14 – Autumn’s Moon

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Draft 1 – Updated 28 OCT 2025 (C014/D001)

Autumn stood silently on the cliff’s edge gazing down on Dawson’s farm. In the distance, Emmett rose from his rocking chair to extinguish a glowing lantern before disappearing through his front door followed by his canine companion.

A full moon was rising over the snow-capped horns. Its bright white light sparkled on the ribbon of river water twisting on the inky valley floor below. A large reptilian shadow soared on leathery wings, gliding along the cold river’s course.

Tranquil ripples of energy whispered through the branches behind him, muffling the nearly imperceptible crackle of adult everwood beetles munching on flakes of bark. Coyotes yelped from the woods beyond the river and somewhere on a darkened slope above, a goat screamed as it was taken by a mountain lion.

*****

“Why doesn’t Selanar like me?”

Ensoulment days raised long dead memories for Autumn.

Elf children were uncommon in The Wood. Therefore elf children were often lonely. Selenar was more than two years older than Autumn. The next closest in age was still a babe in arms.

“Your differences make him uneasy,” Mother replied. “Give him time. He will come to know you.”

Autumn was not sure that would ever happen.

“I don’t want to be different.”

A small smile touched Mother’s lips. “You are different, Autumn.” She spoke gently. “He is nearly three years older than you.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

She laid a hand gently on her child’s head. “The ancestors gave you a gift, Autumn. Please don’t be ungrateful.”

“But I don’t want to be different. I want to be like Selanar.”

“Selanar is an elf; you are an elf el’a drin—an elf given more.”

“I don’t want more,” young Autumn pouted. “I don’t want two souls.”

Mother smiled and stroked her child’s ginger hair. “You only have one, Autumn—”

“Selanar says I have two. My soul and the soul of an old man.”

Autumn’s mother smiled. “When the ancestors made your soul, they added to it the essence of the autumn el’a drin who came before you. It is a great honour, my dear.”

“But I don’t . . . it’s not an honour. I want to be like Selanar.”

“All elves are given something, Autumn. Some are given more,” she replied, remaining patient. “We are who the ancestors make us.”

“But, why me?” Autumn’s voice bridled with resentment.

“The world is a complicated place, dear. Our people need teachers.”

“I can’t teach. I’m not wise. Selanar is wiser than I am.”

“Selanar is older. Not wiser. The young are never wise. One day you will be older. Then you will teach.”

“But I don’t want to teach. I just want to be . . . normal.”

*****

The past few nights had been busy for Autumn. Befriending dogs and ferrying supplies to the grove by night then leading and organizing the children by day had drained his sap. He needed some rest.

Tonight was important to him. It was the anniversary of his ensoulment. He craved silence . . . and some time alone. 

*****

“All of the groves want to mentor you,” Lord Elrod told Autumn years later. “It is a great honour to mentor an elf el’a drin.”

Autumn didn’t want a mentor. Autumn didn’t like elves or their stupid ways. 

“Your mother would choose Pureheart grove, if it were up to her.”

“My friend is Pureheart. Selanar Pureheart.”

“He is indeed. And you’d like to be with your friend?”

The words had stuck in Autumn’s throat.

 Lord Ulrod had a keen eye. “You are . . . uneasy.”

“Selanar’s mentor . . . Zeet . . . they call him. He’s . . . he’s the Regent Arbiter’s brother.”

“They are brothers,” Ulrod confirmed, tipping his head forward, looking curiously at the young el’a drin.

Autumn was afraid to say more.

“Does Zeet frighten you?” Ulrod wondered.

Zeet made Autumn uneasy. There was something dark in Pureheart Grove. It felt wrong there. Zeet felt . . . wrong.

“The regent arbiter will not be offended. Zetetsik Pureheart is . . . intense. Surely his own brother knows that.” Ulrod was confident of his words. “One of the other groves then?” he suggested.

“I feel”—guilt thickened the words on Autumn’s tongue, making them sticky—“I feel like . . . I . . . I . . . I don’t belong here.”

Ulrod’s eyebrows lifted, but he did not seem surprised. 

“In The Wood,” Autumn clarified. “I feel . . . like I don’t belong here.”

“You are not the first elf al’a drin to feel that way,” Ulrod confessed.

“I’m not?” Mother had said nothing of this.

“Many elves leave The Wood at your age. But most come back in time.”

Autumn didn’t plan to come back. 

“Mentorship in a grove is the most convenient option for the Beloved Council. It is safer in The Wood. We can protect you here. But it is not the only option. If you wish, you can be mentored outside of The Wood.”

“I’d like to consider that.” Mother will be disappointed but Selanar won’t care. Once I’m out, maybe I won’t have to have a mentor. 

“There are three el’a drin living who can mentor you. One of the three is with the Enonian Order—here—in The Wood. Meaning . . . if you wish to be mentored outside of The Wood, you will have a choice of two potential mentors.”

Autumn hinged forward, hanging on every word. It seemed like a way out.

“Alluin el’a drin is in the free lands. You would have to find him. It is a dangerous journey. And he may not want to be found.” Ulrod’s face was serious. “If you do find him, I can’t say if he will agree to mentor you. However, you may seek him out and ask. We will, of course, help you do that.”

“If he says no?” Two down; one to go.

“Your other option lives in the haff-land.”

“Oh,” Autumn sagged. “That’s . . . so close.”

Lord Ulrod nodded. “If your goal is to get away from home, then you will likely not want to move in next door. Then there is the fact that she is human.”

“Human?” The revelation caught Autumn off guard. “A human el’a drin?”

“Elora el’a drin.”

“I didn’t know that was possible.”

“Any fetus touched by an everwood can be el’a drin, if the ancestors make it so.”

