January 22, 2025
Oh geez, where do I start?
Hermit Elf’s name is Tamarack and he is superold. Like hundreds of years old. Old enough that no one, not even he, knows how old he is. So Tamarack is a wood elf. He has long, perfectly silver straight hair, but no facial hair, brown eyes and very pale skin. Though his thin body is hunched with age, he appears to have been a tall dude at one point, which tracks with what I might have expected, had I had any expectations. His robes were brown, like a monk’s, well-worn and tailored to his shape and size.
When my dragon friend and I arrived at his cabin, he and a younger wood elf (his
(Callitropsis)
grandson^Cal) were already waiting outside. Cal hurried over to us when we were just a handful of paces away to greet and let us know that our host had already ‘prepared’ a meal for her/him. He pointed to a large carcass of some kind (it was hard to tell what it was) behind the cabin in the more open, dragon-accessible area. As soon as the dragon’s gaze followed Cal’s pointing arm, she went straight over, sniffed it, flashed cooked it and began munching away. By the time we got inside and into the dining area, I noticed there was a large open window (no glass pane, only open shutters) right next to where we were seated.
Tamarack’s cabin was round and had two floors. Crossing the threshold, one thing was very evident – this man elf really loved books. They were everywhere! Stacked on every surface in precarious piles, covering all but the smallest of walkways of the floor. And most of them looked really old. Like, older than any books I’d ever seen. The buried piece of furniture that I finally recognized as a desk even had some scrolls on it. Those were the only things that were neatly ordered. I suppose they had to be, or they’d be crushed.
The place smelled of old books and fresh air, even if it appeared as though it should smell like dust and old-man bachelor. As I slowly followed Cal and Tamarack, eying the piles warily, Cal gave me a sympathetic, yet embarrassed look. He clearly loved his grandfather, but he seemed to be also embarrassed by the first impression a stranger may get from the sight of his home. He then said, quietly, that his grandfather never had guests over. His eyes got super serious as he said that as if to say, “No, really, never.”
Cal cleared spots on the table just big enough for the breakfast dishes, expertly avoiding toppling the piles he added them to, only to have Tamarack move them to a different pile over on the desk shaking his head with a scowl. He clearly has some sort of order to the mess, which his grandson had just violated. Only after the spots were clear did Tamarak speak. He said, simply, “Sit, friend of dragons. You have much to learn and so, too, do I.” He left no room for debate or discussion. The dragon poked his/her head in the window and Tamarak turned to her with a smile that turned quickly into a very straight face and said, “You mind that flame of yours, young one.” He glanced lovingly at the books and continued. S/he dramatically clamped his/her mouth shut and seemed intent on listening. It was at this moment that I felt a yearning to listen to this ancient man speak. But it felt…weird or incomplete, like the feeling wasn’t my own. I couldn’t understand how I could feel a feeling that wasn’t mine, but that’s what it felt like.
Tamarack told a story. He spoke of three races of elves, each with their own Earth domain. The wood elves liked the wooded areas, temperate climates and seclusion from settlements of people, no matter the species. The dwarf elves loved the underground areas – old mines, deep caves, and the like. And then there were the winter elves. They loved the harsher, cold places. They loved snow and ice and everything that came with it. There wasn’t much that each race needed that they didn’t themselves provide, but there was some trade. And other than small, often political tiffs, they coexisted peacefully. When an illness swept through the winter elves, decimating their population, an elder of the wood elves, Gearior Giriore Girior Fernhollow aided an elder of the winter elves, Seefer Seefher Sifher Sivhur Irefaris, in studying the bacteria that caused the epidemic and trying to find a way to protect the rest of the population.
They knew, even then, that the Earth goes through a natural heating and cooling cycle referred to now as Ice and Green ages. They discovered that the illness was caused by a bacterium that had escaped the then, newly-melted ice. Their bodies couldn’t protect against it. At all. Girior and Sivhur worked for the remainder of their years to no avail. They could find no way to stop the spread of the bacteria or to protect the elves from infection. And it kept spreading. Winter elves were dying everywhere, and no one could seem to do anything about it. Worse than that, there was a huge percentage of wood and dwarf elves who refused to believe that the issue was as big as they made it out to be. (Sound familiar?)
When Sivhur died and Girior could feel that he was well into his last days, he compiled all of their research and experimental notes and passed them down to his son, Galeos Gaylos Gaelos, spending the little time he had left making sure his son understood everything. By this time, they had lost about 50% of the winter elf population.
Gaelos, having seen the damage to the winter elves firsthand while traveling with his father, spent the rest of his life continuing his father’s work. Two hundred years into his work, when he had yet to find a solution, he approached the elders of the winter elves in council and suggested they compile their histories in case the worst should befall them. They took his advice and compiled all that represented them into their sacred building, built into the side of a mountain. When they did this, they made a deal with Gaelos that his family would be the guardians of their knowledge and history. They could trust no one else, save for the one non-winter elf clan to help them during their crisis. Gaelos accepted, and spent the rest of his life adding childrearing to his responsibilities.
