morning it was to be that day! The noises, scents, and activities of Merahill cluttered the hectic main streets, causing Arya to reconsider what a city was. The elven lady had never been to one in her lifetime and had never wished to, abhorring with the over elves that a mortal city was occupied by nothing more than thieves pilfering and the airing of people’s dirty laundry above the paved lanes. Now, however, Arya’s opinions had altered as she slowly made her way through the traffic of people and carts to perceive that it was not exactly so. Cities were grand mazes with edifices made from brick and impregnated with busy, poor, selfish, noisy mortals, and other of such ilk. Dwarves were also sporadically spotted in the crowd with their long beards, stoutness, and heavily slurred accents from their constant drinks at the taverns and inns. The lady looked on in front and treaded carefully. An hour soon slipped past and Arya gave up riding Fireling because of the slow movement of the mass of people. Allowing her white steed to traverse slowly beside her, Arya gazed to find her destination. She had arrived! It was a three floored inn that had long been closed down for the startling event that had ensued there. The worn down inn, Silvercrest’s Ale, now was left bare and partly burnt black with its wooden sign post that swung with the wind, creaking and croaking. Cautiously, Arya approached the inn and called out several times. “Belor?? Belor?? Are you in there somewhere?? It’s Arya.” There was no answer. Then abruptly, the door or what was left of it opened up and a lean wizened fellow with ears that seemed to appear slightly pointed stepped out. Being quite taken aback with his looks, Arya quietly muttered to herself, “Is that you, Belor? You don’t quite appear to look like who you were a while ago.” “Oh yes, it’s Belor, son of Belowin, the same old one that played together as children,” said Belor aberrantly with his elderly tone. The surprise in Arya’s voice gradually abated as she came to recognize that the old man’s features were indeed in some way similar to the very lad she had played with during her heydays of youth. It was quite intriguing to see Belor different from what he once was. Arya was stunned. In spite of everything, Belor was still half elven and should have been able to live a long life of mortality akin to the others, but why this? Why this oldness and still quite young in the eyes of the elves? In any case, it had only been about 80 years since his exile out of the elven woods. Was he really different from the rest of the elves? Was he to be abased in front of the other elves for being born half elven and half man? Arya could do nothing but pretend everything was fine. It was not her burden to be carried that he was out of the woods, away from his people. Or was it still after giving up her promises to be the High Lady of her people? Giving a meek façade of joy for the reuniting between with Belor and herself, she followed her abject friend of childhood who invited her in to his disarrayed dwelling. “I know it’s not quite much, but at least it’s habitable. Anyway, no thieves or hooligans bother to try to enter this place anymore. Oh yes, and please, spare me, do get yourself comfortable,” acknowledged Belor hoarsely as he cleared a little table and pulled out a wooden chair from the back of the inn.