Hey friends! Well, beore I go away for two weeks, I wanted to post the start of Edoc'sil. :D

Here it is! It's short, yes, and a little randome, but hey, you guys don't mind, do ya? ;)

It's unbeta'd b/c my flight leaves in an hour and I have to be at the airport now.

Bye guys! Enjoy the prologue!


Disclaimer- Nope, still not mine.

"Where are you going?"

"On." -Xavier and the Proctor, Please Come Down with Me

Prologue: The Traveler

Sunlight, garish against the snow, bombarded the lone traveler as he walked, causing him to screw his eyes shut against the light and rely on his hearing to navigate. That in itself was not difficult; he was walking across a great stretch of open plain, and there was nothing to hider his progress or trip his feet.

At times the traveler wished for a companion, because he had been walking alone for weeks and he missed the voices of others, the sight of a friend or a lover, the feeling of protection that came with companionship. But he was an elf, and elves did not say such things. They bowed their heads and continued on.

Overhead the sun was blinded but cold, as the land was in the throes of winter. The cities, mere fledglings of what they would become, lay far to the west, past the great Hadrac desert, split by rivers and streams and lakes.

He was traveling to the end of the world.

There was no reason for doing so, in his mind. He did not consciously make the decision to leave his family behind, to walk and walk towards the sunrise without end. One night, after dreaming of a dragon made of fire and of a rock that had fallen from the sky, he had simply stood, gathered meager supplies, and walked out of Du Weldenvarden and into the world.

There has to be an end. He told himself, his feet freezing as they sank into the pristine, radiant snow with every step. Of course there was an end. The world did not go on forever—at some point it must drop, stop, and cease to exist.

What he was searching for, he did not know. At night vague images of coal-bright eyes and plummeting rocks filled his dreams, driving him to keep walking on and so he did. He discovered quickly that he did not tire easily or hunger—he slept once every five days and had not eaten since passing the fledgling city of Herdath over three moons ago.

It was magic, then, that pushed him on, it was the call of the arcane.

Of the gods? He wondered, once or twice, briefly, before pushing the thought away from him. As a rule, elves did not believe in the existence of a higher power—no god would go to the trouble of making all the creatures in Alagaesia and then let them tear themselves apart.

The elf had only been a baby during the Dragon War, but he had heard enough stories, seen enough grieving, shattered families, to understand that no god would allow war to happen to its people.

But still, this push, this relentlessness that drove him further and further east, was maddening. So far there had been nothing but flatland, great plains that rippled white and blue in the sunlight, occasionally cleaved in half by rivers. The Beors had ended long ago, and no other mountain ranges appeared on any horizon.

There was nothing, but at the same time…

At the same time there was everything.

The air was free, untainted, unbreathed by elves, dwarves, and dragons. The birds and the animals, the foxes, the wolves, ran up to him, sniffing him, fluttering around him, because they did not know that elves brought fire and blood into the forests, that war followed the beings of Alagaesia like a storm cloud.

It was peaceful, serene. And he, the lone traveler, loved it.

He missed his family, yes, and his friends, but the distance between them yawned and his solitude was comforting. It was safe and free, and, for the first time, he did not look at the horizon behind him and wonder what his wife was doing at that moment.

There was just the white in front of him, leading him on.

Squaring his shoulders, he followed.