DAYS passing, he came across a tall, grassy hill, and rising hundreds of feet to its summit, he saw a series of much smaller rolling hills each colored with meadows of varied flowers. In intense exuberance he ran down the slope, and crashed through several trees, striking them down with his loaded sack. But he always made sure to evade the tallest, for they were to him as guardians of the lands, old and wise and ever watchful, and as such he would always accord them deference—in this case, by fully ignoring them.

The meadows in sight, he leaped and rolled on myriads of roses, lilies, acacia, tulips, and many more, breathing the delightful smell they emitted. For hours he stayed lying on the bed of flowers, feeling thorough relaxation.

Night came, and he awoke still tired. Having spent much energy rushing down the hill, not even the long nap on the meadow was able to sate his fatigue. He dropped his sack and foraged for some wood and food at the base of the large hill. After running back and forth, he dumped the load onto the spot and held tight his index finger and thumb.

When they were fully pressed, he released them, and in between emerged a single radiant flame. Blowing it, he conjured a stream of fire that flew toward the kindling nestled in the bundle of sticks. It lighted, and taking another stick, he thrust some pieces of fig, melon, tamarind, and almond and roasted them over the fire, watching as the flames danced and morphed the color of the fruit. When time had passed, he gulped down the hot contents in one bite and released a heated belch, laughing as his body warmed and his hunger sated.

For a time, he would sit by the fire, keeping the flames alive by will alone, long after the wood and kindle had burnt entirely to ash. There, gazing at it, the fire would reflect in his deep green eyes that shone like emeralds, and he would cycle his power between himself and the flames, bringing a calm sensation as he absorbed the fire’s vigor.

On breaking his daze, he would snuff out the flames, disperse the ashes into the air, and lie flat over a thin piece of tapestry his parents had packed for him. He looked to the night sky and beheld the constellations amassed in the milk of stars trailing into the horizon.

This was the freedom he sought and had now obtained. And while many questions still lingered in his mind, and the road became ever harsher and would in all likelihood become fraught with peril, it mattered little to him at that moment, for suffering and burden were – after all – much needed to truly appreciate the little moments as those that made journeys such a wonderful delight. Little thought would come of his home in the time that passed, and for a long time thereafter, he would feel no urge to venture back, ever enthusiastic for the next destination he sought.

When morning came, he set out along the path toward a river. It would not be long before he reached the edge of the Cedar Forest, and he began wondering what or who it was he would find there.

Along the way, he saw many discarded ornamental items and luxurious clothes. Seeming a bit odd to him, he decided to pick each one up as he came across them and threw them into his sack, hoping that the owner would turn up along the trail. The items were unlike anything he had seen.

Traders would often come by the village dealing in such goods from time to time, not that anyone yearned much to either spend coin or barter for food and animals. Yet these were of different quality and make, enough to make one suspect if they were even real.

They had a pristine but unnatural glow that encased them, and not one of the items picked along the way carried any sort of damage to itself. At the time, he thought little of it and continued to pick each one up as the trail of discarded items extended for miles, all the way to the river.

When he had picked up the last item, he looked in front to see the massive stream of water and accompanying rapids that put a great distance between him and the other side. He also saw jumping fish and, at that moment, desired to catch one merely to look at it. But just as he was about to rush to the river, he saw just beside it, under the shade of a lone cedar, a girl who sat exhausted and sweating from head to toe.

It was peculiar, for while days did run hot during that time of year, the day itself was not particularly stifling, or to Tūmbṃār at least, it did not seem so; perhaps she had overexerted herself.

Looking to the side of her, he noticed a wide dirt trail over the grass, as if something had been dragged over it. And shifting his gaze to the water again, he saw a massive golden chest washing away with the rapids. Then he wondered if she had thrown it. But given what looked to be her frail constitution, he shook his head.

Tūmbṃār approached her and – upon seeing her clothes – said, “Salutations, newlywed!”

She broke from her daze and looked up to Tūmbṃār. Her eyes grew wide as if surprised, but they soon after lowered halfway. She looked at herself before waving her hand with a weak gesture. “No, child, you have it wrong. These are but normal garments.”

Tūmbṃār was perplexed for he knew no one who wore clothes so closely resembling her own. Her upper half bore a white and red bodice lined with golden accents, stretching to just above her midriff, the sleeves of which held fast to her skin and covered well up to each wrist.

Atop the bodice was a long and thin piece of light golden scarf, wrapped around her neck, draping her chest and then right down to her hips, arcing upon her back. Yet it seemed in this case that the top of the scarf fused into the upper portion of the garment, leaving only the ends to sway.

