Ahh, its funny how memories can be distorted sometimes isn't it? I remember how I used to chase sheep down the creek beds and how they would speak to me in funny accents when I caught them. Or how I once found a tiny granite statue half buried in the sand by the sea and when I broke it in two out poured liquid gold. To me those memories are as real as any, but I know now that none of that could have been true. Sheep don't speak, statues don't contain liquid gold, and I...well I wouldn't even really been allowed that close to the sea anyway. Youth gives us so many fond things to reminisce about but I often wonder if it'd have been better to have forgotten it all. All the little adventures I made in my head. I never thought anything even remotely magical could ever happen to me, and in a way I was right for the longest time. It wasn't until a few days after my 23rd birthday that the first real adventure of my life ever began...
I was walking down the grassy causeway between the basalt mountains to the west and the forested cliffs to the east of what was once my homeland. It was late November, yet the air was barely chilled by the breath of winter. My long skirt was fastened by a neatly woven leather chord from which small golden trinkets swung. I kept my head tilted to the ground as I stepped over the tiny crags and pebbles beneath me. My eyes jumped back and forth from the path that lay ahead and the jostling golden emblems that hung from my waste. I was so caught up in my own thoughts that I almost didn't hear the tiny voice call out to me. At first I stopped and said nothing, twisting my head around to investigate the peculiar noise. Nothing. I continued on my way when I heard it again. This time I stopped and turned about. It sounded like someone very far away trying to get my attention. I was just about to turn back and continue on my way when I heard the distant cry once more. I bent down slightly when I suddenly caught a glimpse of a minuscule figure moving in the corner of my eye. My attention shot to my right where on a nearby hilltop a human stood upon a mossy boulder waving his arms frantically. This was odd.
You see humans rarely strayed into our territory and I'd only ever seen a few from a distance. Now, here one stood in arm's reach alongside a path I walked nearly every day. What could he be doing here? Why was he trying to get my attention? Humans typically feared us, and took particular care to avoid our gaze. I leaned in closer to the tiny figure to get a better look at him, but he reeled back ever so slightly out of fear. I thought for a moment he was going to turn and run but he stood firm, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. I opened my mouth to speak but he quickly seized to moment and cried out instead.
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