The Silvermere expedition departed Westmark on a crisp autumn morning, when the first hints of gold had begun to touch the leaves of the great oaks that lined the eastern road. Six scholars from the College, including Master Thaddeus and Myrin, comprised the human contingent. Elyran traveled as the sole elven representative.

  The journey would take five days at the measured pace necessitated by Master Thaddeus's age and the heavily laden pack animals carrying their equipment. Despite that, Elyran found himself oddly grateful for the slow progress. It provided time to observe both the seasonal transformation of the forest and the more profound alterations wrought by decades of human expansion.

  "The boundary markers have been moved," he noted on the fourth day, pausing beside a weathered stone whose subtle engravings would be invisible to human eyes. "This was once the formal edge of the Silvermere Protectorate."

  Myrin, who had taken to riding beside him rather than with the other College scholars, dismounted to examine the stone. "There's nothing visible," she said, running her fingers over the seemingly blank surface.

  "The markings respond to elven touch," Elyran replied, placing his palm against the ancient granite. Beneath his hand, faint lines of silver light briefly illuminated complex patterns before fading back into invisibility.

  "Remarkable," Myrin took out her notebook. "What does it signify?"

  "It's a boundary declaration from the Second Concordance," Elyran said, "establishing this line as the agreed limit of human settlement. The date would correspond to approximately eight hundred and seventy years ago in your calendar."

  "Yet we're still a full day's ride from the nearest elven settlement," Myrin looked around.

  "Indeed," Elyran said. "The actual boundaries have shifted considerably since the wars, though the formal treaty lines were never redrawn. Humans believe they have legitimate claim to lands they have effectively occupied for generations, while elves consider such occupation a violation of still-binding agreements."

  "And what do you consider it?" Myrin asked.

  "I consider it the inevitable consequence of differing perceptions of time," he said after a while. "To humans, a century of unchallenged occupation constitutes established possession. To elves, it represents a brief and possibly temporary arrangement in a much longer history of territorial flux."

  "A diplomatic answer," Myrin said with a small smile.

  "But an honest one," Elyran countered. "The concept of permanent ownership of land is itself problematic from an elven perspective. We tend to think in terms of stewardship rather than possession."

  Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Darian, the youngest of the College scholars—a bright but somewhat impetuous researcher whose specialty in military history often led him to focus on strategic rather than cultural aspects of historical sites.

  "Master Thaddeus suggests we make camp before pressing further," he announced, eyeing Elyran with the barely concealed fascination. "There's a suitable clearing half a mile ahead."

  Soon the expedition established their camp and as twilight deepened into night, they gathered around a small, well-contained fire.

  "We'll reach the outer ruins by midday tomorrow," Master Thaddeus said. "I suggest we conduct a preliminary survey of the accessible structures before establishing our base camp for the detailed documentation work."

  "The western approach would be most efficient," Darian offered, unrolling a map marked with previous expeditions' notes. "The defensive walls are most degraded there, allowing easier access to the inner courtyards."

  "The western approach passes through consecrated ground," Elyran said quietly. "Ground that holds significant cultural importance to my people."

  A momentary silence fell over the group. Elyran could sense their internal calculations—weighing respect for elven sensibilities against practical considerations of their research goals.

  "Is there an alternative approach you would recommend, Archivist?" Master Thaddeus asked.

  "The northern path," Elyran replied. "It requires an additional hour of travel but avoids areas of particular sensitivity."

  Darian frowned slightly. "The northern approach is considerably more difficult terrain. The additional time and effort—"

  "Are a small price for maintaining respectful relations," Master Thaddeus interrupted firmly. "We will take the northern path."

  The decision made, conversation shifted to other aspects of the expedition—the specific documentation techniques they would employ, the artifacts they hoped to preserve, the academic papers that might result from their findings. Elyran participated when his expertise was relevant but otherwise observed the human scholars with quiet interest.

  Their enthusiasm for discovery reminded him of his younger self in his first century of study, before the weight of accumulated knowledge tempered intellectual excitement with the awareness of how little was truly new under the sun. Yet there was something refreshing about the human approach—an openness unconstrained by the sometimes stifling traditions of elven scholarship.