Under the garment was a slightly longer red shirt, embroidered with yellow designs that arced just above her navel with many fine pieces of jewelry suspended from the ends.

Her lower half bore a red skirt, the sides of which were cut along the length to reveal a white and golden fhorlia underneath. And wrapped around her hips was a thick white sash, its end dangling just above her knees. The designs themselves also, peculiarly, did not bear the symbols of the Gods.

By any account, one would say this was indeed a modified ceremonial wedding raiment, a beautiful and similar but odd dress.

Yet she looked even more majestic than her attire, possessing smooth silver hair, crimson eyes, and skin of a pallid hue. Qualities that together, were a rarity in their world.

She looked to be halfway, or close as such, through her maidenhood, no younger than sixteen years. It was said that few residents of the Western continent possessed traits of similar nature.

Tūmbṃār had little reason to think that such physical beauty could be transcended, for it was as if she had been sent by the Gods themselves. But he held little attraction to her, for the expectations he held for a noble-like person had been shattered on sight of her undignified repose.

He then realized that she could be the person who had discarded all those items. Dropping and opening his sack in front of her, he asked, “Are these yours, lady?”

She peered inside and gave a slow nod in return. And then once again, she rested her head against the cedar trunk as her eyes stayed but halfway open. She said with a soft voice, “Water,” and Tūmbṃār went to the river and using some thick cloth in his sack, carried some back to her. He attempted to drip it into her mouth, but his hand slipped, and he spilt it all on her.

She cocked her head his way, her eyebrows furrowed. Tūmbṃār gave a sheepish smile and held his tongue, embarrassed, at which she grabbed him and ground her knuckles into his head.

“First, I am cast from my home, given a most assuredly impossible task. Second, I am to walk across this forsaken land, to carry all items upon my person, and third, an insolent child shows himself before me who—while I am grateful for him picking up my things—gives a look of confusion and then drips and dumps soiled river water upon me! O! Why have my forefathers cursed me so!” And Tūmbṃār laughed as the grinding of her knuckles persisted atop his head.

The maiden’s eyes widened in surprise when she finished listening to Tūmbṃār’s story, and she said, “You mean to tell me that you were cast from your home due to a curse placed on you by a sage – who then became your teacher – and now you are journeying for twelve years until the curse has passed?” Tūmbṃār nodded, and she embraced him, saying, “O poor child! You are much like me, cast away from your home, to not return until something or other has come to fruition or passed!”

“Please let go, lady; your smell is unpleasant.”

“And yet your insolence has not abated!” She let him go and said, “but nonetheless, seeing as I have nowhere else to go, and that I could not leave a child alone in good conscience, I shall accompany you through the Cedar Forest!”

He nodded, glad he had one more person to come with him, and continued to roast food skewered with sticks as she fixed her hair with a jeweled comb.

They had set camp at the edge of the Cedar Forest across the river. He had given the lady quite some trouble as he had thrown her over his shoulder and jumped across – hopping on any peeking stone – running quite fast to where they were now. Reaching the forest was of great import, for finding food under darkness was no easy task, not even for Tūmbṃār. Lucky he was to have found some food back near the meadow, and to have been given a varied assortment from the villagers of Ishselātaram.

As his eyes transfixed to the flames, the lady who sat cross-legged beside him said, “We have yet to introduce ourselves; my name is Iḷēhaḥ. What is yours?” He did not answer, and she took a pebble and chucked it at him. When it hit him, he cringed and looked around in confusion, and she again said, “My name is Iḷēhaḥ. What is your name, child?”

With a wide smile, he responded, “Tūmbṃār!”

“And that is fine,” she said, smiling and brushing the boy’s head, much to his delight. But soon, his face turned to one of disgust. He puckered his lips at the sight of Iḷēhaḥ’s right hand holding the skewer as she licked the leftover pieces on it. She looked at him, puzzled. “There comes that face; what be the matter this time? Do I look strange?”

“Don’t you find eating with your right hand disgusting?”

Upon hearing his question, she burst into laughter. She lifted her right hand and sprinkled ash over it, and in moments, the ash dissolved under a glistening white light, leaving her hand pristine.

“As you can hone the elements, so can I recover my state along with others. This could, in effect, be considered under the same category as your powers, but also possessed of a different nature.”

Tūmbṃār was surprised to see yet another person with the powers, and while at least few of the priests and priestesses had them, mostly for healing, for him to meet two others with it struck him as odd. He was now certain his teacher had something to do with this! His watchful gaze never seemed to tire, even when he should have been busy. He sighed.

“What kind of nature?” he asked.

“A kind you shall not discern until I wish you to,” she said with pride.

He clicked his tongue and said, “The way you eat is still disgusting, lady,” to which she giggled.