The Fernhollow clan has lived and existed for nothing but guarding that knowledge since. Many of them spent their lives dedicated to learning as much of the knowledge as possible, just to keep it alive in case the information is needed one day.
Tamarack paused then; I had all but forgotten the meal put in front of me (I can’t even now tell you what it was and that was this morning). He continued to say that he and Cal are of the Fernhollow clan and as such, in addition to Cal’s mother (Abies) who is actually guarding the sacred building, are the current lore-keepers. He, himself, had studied all he could while his eyesight allowed, and has Cal read to him now that it fails him. He said he has a large amount of winter elves knowledge in his head, and his eyes rooted on me, focusing seriously when he continued, ‘including the knowledge surrounding the snow dragons.’ His left eyebrow raised higher than it should have been able to compared to the placement of the right.
Of course, both my friend’s and my ears perked up as if we weren’t already completely enraptured. This guy was a great storyteller!
He wasn’t kidding. Tamarack explained that the snow dragons were close with the winter elves…very close. There was a small subsection of winter elves who were chosen, seemingly at random, by a snow dragon. Men, women, children, soldiers, scribes, healers, misfits... There seemed no way to determine who would be chosen, other than that they were always winter elves.
One day a winter elf would feel a sort of pull to go out into the wilderness and would come back with a new dragon friend. Every single time, it would be evident why that dragon chose that elf – their personalities and ambitions always matched or complimented one another. According to Tamarak, no one can adequately describe in words the connection a dragon has to his/her elf, but that it is akin to a relationship between twins or familiar and witch, though they are both familiars to each other. You see, Tamarak said, dragons are much smarter than any human or mythoskind could ever hope to be. They are the oldest of species. To them, we are rather like puppies, cute and loyal and a comfort to be around. It was at this point that he reminded me that the bulk of his knowledge of dragons was snow dragon specific.
It’s worth mentioning, going forward, that a matched duo of winter elf and snow dragon is called a Praxalim, apparently the perfect balance of and rooting in the ancient elven words for snow and winter.
Tamarak pointed out books (while Cal carefully retrieved them) that were histories of particularly famous snow dragons and their winter elves. The story of Faiwen and Faineris the Oathkeepers, for example, told of a Praxalim who were not only loyal to each other but also to any cause they agreed to take on. If they made an oath, they kept it to the end, literally. It’s what killed them. They took on a lost cause and gave their lives to keep their oath. He also warned that not all Praxalims were good and honorable. The range of elves chosen and the range of personalities of the dragons meant that there were some seriously destructive and downright evil Praxalims as well. He told me that I could spend as much time here reading the stories as I wanted, even urged that I do so, but sternly warned me not to take any of the books out of his home.
With all of this information swirling in my head, I couldn’t take too much more. No sooner than I had that thought did my dragon friend stick his/her head in the window a bit further, bumping and knocking over a few piles, to lie her head on my lap in comfort. At that moment, I seemed to have an a-ha moment. Turning to Tamarak I blurted out, “I’ve been chosen. We’re linked. But how is that possible? I’m human, not winter elf…”
Tamarak smiled tightly and nodded. His eyes seemed to say “Finally. You’ve got it.” He told me that he does not know how it is, only that it is and that for tonight, I should spend some time just feeling and communicating with my friend. He also, nonchalantly, pointed out that she is in fact a ‘she.’ Cal snickered then, like I should have known that all along, but Tamarak scolded him before I had a chance to react, pointing out that no one else was raised with the information and knowledge he had been.
He left me with one last bit. He said that at the time of choosing, there was more to be done than for the dragon to choose the elf. This was a time for the chosen elf to choose a new name. When an elf became part of a Praxalim, he or she became more than an average elf and therefore sort of graduated from the family clan to a new clan, a clan consisting of the elf and their dragon. This was because a Praxalim’s purpose will always come before that of the family. A chosen elf could have children and a spouse of their own, if they wished, but they would never be as dedicated to that family as they were to the Praxalim. Most times, chosen elves remained spouse- and child-less, by choice.
While spending time with my dragon tonight, I am to try to figure out her name. Tamarak said that when I figure it out, both she and I will know it without a shadow of a doubt. He also said no one knows if the name was always the dragon’s name and this moment is the elf learning it or if the elf and the dragon are coming up with it in that moment. He said that after we know her name, my name will come easily, as everything we are compliments each other perfectly, including our names.
I am exhausted. That was a lot to take in, then trying to recount it, and then having Cal help me with the spellings. I did nothing to tire myself out, just listened to some stories, but geez. I just wanna go to bed. But not yet. Must go formally meet my friend. I’m not even sure how to feel about this yet. My first instinct is to take everything Tamarak says with a grain of salt. No one is 100% trustworthy. But something in me *knows* he’s right and good and actually 100% trustworthy. I can’t explain it, but he might be the only human or mythoskind who’s ever really had my trust, besides my parents.
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