  As the fire burned low and the human scholars retired to their tents, Elyran remained seated beneath the stars, his elven physiology requiring less rest than his companions. Myrin lingered as well, wrapping a woolen cloak around her shoulders against the autumn chill.

  "May I ask you something?" she said after a comfortable silence had stretched between them.

  "You rarely wait for permission before asking questions, Myrin," Elyran replied.

  She smiled at that.

  "True. But this is more personal than scholarly." She hesitated, then continued. "You mentioned consecrated ground near Silvermere. Were you... did you lose someone dear there? During the conflict?"

  The question was quite perceptive. Few humans would consider the personal dimensions of historical events for beings who had lived through them.

  "Yes," he said, looking at the stars. "Though not in the way you might imagine. The grounds contain a memorial grove planted for those who died in the diplomatic service, including some of my cousins."

  "I didn't know such a memorial existed," Myrin said quietly. "None of our histories mention it."

  "It was established after the human forces retreated," Elyran explained. "And deliberately left unmarked on any maps shared with your people. Some wounds are too deep to be exposed to the curiosity of those who inflicted them."

  "Yet you speak of it to me," Myrin replied.

  "Yes," Elyran nodded. "Perhaps because your curiosity is genuine."

  Another silence fell between them. Though it was not uncomfortable. Instead it felt like a new connection was growing between them. No longer purely scholarly, but rather a more intimate one.

  "We should rest," Elyran said finally. "Tomorrow will bring its own challenges."

  Myrin nodded and rose to depart, but paused before turning away.

  "Thank you, Elyran," she said with a smile. "For trusting me with that knowledge."

  As she disappeared into her tent, Elyran returned his gaze to the stars, pondering the curious path that had led him to this moment—sitting in a human expedition camp, sharing personal memories with a young scholar whose lifespan would be but a brief flicker in his own long existence. It was a path that would have seemed inconceivable to him a century ago, when the wounds of conflict were fresher and his own disillusionment with human nature at its peak.

  Yet here he was.

  The expedition reached the outer perimeter of the Silvermere shortly after midday, as Master Thaddeus had predicted. Even from a distance, the ruins were a site to behold — towers partially collapsed, walls breached by tree roots, courtyards overtaken by wild growth.

  Yet amid the decay, the beauty of elven organic aesthetics and human geometric precision still remained evident.

  Elyran paused, memories washing over him with unexpected intensity. He had last stood on this spot two hundred and seventeen years earlier, documenting the aftermath of the conflict for the elven historical archives. Then, the scars of battle had been fresh—blackened stones, shattered glass, the lingering scent of magical fire and bodies. So many bodies. Now, nature had softened those wounds, slowly reclaiming the broken stones with life.

  "It's more beautiful than I imagined," Myrin said softly, coming to stand beside him. "Even in ruins."

  "It was more beautiful still when whole," Elyran replied. "For a brief time, it represented the best possibilities of both our peoples—a place where knowledge and art flowed freely across cultural boundaries."

  After setting up their base camp at the northern edge of the ruins, within an appropriate distance from both their research site and culturally sensitive areas, the scholars began documenting different sections of the outer structures. Elyran found himself partnered with Master Thaddeus, an arrangement he suspected the old historian had deliberately engineered to allow Myrin to work more independently. As they carefully examined what had once been the main diplomatic reception hall, Elyran noticed how much more energetic Thaddeus had become.

  "You've been eager to study this site extensively," the archivist remarked.

  "It has been my life's work," the old man admitted, his weathered hands gently brushing debris from an inscribed stone panel. "Though this is only my third opportunity to visit in person. The political complications have made direct research... challenging."

  "Yet you persisted"

  "Some questions demand answers, regardless of the difficulties involved in obtaining them," Thaddeus said. "Silvermere represents both the highest aspiration and the greatest failure of human-elven relations. Understanding what happened here seems essential, if we're ever to move beyond the patterns of the past."

  "A perspective that many of your colleagues would consider naively idealistic," Elyran echoed Thalindor.

  "Hah, most certainly," Thaddeus smiled. "As would many of yours, I imagine. Idealism is rarely fashionable among those who consider themselves practical political minds. Yet history suggests that what begins as impractical idealism often ends as pragmatic necessity, given sufficient time and appropriate circumstances."