The flames danced, and Tūmbṃār sat gazing into it. He had a curious obsession with fire, always drawn by the excitement and vigor that the dancing flames displayed. Yet he would not come under sway of the fire’s influence, instead keeping to a calm and tranquil nature as if to be the mirror through which the flames would see themselves.

The night was calm, and the Forest was quiet. The cedars’ branches swayed with an inaudible subtlety as all the animals slept in their burrows or tree holes or thickets of bushes. Iḷēhaḥ – already fast asleep – rested on layers of soft cloth and tapestry that Tūmbṃār had taken from his sack—quite a bottomless sack indeed. He, meanwhile, rested himself against it and looked between the fire and stars, observant of flickers that vanished into the air.

Far into the thicket of trees, he heard the rustle of leaves accompanied by heavy footsteps. The sounds grew loud, and something became visible from within the darkness. A large mass of fur then leaped from the trees, landing where Tūmbṃār lay, its mouth firmly fixed near his face, salivating from its sharp teeth. It stood taller than ten feet with a brilliant coat of orange and white hues and possessed of amber eyes. The ground shook upon its entrance and awoke Iḷēhaḥ. And on seeing the beast in front of her, she squealed and shrank toward the nearest tree.

“What is such a large wolf doing about these woods!”

Now Tūmbṃār while calm, was brimming with excitement with a great smile spread across his face; perhaps a giant was near! With gentle ease, he put his hand against the wolf’s neck and ruffled its thick coat.

His hands then slid toward the base of its neck, and he said, “So soft and warm.” The wolf relaxed, closed its mouth, and moved away from him to seat itself beside the flames, keeping its gaze locked onto the peculiar creature that sparked its interest.

Iḷēhaḥ calmed, and she moved to Tūmbṃār and lifted him upright. She used some cloth from the sheets on which she slept to wipe him down.

“My! I was frightened for you!”

Tūmbṃār looked to her with suspicion, for he suspected that she would surely have scurried away if given the chance.

“Quite a peculiar beast, one that I dare say should not be lurking here. Its likeness resembles that of the wolves of the northern region of the Western continent. How it can roam in this weather with that thick coat is beyond me,” she said.

“Maybe it’s here on business,” said Tūmbṃār to which Iḷēhaḥ gave an odd glance.

“What business would a wolf have about these parts? In fact, why would a wolf have any business at all? ’Tis but a beast driven by instinct rather than intellect.”

And Tūmbṃār, patting her on the back, jested, “Quite like you, lady!”

She jabbed his head, saying, “Hush, child!” to which he laughed in response.

“What are we to do now? Shall we leave this spot and go elsewhere? It seems to no longer bear hostility, and I should think it would not follow us.”

Yet Tūmbṃār locked his gaze with the wolf’s – much like he did with the fire – taking deep breaths while not once blinking. Iḷēhaḥ was surprised by this but held intent to get his attention. She shook him, but there was no movement. She chucked stones, but still there was no response. And the wolf shifted its gaze her way and bore its fangs; fear then consumed her, and she sat upright and still, displaying but a placid smile, and the wolf returned its gaze to the boy.

The night progressed as such, and fatigue began to set in for Iḷēhaḥ. However, she did not desire to sleep, instead keeping the boy in her sights in case the wolf should have a change of heart and leap to devour them. Tūmbṃār then stood and walked toward the wolf. She leaped to his heels, holding onto his legs, pleading him not to approach it. He would not listen and continued walking, dragging the soiled maiden along with him. Beside the wolf, he bent and peered deeply into its eyes. A connection grew between them—not that Iḷēhaḥ could see—and at once, Tūmbṃār stood and smiled in exuberance with outstretched arms.

“Did something happen?”

He looked to her with glee and said, “Listen! Listen! I was able to talk to it! I was able to talk with animals before but not in a way as I did with the wolf! He told me of many things—about the place he came from and the things he saw and the curse placed upon him, but I couldn’t understand much of it. He speaks too quickly for me.” And Iḷēhaḥ became even more surprised. A child who could hone not just the elements but could also converse with animals.

“So, does the wolf desire anything?”

Tūmbṃār’s face beamed in delight, and he responded, “He has something he wishes us to see! He says he knows my teacher, and wants to take me to my destination. Will you come with us now?”

Iḷēhaḥ yawned and said, “Seeing the wolf does not intend to eat us, I shall instead rest. Let us leave in the morning.”

Tūmbṃār responded, “Great! With us you’ll come!”

And he picked her up and held her high over his head. The wolf gathered their things and headed south into the thicket, and the boy followed after, as Iḷēhaḥ struck his back ever furiously, demanding he put her down.