Submission (#7525) Approved

The miasma this season seemed thinner than usual, and even though some of the braver Elnin who dwelled in the villages of Ealei were taking advantage of this to go outside for short spells, Tamsin preferred to keep to himself in his cozy home. He always took advantage of the season to catch up on some of his composing and practice playing his various musical instruments. His children were all grown and no longer lived with him – big gentle Nando was off in Faerindell fostering kittoms, sweet Elspeth was delving ruins in Kyendi, and bold Olias… he had no idea where Olias had ended up, but he was certain his son was doing well and having adventures of his own. So it was just Tamsin by himself, which was just fine.

Despite his self-imposed isolation, he had heard rumors and speculation amongst his neighbors that the feyfolk were behind the thinning of the annual miasma, using their powerful magics to keep it at bay. Tamsin liked this idea; maybe the feyfolk weren't so dangerous after all. He decided to write a song about it, maybe compose an entire musical production if the inspiration hit. The tailless Villager was known through much of Eyre for his musical productions, elaborate stage shows that often told stories of old. It'd been a while, though, since he'd written a musical, and he felt he was long overdue to bring something new and fresh and exciting to his audience.

Tamsin was seated in his "working space," a large overstuffed and very comfy reclining chair with a table that was covered with scribbled notes and music notation sheets and a number of pencils, noodling away on his guitar, when a sudden commotion outside caught his attention. One ear swiveled toward the noise in an attempt to figure out what was going on; when he couldn't discern anything in the ruckus, he sighed heavily. "It figures, just when I'm getting somewhere with this…" he muttered. Putting his guitar down, he stood and crossed the main room of his tree home to peer out one of the windows.

And couldn't believe his eyes. "....Olias?"

Striding briskly toward Tamsin's house across one of the great limbs of Yggdrasil was an Elnin who looked a lot like his son Olias, but an Olias who had been through some things that had changed him. He carried himself with confidence and concern at the same time, dressed in worn adventurers' gear and delicately carrying a small bag, despite the large backpack he wore which looked more than roomy enough to contain what he was holding. But the long white locs, adorned with colorful ties and baubles, and the braided earfluff and distinctive flag of a tail…. It couldn't be anyone else.

"Olias!" Tamsin called as he opened the round door to his home, a large if surprised smile on his face. "What in Eyre brings you here?"

The delighted smile that crossed Olias's face was quickly replaced with concern. "Miasma. There's a large pocket of it coming this way. We need to take cover… I'll tell you more once we're inside." The Noble turned to face the other gathered Elnin. "You had best seek safety in your homes too, all of you," he announced. "It will be here before nightfall!" Stepping forward, he gently herded his father back into the house. "We'll be okay, Dad. It's just… I have something else."

Bewildered, Tamsin closed the door behind his son, getting his first really good look at how he'd changed. Apart from the travel-worn condition of his clothing, Olias looked the same, for the most part, though his fur now glimmered with tiny pinpoints of light that looked like stars. He turned, and Tamsin's mouth opened – a wide row of plate scales ran from his throat and over his chest to beneath the belt of his adventuring trousers. And his eyes… Black except for the familiar purple irises shining brightly behind the long fringe. He also noticed with some alarm that there appeared to be cracks in the depths of his horns. "Olias… what happened to you?"

From Olias's shadow on the floor, a white-feathered pomu appeared, its face marked with similar patterns to its master's. "Pomu?" it said, then began to chirp and burble absently as it pulled itself out entirely. "Even your pomu has changed," said Tamsin. "What happened?"

Olias smiled wryly at his father. "You really don't want to know. Let's just say I've met some very interesting creatures since I've been away. Not all of them friendly." Setting the small bag down carefully in Tamsin's chair, he picked up his pomu. "Now you behave, Mischief. Don't live up to your name," he told it, shaking his finger at it. Mischief chirped and tilted its head as if to say 'who, me?', then scrambled out of Olias's grasp and onto his shoulder. "I've been to some very interesting places too, Dad. Which is where I came across this." He picked up the bag and gently opened it; reaching inside, he removed what appeared to be an egg of some kind. Its stone-like shell had shallow spiraling grooves in it that made it appear fey and otherworldly. Large soft leaves seemed to sprout from the bottom of the egg, shrouding it almost protectively; and a cord was tied around the whole thing, with a wooden moss-covered charm. The aroma that emanated from the charm was like nothing that either Elnin had ever smelled before. Not at all unpleasant; unusual and calming.

"This…" Olias murmured. "I don't know what it is. I was told by the feyfolk who've been keeping the miasma at bay to protect it at any cost, especially from the miasma. And I'm not one to question the feyfolk – their wisdom is unfathomable." He held it out to Tamsin. "You can hold it, if you like."

Mischief crept down Olias's arm and touched the egg-like object with one tiny hand. "Pomu," it said reverently, peering at Tamsin.

Tamsin looked at his son, then cautiously took the egg from him. It felt warm to the touch, almost comfortingly so. "My stars," he breathed. "This is remarkable. It has some heft to it for an egg. What are your plans for it?"

"I can't keep it with me – the life I lead, it'd be too much at risk." Olias raised his arm, and Mischief returned to his shoulder. "I would like to leave it here, in your safe-keeping, if you have no objections…"

"I… I would be honored, Olias," Tamsin said after a pause, bringing the egg into his arms. "You know this is a safe place for such a thing – I don't go anywhere. And I know just the place for it too – your old room." He couldn't help but grin up at the other Elnin. Yes, that would be the ideal place for it; there were niches in the walls of the rooms, and lots of cushions and blankets still. The egg would be comfortable and safe up there.

Olias grinned back. "Perfect. I knew I could count on you, Dad." For the first time since he arrived he reached out and embraced his father in a warm hug, careful not to confine the egg too much. "Thank you so much."

"Anything for you, son." Tamsin returned the hug with his free arm. "Now, about dinner–"

"I can't– I shouldn't–"

"You said yourself a miasma burst is coming. You need to stay inside." Stepping back, Tamsin carefully returned the egg to its bag. "We'll place the egg in your room together, so we both know it's safe. Then we'll see about dinner. I won't take no for an answer," he chided gently.

With a sigh, Olias shrugged. "Your wish is my command, Dad," he smiled.

"Pomu!" said Mischief. "Pomu pomu pomu!" A string of chirps followed as the little being leapt to the floor and jumped about happily.