  "A very elven perspective on historical development," Elyran said.

  "I had an excellent teacher," Thaddeus replied. "Faelindor never explicitly contradicted the official elven positions, but he guided me toward sources that offered more… nuanced… perspectives than either human or elven official histories."

  They continued their work through the afternoon, establishing a comfortable rhythm of observation, recording, and occasional theoretical discussion. As the sun began its descent toward the western horizon, they rejoined the other teams at the base camp. The evening meal became an impromptu scholarly symposium, with each pair presenting their observations and the group collectively identifying priorities for the following days' more detailed documentation.

  "The architectural integration is more sophisticated than our records suggested," noted Elira, a middle-aged human scholar specializing in architectural analysis. "The load-bearing calculations must have required unprecedented levels of cooperation."

  "Indeed," Elyran confirmed. "The design teams lived and worked together for seven years before construction began. The preliminary planning documents filled three complete archive rooms."

  "Oh…so those documents still exist?" Darian asked.

  "Partial copies survive in the Eastern Concordance archives," Elyran said. "Though access is... restricted."

  "Of course it is," Darian muttered, not quite under his breath.

  A momentary tension fell over the group.

  "Your frustration is understandable," Elyran said. "From a human perspective, knowledge restrictions appear arbitrary and possibly arrogant. From an elven perspective, they are a necessary measure against knowledge misuse."

  "But who determines what constitutes 'misuse'?" Darian asked. "And at what point does 'measure' become a simple hoarding of advantage?"

  "Valid questions," Elyran replied. "And ones debated within elven councils as well. The balance between preservation and sharing of knowledge is rarely static—it shifts with political circumstances and the quality of relations between our peoples."

  "Which have been deteriorating," Master Thaddeus joined in. "Even in my lifetime, I've witnessed a marked decline in collaborative scholarship and cultural exchange."

  "The wars left deep scars," Elyran said. "And the human political climate has grown increasingly... nationalistic in recent decades."

  "Not all humans share those sentiments," Myrin interjected.

  "No," Elyran met her gaze across the fire. "But politics are measured by dominant movements, not minority perspectives—however enlightened those might be."

  As the discussion finally wound down and the scholars retired to their tents, Elyran found himself thinking more and more how his expedition companions represented a particular subset of human society — educated, cosmopolitan, and unusually open to elven perspectives. They were children of a delicate peace established after generations of intermittent conflict, yet their opinions revealed how difficult it was for even the most open-minded humans to separate personal values from cultural identity. And with old patterns of suspicion and competition reemerging, he was not sure how accepting the next generation would be.

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  The following days fell into a productive routine. Each morning, the expedition members would divide into research teams, documenting different sections of the ruins with meticulous care. Elyran alternated between partners, providing expertise on historical context and cultural insights whenever required.

  On the fourth day, as he was working with Myrin in what had once been the great library of Silvermere, when they made a peculiar discovery. Beneath a fallen section of shelving, protected from the elements lay a cache of intact manuscripts.

  "These… are diplomatic correspondence," Elyran said, carefully examining the first scroll. "Internal communications between the elven diplomatic corps and the Council of that era."

  "Are they... should we be reading these?" Myrin asked..

  Elyran hesitated.

  "These particular documents would be classified as historical records rather than protected diplomatic secrets," he said finally. "Their age places them beyond the standard restrictions."

  Together, they carefully transported the manuscripts to the base camp, where Master Thaddeus established an impromptu conservation station to prevent further deterioration. The excitement among the scholars was palpable.

  "We should proceed with methodical care," Thaddeus cautioned as the scholars crowded around. "These texts require proper conservation before detailed study, and Archivist Moonshadow's guidance in translation and context."

  The discovery altered the expedition's focus for the remaining days. While some scholars continued the physical documentation of the ruins, others assisted in the careful preservation and preliminary cataloging of the manuscript cache.

  "Do you think they knew?" Myrin asked after they finished with a batch. "My Old Elvish is still inadequate, but it would seem like they recognized the potential for catastrophic misunderstanding."

  "I am pretty sure that some of them did," Elyran replied gently.

  "But the consequences—" she began.

