Calathen opened his eyes. This place never ceased to amaze him. It was as if he was perched on the edge of the world. With his back against a large oak and his arms crossed behind his head he looked at the waves. He sat at the edge of a cliff. The sheer drop went down hundreds of feet. The wind blew fiercely so far up, but he was not afraid. He had been here many times. This was his quiet spot. All he could hear was the wind and the waves crashing against the stone. The short grass leaped and waved all around him and the seagulls cried. He tried to feel peaceful, he even looked peaceful on the outside. But inside there was a raging storm. He tapped his new leather boots against the rocks. “Of all the people, why him?” He thought suddenly. “He’s just a rich snob!” In an instant his thoughts went from anger, to regret. “I waited too long, she’s engaged now.” He pulled his legs in close and wrapped his gold pinned blue cloak around him. Despite the warmth of the sun, he had never felt more cold. He had already been here for hours, and he knew that the others would be looking for him. “I no longer care.” He said grabbing a rock and chucking it over the side. He just wanted to forget his responsibilities and the fact that he had at least 10 meetings today. Being a noble could wait another hour. His wavy blonde hair that was once styled neatly had been blown in all directions. For an elf, he looked pretty disheveled. He slowly got up and began pacing. “How could I let him do it? I was right there! I could have said something! Anything. But I didn’t. How could I be so stupid?” This went on for a long time. Once one gets in the habit of self pity they tend to spiral. When at last he had no more to say he just stared. The sky had grayed and it looked like rain would come. “Perfect,” he practically spit out. “Just perfect, it matches how I feel after all.” He then began walking back. His father would most certainly scold him for being gone so long. So he broke into a jog. A few sprinkles of rain fell down but it soon passed as his long legs carried him over the fijords top. When he reached the steps he slowed down. He did not want to go back yet. So he took the long way through the Forrest. As the falling leaves crunched under his feet he tried not to think about it, but he couldn’t avoid it. The moment kept returning to his mind. He was behind a pillar, hiding for fear they would see him. He hated Decalin. He hated his stupid perfect face and his perfectly combed hair. He was the very image of royalty and unfortunately he had to endure many meetings with him. And thus he got to know him pretty well. After the first meeting he avoided him whenever possible. And on this very day when he saw him he hid. Then he heard her voice. The unmistakable voice he had grown so used to hearing. Ethenlia was talking with Decalin, his loud voice was like that of a herald. He asked her to marry him with a flower. Since there was other people in the large round garden who had definitely heard what he said, Ethenlia had done the polite thing and asked if they could speak of it elsewhere. Which of course he agreed to in a most obnoxiously regal and loud tone. Calathen had wanted to follow. But he thought to himself then, “It’s what’s best for her. He has everything, and he knows how to lead.” He repeated this to himself as he walked into a small circular opening in the trees. His brain simply refused to except it. He shouted, “It’s what’s best. Not me, it was never me, so just get over it!” He punched the nearest tree until his knuckles were bloodied and swollen. He collapsed, sitting on his knees he put his head against the tree and sobbed. Once a few tears came they would not stop. It was an ugly cry, the kind that if you heard you would want to walk far far away. When the sky turned pink with the suns descent he finally stopped. He opened his satchel and pulled out a small vial. He put two drops on his hand and slowly rubbed it in. “Ahh,” he groaned with pain. It burned like fire but slowly the swolleness went down and the cuts started to heal. Elves heal well on their own but without medicine injuries leave a scar. Then he heard a shout. “Cal!” Then a pause, “Calathen!” Came the call again. He knew that voice. Only one person had the privilege of giving him a nickname. “Ethenlia!” He shouted. “Cal!” Came a nearer call. Then a worried face broke through the treeline and into the opening. She paused in the evening light and looked at him with a tears streaming down her cheeks. He forced himself up, surprised by how weak he felt, and used his hand to balence against the tree. He slowly walked toward her. The tears were falling faster now and as she said, “I thought you-you had fallen and where hurt or… and you-you where gone for so long,” she choked as he came closer, “and your father-“ she had to stop then as the sobbing began. He reached out she collapsed in his arms. To his surprise he started crying as well. All of the built of emotions of that day sprang forth and he couldn’t stop. So they just stood there comforting each other.