The dream came to him again.
The elegant elf-maid beckoning him closer, gesturing with her lithe arm to sit before her and grant her his full attention. He began to follow her direction, but paused before he crouched to take his place as the times before.
There was a faint scent of flowers around her this time. He could not place the type, but he knew that she had not a fragrance the times he had dreamt of her before. It perplexed him, and he knew that this time, he would finally seek answers to sate his mounting curiosity.
"Why do you come to me whilst I dream, elf-maid? I know not your name, and I am not sure if you know mine."
It was the first time he had ever questioned her. She did not answer immediately, just eyed him expressionlessly. He thought perhaps he had overstepped the limits of his sleeping imagination, but then she slowly rose from her seat, quietly opened the door of her dream-house, and waved a slender hand for him to follow.
He did, unanswered question left in the air.
She sang as she walked through the hamlet of graceful buildings with softly-lit windows. He followed her along the shore of a gently-moving stream, the delicate melody of her voice acting as a lead to guide him where she willed.
He supposed that elves did not have the burden of time with which to contend, and could afford to patiently trifle with keeping mysteries and riddles. As a much less illustrious man, though, he began to find the habit perturbing.
She brought him to an arched rotunda built on the banks of the water, ornately carved with fanciful patterns. There, she turned to him again, the rays of the sun glowing off her perfectly alabaster skin.
She finally spoke without intonation, and he found her voice pleasing in its own right. But what she said struck him to his very core.
She knew of his mournfulness and of his self-imposed exile. Of his long wanderings across the lands, alone with his grief and heartache. That he willingly chose ruination as his price for failure.
He stood still, completely stunned.
Somewhere beneath the surface he felt a swirling torrent of dormant emotions, but he forced the maelstrom even deeper and fought to keep a placid appearance in the face of such a startling proclamation.
She folded her hands before her, watching his response. Could she see his thoughts even now, he wondered?
The traveler did what he always did when he felt uncomfortable: he retrieved his smokes and quickly lit one with his flint. He took a long, deep, cleansing draw, and allowed it all to leave his body in one great cloud.
The elf-maid's expression turned to one of indignation as the haze of his pipe-weed surrounded them both. She turned sharply and left him standing beneath the arches, quipping as she did that she would find him again when he was ready to discuss the answers that he had sought.
The traveler stood alone for a time, finishing his smoke. He was not sure whether waking life or sleeping life was more bothersome.