  "Were not fully anticipated by either side," Elyran finished for her. "That is the tragedy of Silvermere, Myrin. Not deliberate betrayal or calculated aggression, but the cascading effects of cultural misunderstanding, political caution, and mutual suspicion."

  On the expedition's final evening at Silvermere, as they prepared to return to Westmark the following morning, Master Thaddeus raised a question that had been implicit in their discoveries but not yet directly addressed.

  "What becomes of this knowledge?" the old historian asked, his gaze moving between the carefully preserved manuscripts and Elyran. "These documents challenge fundamental assumptions in both human and elven historical accounts. Their implications extend beyond academic interest to current diplomatic relations."

  "The manuscripts themselves must be properly preserved," Elyran said carefully. "I would propose transferring them to the Eastern Concordance archives, where conservation techniques are most advanced, with the provision that accredited College scholars be granted research access."

  Darian frowned. "So they disappear into elven archives, with access controlled by elven authorities?"

  "I haven't finished," Elyran replied. "I would further propose that complete translations and scholarly analysis be jointly published by the College and the Eastern Concordance historical council, presenting the nuanced reality these documents reveal rather than simply replacing one simplified narrative with another."

  The proposal was bold and would certainly face resistance from quite a few within the elven society.

  "Our Council will certainly object," he council. "As will certain political factions among your own people. But these documents potentially offer an opportunity to begin addressing suspicion and resentment that have shaped our interactions for centuries."

  "You speak as though historical accuracy alone can overcome political self-interest," Darian said. "Is that naivety or optimism?"

  "Perhaps both," Elyran smiled slightly. "Though I prefer to think of it as the perspective of one who has witnessed enough cycles of history to recognize that truth, however uncomfortable initially, serves both our peoples better in the long."

  The discussion continued late into the night, but a consensus emerged around Elyran's basic proposal: joint conservation, collaborative analysis, and carefully contextualized publication.

  As the fire burned low and the human scholars gradually retired to their tents for a final night at Silvermere, Elyran remained seated beneath the stars. What had begun as a scholarly documentation project had evolved into something potentially more significant amd more politically dangerous.

  Myrin joined him in his vigil, wrapping herself in a blanket against the autumn chill. They sat in silence for a while, watching the embers of the fire slowly fade.

  "What happens when we return to Westmark?" she asked finally. "Will things simply... continue as before? These discoveries filed away in academic journals, while the wider world maintains its comfortable myths?"

  "Change rarely announces itself with trumpets," Elyran replied. "More often it begins in quiet conversations, and challenges to accepted wisdom."

  "A very elven perspective on social change," Myrin observed with a smile. "Measured in centuries rather than seasons."

  "Perhaps," Elyran acknowledged. "Though I've observed that human impatience occasionally accelerates processes that elven caution would extend indefinitely. There is value in both approaches."

  Another silence fell between them.

  "I've been offered a teaching position at the College," Myrin said suddenly. "Junior faculty, specializing in comparative historiography. Master Thaddeus informed me yesterday."

  "Congratulations," Elyran said. "It's a well-deserved recognition of your scholarly abilities."

  "It would mean continuing the work we've begun here," she continued. "Examining the divergences between human and elven historical accounts, seeking the complex truths that lie between simplified narratives."

  "Important work," Elyran nodded. "Few are equipped to undertake it with the necessary intellectual rigor."

  "Would you..." she looked at him. "Would you consider continuing our scholarly collaboration? Perhaps as a visiting lecturer at the College, when your other responsibilities permit?"

  “An invitation full of hints,” he thought to himself.

  "I would," he said finally. "Though the Council will undoubtedly have opinions on the matter."

  "They usually do," Myrin replied with a smile.

  As they sat together beneath the stars, Myrin shifted closer, putting her hand over his. Elyran turned his head and looked at her. Her flowing dark hair and amber eyes were fascinating in the moonlight. They drew him in and gently he leaned in for a kiss to which she eagerly responded. After centuries of observing human history from a distance, he somehow did not mind this. There was something invigorating in this shift — a sense of purpose he had not felt in decades, perhaps centuries.