“Touched?”

“Healed, for example. Elora’s mother was newly with child when she was healed by an everwood,” he explained. “Her child’s soul mixed with the souls of our ancestors.”

“So that made her el’a drin?”

“No,” Ulrod’s blunt reply was gentle but emphatic.  “Elroa is el’a drin because the ancestors chose to give her more.”

*****

As the steadily filling moon climbed toward its apex, Autumn reached the upper tarn’s edge. From his belt, he produced a thumb-sized strip of everwood bark which he set down on a flat stone next to the water’s edge. He then emptied his pockets, carefully arranging his many pouches and bundles of ingredients on the ground. Next to these he placed a knit woolen toque, a roll of gray linen, and a bundle of new clothing.

He disrobed and hung his old garments on a stout dry branch before picking up the toque, placing it on his head, and carefully tucking every strand of his red hair beneath it. When that was done, he unrolled the fathom long strip of linen, placed an edge between his teeth and began winding it tightly around his forehead, layering it tightly over the toque. When this task was completed and the entire fathom had been wrapped around his head, Autumn’s ginger hair and eyebrows were hidden beneath the crisp grey linen. 

Chill night air caressed Autumn’s bare lignin-colored skin and stirred the fine hair on his chest. Nocturnal sounds issuing from the trees hinted that the night shift was fully underway. Everwood beetles, their wings buzzing, flitted from branch to branch fulfilling their duties masticating dead bark, keeping the trees clean, healthy, and free of harmful pests. Bats, the beetles’ primary predators, careened in the open spaces over the water and in the hollows between the tree tops, picking off the unlucky. 

A raft of otters formed a sleeping island that floated at the far end of the tarn. A mountain lion appeared on the rise above, nearest the near end where Autumn had tied his wrap. It raised its nose to sniff the air, inspected the distant raft of otters, scanned the moonlit shoreline, and then picked its way silently down the slope, carefully avoiding rivulets leaking down to the tarn. 

Moonlight bounced off of the pool of water between them, reflecting soft white light on the cat’s chest, chin, and forelegs. Autumn could see dark wet stains on its face and claws. Fresh blood from a recent kill. At the water’s edge, the big cat lowered its muzzle to drink. Its tongue touched the water sending out a burst of ripples that radiated across the tarn and tickled the otters from their slumber. Unintimidated by its distant presence, some kept watch while others drifted back to sleep. 

*****

“Humans are not my people,” Elora told Autumn. “Elves are not yours.” They were walking along the shore of the upper tarn. The autumn moon floated full about their heads. “El’a drin are few. We have no community. Therefore we have no customs, no traditions but those we create.”

Autumn hated rules. Elf rules seemed so arbitrary.

*****

Autumn bent to retrieve the strip of bark from the stone next to his clothing. The brief instant of the moon’s fullness was fast approaching and there were still a few things to do. 

Kneeling at the edge of the tarn, he placed the strip of bark on his tongue and sucked a mouthful of water from the surface. Chewing without swallowing he stood back to his full height. 

The mountain lion, hearing sounds and sensing movement, spotted Autumn for the first time. She paused her drinking. Her yellow eyes locked on the creature across the pond. 

When the bark was sufficiently masticated and the everwood oils were emulsified in the pure waters of Elora’s tarn, Autumn squirted a small amount of the liquid through his lips into an open palm. Rubbing both hands together, he distributed the oils through his fingers then ran his fingers through his beard. Another squirt was rubbed into his neck and throat. Next were his pits. Then his chest. And, after some contortions, his back.  Autumn continued until he was covered from beard to toes in an emulsified perfume of the forest. 

Then he turned to face the moon, gesticulated with fluttering fingers, uttered some buzzy words, and reached upward, rising on his toes until he arrived at his maximum potential height. 

The blood-stained predator saw Autumn turn his back and reach toward the moon. Instinctively, she lowered her profile and began prowling along the shoreline—approaching the scentless creature from behind. 

The first beetle alighted on Autumn’s leg—thook— just below his knee. The second—thook—on his rib cage four inches below his armpit. Then three landed simultaneously in his beard. Like the first rain drops of a sudden storm, the intensity of the thick-shelled beetles swelled from a trickle into a downpour. They pelted down from the trees falling like thick black hail. Soon, Autumn’s elvish form was smothered beneath a dense mass of swarming beetles, as he swayed gently, arms raised, beneath the fattened moon. 

The big cat circled along the shoreline with flattened ears and unblinking eyes. Well within striking distance, it stopped and lowered its belly to the stones ringing the tarn. Its toes found purchase in the rocks, its rear haunches loaded, coiled, ready to launch its thick body forward. Transfixed by the moving insects, the cat’s wide eyes tracked the beetles who finished their tasks and buzzed back to work in the everwoods. Layers of insects peeled away from Autumn, exposing skin in small bare spots that grew into strips and, soon, spread into empty patches.

Picked clean by the beetles, the now-hairless creature waded into the tarn’s icy cold until the water reached its nipples. The cat watched curiously as it removed its headgear, untied its hair, and submerged itself in the water. 

The otters, awakened by their friend’s familiar movements, approached and circled. As they frolicked and wrestled, their coats polished Autumn’s oily bare skin removing crumbs of hair left behind by the gnawing beetles. 

The moon passed its instance of maximum fullness and began a slow cycle of recession. The predator relaxed. Its belly full from an earlier kill, it slid softly out of hunting mode. The curious events at the tarn now had her full attention. 

At length the smooth skinned eladrin separated from the otters, kissing each one gently on the head as they parted. Making its way toward the shore, the creature acknowledged the cat with a friendly, rumbling purr. The big cat approached, paused, then lowered her head to nuzzle and claim the purring creature as a friend.

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