The Lullaby of Youth

The elf moved swiftly through the shadows, his hair floating gently like seaweed. His sharp almond-shaped eyes carefully measured the surroundings, despite his celerity. He made no sound, left no trace. Not a single pebble trembled on the forest path, not a single thorn caught in his cape. Only the wind caressed his nacreous skin, and only the bark of the old oaks felt his touch. 

A night owl curiously turned its head backwards and gazed at the guest, a jackal respectfully bowed at him, a helpful firefly lit his path. That night, the crickets played a long-forgotten song on their thin violins. It was of many things and awakened many feelings: longing, loving, lamenting.  

He knew this song very well, it was his mother’s.

The lullaby of youth. 

At last, the elf slowed his pace and stopped at a round pond lit by a lunar beam. He sat on the shore stones, wrapped arms around his knees and stared at the water. His eyes contained such profound sadness — endless as the night sky and just as dark. 

The small eels hid in the depths with glum in their tiny hearts. The cattails swung their heads in sorrow, the frogs slipped under the sand. Seeing their reflection in the stranger’s dark irises, the depths of the water trembled with regret.

The elf’s piercing eyes shifted to the other side of the pond, the edges of his long thin ears twitched. A young fox was staring at him and he stared back. 

“Hello,” the fox said.

“Good evening,” the elf replied, his voice melodic but firm. 

“Will you hunt me?” The fox asked.

“I am not here to hunt.”

“Why did you come here?”

The elf lifted his head, his sunfire hair moved aside and revealed the face of a god. His beauty was awe-inspiring, outworldly ethereal. The crowns of the trees sighed. 

“I am here to listen to the song of the forest. It can be heard only on Midsummer’s Eve.”

“Why do you need to hear this song?” The fox asked.

“Why do you wish to know?” 

“I am a fox. The more I know, the better.”

“You need not concern yourself with me. Please, leave me be.”

They sat there in silence. The fox and the elf, at the two sides of the pond. 

The song floated on the summer breeze, and the bark of the trees grew sticky with sap, for it was the old beeches’ tears. The elf stood up and stepped waist-deep into the water. He slowly laid down on his back and began to float on the surface as a lonely lily. His long amber locks curled around his body like tentacles. The stranger closed his eyes and focused on the surrounding sounds. The crickets’ violins, now mixed with the whispers of the pond, increased his heartbeat. Memories of happier times flooded his mind and a silver tear ran down his marble cheek. 

“Why do you do this?” The fox interrupted the silence.

“You are still here?” The elf lifted his head and looked at the animal disapprovingly. “I asked you to leave me alone.”

“But I can’t, I need to know why you’re doing this. Otherwise, I’ll wonder until the end of my days.”

The elf sighed. He had neither the will to shoo the fox away nor the energy to argue with an animal. He continued floating on the pond’s surface weightless as a leaf.

“I am grieving, fox. Do you know of Grief?”

“All living beings know of Grief, elf. And I’m a fox and know of many more.”

“Has Grief ever visited you?”

It was the animal’s turn to stare reproachfully at the elf. 

“I’m a creature of the forest. Grief is our permanent guest as we all have to eat and we all have to be eaten.” The fox added painfully, “I lost my little ones this spring.”

Empathy sparkled in the elf’s eyes, he frowned. The stranger didn’t say anything but continued gazing at the endless sky while floating. The fox felt a heavy sorrow in her heart and whimpered quietly. 

They sat there in the summer’s eve listening to the crickets who sang about forgotten feelings, sweet sleeping memories, buried laughter. The lullaby of youth, the melody of childhood.

They both silently wept, remembering all that was gone, dreaming of all that would never be. And just as it suddenly began, the tune ceased and the forest was engulfed within heavy silence.

  The elf stood up, wrung out his golden hair, and lay on the shore. Not long after, the fox curved into a ball next to him.

“Were you grieving for your little ones?” The elf whispered.

“I thought of many things. My little ones, myself as a little one, my mother. I yearn for more children if I’ll live until next spring.”

The elf locked his eyes with the fox’s. The darkness of the forest witnessed their bond by loss and pain. Finally, the elf lifted his hand and placed his wide pale palm between the fox’s ears. He closed his eyes, whispered a chant, and a soft light flowed from his long fingers, spreading around the fox’s body. The animal looked uncertain. 

“What did you do to me?”

“You now have my blessing. You will bear children once again.” 

The fox hesitated at first, then placed her head on his lap, closing her eyes as his long fingers buried themselves in her thick orange fur. 

“Why did you need to hear this song?” 

There was a long pause. It felt as if the whole forest awaited for an answer, even the moon peeked from the clouds.

“It is the only way I can remember.”

“Instead of dwelling on the past, why not create a future?”

“There is no future for me,” the elf replied and the tree leaves trembled in despair.

“Why?”

He looked down and his celestial eyes met the fox’s gaze.

“I am the last elf.”

Illustration from “Unicorn: Warriors Eternal” by Genndy Tartakovski