  The expedition returned to Westmark a week later, their pack animals laden with documentation materials, carefully preserved artifacts, and most precious of all, the manuscript cache from the Silvermere library. Their arrival coincided with the autumn harvest festival, and they found the city transformed by decorations and preparations for the celebration. However, Elyran noticed a subtle shift in the city's mood. Political banners hung alongside harvest decorations, bearing slogans of human supremacy and territorial rights. Orators drew crowds while shouting something about human exceptionalism and self-sufficiency.

  "The nationalist faction has grown bolder," Master Thaddeus observed as they made their way through the crowded market square toward the College. "Lord Keldrin's party gains support with each passing month."

  "Who is Lord Keldrin?" Elyran asked.

  "A relatively new and troubling voice in the Council of Independent Provinces," Thaddeus replied. "A minor noble from the western territories who has built a political movement around 'human dignity and independence'—phrases that sound unobjectionable until one examines the policies they justify."

  "Such as?" Elyran prompted.

  "Huuh…Restrictions on elven movement within human territories. Tariffs on dwarven goods. Proposals to reclaim 'ancestral human lands' currently recognized as neutral or belonging to other races." The old historian slumped in his saddle. "The peace has lasted long enough for the horrors of war to fade from living memory."

  Elyran nodded.

  "And how does the College position itself?" he asked.

  "We maintain our commitment to objectivity and cultural exchange," Thaddeus said. "Though our funding from the Provincial Council has been reduced for the third consecutive year, with the suggestion that we focus on 'practically applicable historical research' rather than 'esoteric cultural studies.'"

  The expedition's findings were secured in the College archives, with the Silvermere manuscripts placed under special protection while arrangements were made for their eventual transfer to the Eastern Concordance for conservation. In the days that followed, Elyran worked closely with Myrin and Master Thaddeus to prepare preliminary reports on their discoveries. Soon however, the changing political atmosphere of Westmark began to intrude upon their academic sanctuary. A public lecture by Master Thaddeus on the expedition's findings was disrupted by supporters of Lord Keldrin, who objected to what they termed "the elven revision of our history." College students reported increasing harassment when venturing into certain districts of the city wearing their academic robes.

  There was also a subtle shift in how Elyran himself was treated beyond the College walls. Where once he had moved through Westmark encountering primarily curiosity or respectful distance, he now sensed resentment and suspicion in the gazes that followed his passage. Nothing dangerous, merely comments just loud enough to reach elven ears.

  "It will pass," Myrin said. "Political fashions come and go, as you said. Lord Keldrin's movement is built on empty promises and cannot withstand serious scrutiny."

  "Perhaps," Elyran replied. "Though history suggests that movements built on grievance and identity often prove remarkably resilient to factual correction."

  They were walking through the College botanical gardens. The late autumn sunlight filtered through leaves turned to gold and crimson, casting curious patterns across the gravel paths.

  "Then what is the purpose of our work?" Myrin asked. "If historical truth cannot overcome political myths, why do we labor to uncover it?"

  "Because truth matters," Elyran replied. "Not because it always prevails, but because without it, we surrender to people like Lord Keldrin."

  "A possibility that seems increasingly real," Myrin said.

  "In the current climate, yes," Elyran nodded. "But I have witnessed human societies swing from isolation to openness and back again multiple times within my lifetime. What matters is that there is a foundation for rebuilding."

  "So we preserve knowledge for a future that may be more receptive to it than the present," she replied after a while.

  "Precisely," Elyran said. "It is, admittedly, a perspective more natural to a race with my lifespan. But humans too can work toward futures they may not personally witness."

  As they completed their circuit of the gardens and prepared to return to their work in the archives, a College messenger approached with an official-looking document bearing the seal of the Provincial Council.

  "For Master Thaddeus," the young man said, "but he asked that I deliver it to you directly, Archivist Moonshadow. He thought you should see it immediately."

  Elyran accepted the document, broke the seal and scanned its contents. The Provincial Council, citing "security concerns and diplomatic protocol," was "respectfully requesting" that all non-human visitors to Westmark register with the newly established Office of Foreign Relations and limit their stays to a maximum of thirty days without a special permit.

  "What is it?" Myrin asked.

  "The changing winds," Elyran replied, handing her the document. "The first formal restriction on elven presence in Westmark since the peace accords were signed."

