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| - "... and we shall watch over ourselves, each other, and the world. As we walk the Path, to destinations great and unknown, we shall carry the Light in our hearts and inspire and guide others to do the same. This is how we shall improve the world, through ourselves and those around us, with the Tenacity and Compassion that such a duty begs of us. We carry this duty with great honor, thankful each morning that we shall live to follow the horizon of goodness, ever vigilant." "In Light, all is good, and may it bless us to be the same." The home was almost dark, weakened flutters of candlelight found only in the single bedroom. Except for the lines being spoken, the air was silent and still. Though the scene suggested an overwhelming eeriness, there was an unexplainable sense of comfort and peace in the room. Neither the young boy, speaking, nor the woman seemed to be disturbed by the ambiance. He sat on a small stool at the bedside, head bowed and leaning slightly over his mother, laying. Her head was turned toward him, smiling with obvious pride and serenity. Occasionally she would speak with him in unison, both knowing the words as if ingrained in their most basic of thoughts. A boy stood on a moderately busy street corner, in a moderately wealthy area of town, with a more than moderate amount of apprehension. He was obviously a beggar from the Southern district and most people ignored his presence completely as they went about their business of no significance. He was trembling and doing a respectable job of hiding it. Steeling himself, he dropped his small, feathered hat onto the ground before him. He had set his fate, on this corner, and he would not let himself down. His voice trembled as he tried to be heard over the chatter, but he only allowed it to crack once. In shame and forced resolve, he carried his voice even higher. The noise in his immediate vicinity ebbed, and he could see that people were noticing him– even if not stopping or tossing him coins. The boy was singing a traditional Elven song, one that he knew would be recognized and appreciated. It was the only real song he knew, the rest being quite inappropriate for current audience– one in which he was starting to get. His voice was very strong, the onlookers would comment. He seems a natural, he must sing with the Church, he is so striking for a boy of his age, his rendition of this song is just lovely... The boy did his best to drown out the comments, losing himself in his own mind and self-condemnation as he threw himself at the mercy of the crowd. He repeated the song for the next five hours, usually with his eyes closed. He had always loved singing-- since he was very young-- but at this moment it was the very thing he hated the most in the world, and he doubted he would ever look at it the same again. "... doomed, as all men are, to die, and with the hour of my death concealed from me, grant that I may pass my days in the practice of holiness and justice, and that I may be made worthy to quit this world in the peace of a good conscience, and in the embrace of the Light and her Three Virtues.." The home was once again dark and silent. A single candle struggled against the strangling shadows, resting in a plain holder on the night-stand next to the bed. Beside it, a man sat on a too-small stool. He was hunched, both in prayer and to make up for his uncomfortable height. The room was not a pleasant one, this time. It was cold, stuffy, and unsettling. He did not want to be here, or anywhere near. The woman in the bed was watching him with eerie, glassy eyes. He was not sure how well she could see him, but he was content that she could as least know he was near her. He repeated the half-dozen prayers he could recall, most uplifting and others begging for a graceful death. Her eyes were closed, by now, though he knew enough of the workings of people’s minds to be confident that she was still aware of him. He continued with persistence and extreme despair, as much for himself as for her. He had not seen her in many, many years. He had thought she was dead. He had told himself she was, had told other people that she was. To be so suddenly aware of her continued existence, and the quickly-approaching end of it... He resisted the urge to call up the shadows around him. He was only just getting familiar with the entire practice, but he was already missing the comforting embrace they provided. He knew better, however, instead reaching for the Light as if was young again. As if he truly believed it would make any difference. Respect, tenacity, compassion... he had none, and he was painfully aware of it. And then it happened. He could feel it as clearly as if he himself had died. The slight amount of spiritual warmth he could feel from her life was snuffed, leaving the room feeling colder than it actually was. He shuddered, in grief and chilled, pulling the covers up to her chin as if she were merely a sleeping child. She was so frail, it wasn’t hard to imagine it. He picked up the candle and, before turning away, leaned down to give his mother a last kiss upon her forehead as per tradition. As he left the room, he finally called the shadows around him whilst killing the candle in a hiss between his fingertips.
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