and thus he made no progress and around him the forest picked up his gloominess and grew dark and threatening. His steps became slower, heavier. His feet sank in ground that had been firm only moments ago but he didn't care.
Above him fluttered a pixie. It was blue, but that doesn't really matter for pixies change colour often and easily. Still this one was blue, and it was curious - pixies usually are, they share a heritage with cats. It had followed this strange elf for several hours, thinking about playing some jokes on him but every time it had thought up a nice one, it had found it impossible to pester the sad elf. This - as anybody that knows pixies will tell you - is very strange. It wondered what was wrong with the elf that it could be so unhappy here and it worried, because it saw that where the elf walked the trees started to cry. Gently it landed on a tree branch and sat down, pondering. The elf was going so slowly now that he was barely moving so the pixie had plenty of time to think. With one hand it patted the branch it was sitting on and tried to soothe the tree, but the pixie was no elf and the tree only sighed.
Finally the pixie got off the branch and fluttered down. When it hovered in front of the elf, it smiled and waved. Moments passed - they seemed like hours - in which the elf did not react and the pixie worried more. Not everyone can see pixies. Most humans cannot because they lack the lightness of heart, the bound with nature and mainly because they were too stubborn to see what they didn't belief in. But this was an elf, and despite the grimness that had come over him, eventually he halted and looked at the pixie, though just for a mere second. That was enough for the pixie though, and it fluttered off as fast as it could. Hours later it returned, holding with both hands a large flower that sparkled softly as the light reflected in dewdrops on the leaves. It found the elf on the same spot and again fluttered in front of him, smiling and presenting the flower. The elf looked up briefly, and smiled a weak smile - a smile without joy or hope, but a smile nonetheless - then he looked down again. The pixie frowned. Disappointed that even such a nice flower had not cheered the elf up more it fluttered back up to the tree and sat down again. A butterfly landed next to him and he looked at it, but did not really see it, instead it saw just an insect. Then it understood and he fluttered down again, hovering in front of the elf until it got his attention. When it did, it touched its heart, fingers glowing golden with pixie magic it reached inside. When it pulled back its hand it was holding a small glowing flower, a blue forget-me-not but it was magical and sparkled. The elf frowned and shook his head, not understanding but then he smiled again as he looked at the flower and at the pixie. This time the smile was real, although it was still shrouded in darkness. The pixie fluttered closer to the elf and with another golden hand touched the elf's heart and pulled out a different flower. This one was coloured black but no less beautiful. Fluttering back so the elf could see, the pixie put the two flowers together and the forget-me-not entwined itself around the larger black flower, hugging it in the way of flowers. The elf smiled again as he watched, and the smile remained. The pixie flew closer again and with its magical touch placed both flowers into the heart of the elf then sat down on the elf's shoulder, waiting.
The elf looked around, as if he saw the forest for the first time, but he only saw what he had forgotten. It was green now, the darkness gone and bright beams of sunlight pierced the clouds of leaves above as they did his heart. He breathed in and smelled the freshness of life and as he did so seemed to grow. The pixie smiled as it looked sideways into the elf's eyes and swathe reflection of the trees. They seemed greener now that the elf was happier.
A butterfly fluttered past and the
pixie smiled as it recognised once again the magic dance of the wings
on the wind.
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The three stories, Freedom, Fate and Finding.
sadness
the gray clouds overlook the barren landscape
but in the center of the wasteland
where the sun never comes
and green never grows
in the center
blooms
a single bright flower
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