<i>Two days earlier...</i><br/><br/>Haafmun lay face up on the ground with Cella beside him, just inches away, staring at the stars in the night sky. The grassy knoll where they lay was soft with long, fragrant grasses just outside of the paddocks where Cella's livestock and horses meandered during the day. At this hour, they were all stabled and the only sounds that came from the barns were the occasional distant lowing or clank from a cowbell. There was a casual silence between them as they looked at the night sky, but Haaf could feel tension tugging at the edges of it, and while he understood it, he still wished it weren't so.<br/><br/>Cella rolled over onto her stomach, her silhouette obscuring the light of the waxing moon for a moment. She sighed, looking down at Haaf's face as he continued to look at the sky. He knew she'd finally gathered the courage to speak her mind and he braced himself for it. There was a long pause as she gathered her words and he shifted with the subconscious awkwardness that always predicated moments of conflict whether they were heated or not.<br/><br/>"You're really going?" she finally asked.<br/><br/>He felt her reach out and gently brush her fingers along the side of his head that was shaven to a soft fuzz. She always loved doing that because she said it felt like velvet. He'd liked it, too, because the warmth of true fondness and connectedness always captured his heart.<br/><br/>"Oh, yes!" he answered as a smile sprung to his youthful features. He was excited about his new adventure, but he instantly regretted it. Not so much the words themselves; those were true, but the silence between them suddenly grew heavier and he knew the way those words had been delivered had hurt her heart. She continued on before he could explain.<br/><br/>"But it was just a dream, Haaf. Everyone has dreams. They're the folly of the night's mind. If we all acted on them, nothing in the world would make sense. We'd all just be chasing fantasies."<br/><br/>His eyes fell from the moon and he blinked softly with a heavy sigh. This time it was the other way around; Cella's words hurt his heart. She was a kindly woman with plain features and a giving soul. They'd met months ago and he'd frequented her lands and her hearth ever since. She loved him in the way that humans loved one another and made lasting commitments to stay together; and now that she was trying to get him to stay, he also feared she loved him in the way that people fell in love with the fae. It was often an unfortunate kind of love for most and one that could turn to obsession.<br/><br/>"Cella," he chuckled lightly. There was a musical tone to its lightness that he knew she loved, too, but he couldn't help that. "My dreams are so important to me. They aren't flights of fancy or crazy mixed-up stories of the mind. Well, I guess sometimes they are, but not this one. It was a dream that brought me here, you know. Remember that?"<br/><br/>Despite his warmth and lightness, her mood remained the same and settled into further opposition. "But you're so good with the animals and the gardens. Remember how you helped Nellie birth her first calf? And how the plum trees were struggling until you came? Now they're blossoming and bearing better than I've ever seen," she began to tally up all the reasons why she felt he should stay even though she was leaving out the most important and truest one. "Not to mention how your medicine finally cured me of that aching limp I had for so many years."<br/><br/>"Cella, Cella, I know that's all true," he began as his mood and tone shifted to emphasize the importance of his decision. "but I taught you how to do all those things and even more."<br/><br/>He sat up, pulling away to put a few more inches between them as he steeled himself for the inevitability he'd hoped wouldn't come. "You don't need me here, now. You just want me here," his head sagged.<br/><br/>The reality for him and others of his kind was that often others grew attached and sometimes that attachment could become possessive. While Cella wasn't anyone he would call dangerous, he knew her attachment to him was now becoming another reason he had to go.<br/><br/>"Whether or not you believe me doesn't make my dream any less real. I have to go," he stood up and didn't dare to look at her. He'd planned to leave in the morning, but at that moment he felt he shouldn't wait until then. He first headed back to the little farm cottage where Cella lived and picked up a few of the things he'd left there for convenience. He was happy she didn't follow and imagined she still thought he was staying at least until morning. He imagined she was still lying there in anger and sadness. It was something he wished wasn't true, but it was a hard truth all the same. He headed on to the humble camp he'd been staying at part-time for the last few months and gathered the rest of his things, those most precious things that told the truth about his true fae nature that Cella had never picked up on. Sometimes it was best to keep secrets like that. Sometimes it meant life, capture, or even death if you didn't. He never wanted to find himself in the gilded cage of some obsessed collector being exploited for his fae magic.<br/><br/>With all his belongings on his back, he set out under the light of the waxing moon with the firm earth under his feet and his dream to lead the way.<br/><br/><i>Present-day...</i><br/><br/>Haaf followed the road to the gates of Evidalier and stood in awe of them as travelers and citizens passed in and out of them, veering to the left and right of him as he stood in the center of the road, hear turned up, mouth agape as he took in the sight of the impressive entry. He'd never seen such a gate and he couldn't simply pass through it without taking in the architectural and artistic wonder that it was. It was such a feast for the eyes that he scarcely noticed the shouts and complaints for him to get out of the way. It took a gate guard harshly scolding him to move along to actually get him to do so. Once inside, his wonder was quickly replaced as the joy of knowing he'd arrived at his destination hit him. He had no doubt that this was where his dream had meant for him to go; but what to do now? His dreams weren't clear instructions, they were more like mist-shrouded feelings that nudged him towards a calling. His calling was here, he was certain, but for what, he didn't know yet.<br/><br/>He stepped aside from the main road between a vendor of cloth and a stand of vegetables. If he was to walk through the muck of this city, it wouldn't be on bare feet. The thought was momentarily repugnant as he grabbed his boots from his bag clandestinely. He'd learned quite some time ago that he should hide his boots or risk someone trying to thieve them from him. They were special; given to him by his mother when he was still just an infant. Fae made, they were beautiful beyond the capability of normal people, even elves, and they'd grown along with him to always be a comfortable fit. When he wore them, they made everything just right. His feet were neither too hot nor too cold, never tired, always light and quiet, and gave him the nimbleness of a flitting fairy or Leprechaun dancing. He needed none of those things at that moment, but he did need something to keep the street slop off his feet and they did just fine for that, too. With a quick and subtle bit of glamour, his fine fae boots looked like any commoner's worn footwear.<br/><br/>He wandered the streets of Evidalier for hours waiting to feel that 'tug', but so much about the city was just overwhelming to his senses. The scents, sounds, and myriad of people and animals of all kinds constantly pulled his attention in different directions taking him down streets, docks, and alleys with seemingly no sense whatsoever until finally, just as the sun pitched at its highest point in the sky, he felt it.<i>IT! </i>As his eyes fell on the carved and brightly painted sign for the Lion Inn, he knew he was where he was supposed to be. He hurried through the crowd, ducking and weaving to avoid being trampled or otherwise injured by the crowd of mid-day bustlers until he finally reached the door. There, he was blocked by a man who was seemed to be hesitating and hedging on whether or not to go in.<br/><br/>Haaf waited patiently, satisfied that whatever awaited him inside would be content to wait a few moments longer. As if making some silent final decision, the man moved through the door and turned left and Haaf noticed his attempt to obscure his face from the people inside as he did so. Interesting. The subtle move caught Haaf's attention and he also skewed left, casually moving in the same path as the man before him. He stopped briefly to snatch two mugs from a serving girl's tray. She protested with a slew of words that weren't becoming for either her or himself.<br/><br/>"Gods curse ya, ya filthy Halfling!" she scowled. "Put those back, ya pint-sized piece of dung. Thieves get hung in this city, ya know."<br/><br/>He didn't take it to heart. She clearly didn't know much if she thought he was a Halfling. He was, perhaps, a little short for the human man he appeared to be, but he was far from short enough to be a Halfling. He just smiled brightly at her and produced two coins from his pouch. They were tin disks, but with a little glamour, they looked like the proper currency to pay for the drinks. Quickly infused with a little fae luck magic, she'd be making good tips from other patrons for the rest of the day. It was a fine balance of charity and stealing that justified his little ruse, he thought to himself.<br/><br/>With mugs in hand, he turned his gaze to find the man he'd been following. Haaf spotted him there by the fire, watching everyone it seemed, but particularly a group of uniquely individual individuals. He stepped airily through the crowd and sat criss-cross applesauce on the floor with his back to the fire, directly in front of the man. Wearing a soft leather armor top with no shirt underneath, clam digger breeches with a patchworked loose knee-length women's skirt, and enough charms, baubles, and gems to start his own shop, Haaf looked like he'd been in an untimely collision with a circus wagon. With a bright warm smile, he thrust out a mug toward the man.<br/><br/>"Mead," he stated its contents with a cheerful, light tone then added frankly, "You shouldn't hide it, you know? Your face. It's handsome and you have soulful eyes. You're looking for something, is it them?" he indicated with a nod in the direction of the center table. "I'm looking for something, too. Wouldn't it be something if we were looking for the same thing?"