  Myrin read quickly, her face darkening with each line.

  "This is Lord Keldrin's influence," she said when she finished. "His faction has been pushing for these measures for months, but I never thought the full Council would approve them."

  "Political momentum is a powerful force," Elyran replied. "Once a movement gains sufficient popular support, few resist it."

  "What will you do?" Myrin asked

  "Register, as requested," Elyran said. "And then accelerate our work on the Silvermere manuscripts. If my time in Westmark is to be limited, we should ensure that the most critical aspects of our work are completed before I must depart."

  The policy took effect with surprising speed. Within days, notices appeared throughout Westmark directing "all non-human visitors" to register with the newly established office. The language was carefully neutral, applying equally to elves, dwarves, and other non-human races, but the intent was clear. Promotion of "human sovereignty" and "cultural preservation."

  Elyran complied with the registration requirement, enduring the barely concealed satisfaction of the human official who recorded his information and issued a "visitor's certificate" valid for thirty days. The document, which he was informed he must carry at all times within city limits, somehow felt like a chain around his ankle. Despite that, his scholarly work continued. The Silvermere manuscripts yielded new insights daily. No simple villains or heroes — only flawed individuals from both races, navigating complex political waters with incomplete information and culturally limited perspectives.

  "We should prepare for the possibility that this thirty-day limitation will not be extended," Thaddeus said during one of their evening sessions in the College archives. "The political trajectory suggests further restrictions rather than relaxation of the current policy."

  "Agreed," Elyran said. "Which means we must prioritize. The manuscript translations and basic contextual notes take precedence over more detailed analysis, which can continue via correspondence if necessary."

  "And the proposed joint publication?" Myrin asked.

  "Becomes both more difficult and more essential," Elyran replied.

  They redoubled their efforts, working long hours to complete as much as possible before Elyran's mandated departure. The College provided what protection it could from the increasingly hostile atmosphere of the wider city, but even within its walls, the changing political winds made themselves felt. Funding for the Silvermere research was questioned by the College governors, some of whom worried about antagonizing powerful political patrons. Junior scholars who had eagerly sought to assist with the manuscript analysis found themselves pressured by family or career concerns to distance themselves from work that was being characterized in some quarters as "anti-human revisionism."

  Through it all, Myrin remained steadfast in her commitment to the project, working long hours alongside Elyran, while putting her position as newly appointed junior faculty at risk.

  "You could moderate your association with this work," Elyran suggested one evening. "Allow Master Thaddeus and myself to be the primary names associated with the more controversial findings."

  "I will not, Elyran," she said firmly. "Even if it is politically inconvenient, my responsibility is to the truth."

  Elyran looked at with a smile. “Your moral courage is admirable, Myrin”

  She smiled back and stood up to stretch her back.

  “Perhaps you could help encourage me further, archivist Moonshadow?” her eyes narrowed and a smirk spread across her face.

  Elyran’s eyes widened for a moment, but after a moment he stood up and walked up to her.

  “I believe I could, in the interest of …historical progress,” he said, placing his hands on her back.

  “Of course,” she said before kissing him.

  These moments steadily became more and more common as the end of Elyran’s permitted stay approached. On his final evening in Westmark, Master Thaddeus hosted a small gathering in his private quarters—a farewell dinner for Elyran attended only by those College scholars most closely involved with the Silvermere research. The mood was subdued, weighted by awareness of the political forces gathering strength beyond the College walls and the uncertain future of their collaborative work.

  "We stand at a crossroads," the old historian said, raising his glass in a toast. "One path leads toward greater understanding between our peoples, built on honest reckoning with our shared history. The other leads back into the cycle of suspicion and conflict that has claimed too many lives across too many generations."

  "The choice seems clear when framed that way," observed Elira. "Yet history suggests that societies rarely choose the path of uncomfortable truth."

  "Individual scholars can," Elyran replied. "And through their work, preserve the possibility of better choices when circumstances change."

  They talked late into the night before finally beginning to disperse. Myrin remained behind, clearly wishing for a more private farewell.

  "I've arranged to visit the Eastern Concordance archives next summer," she said when they were alone. "Assuming the travel restrictions don't worsen before then."

  "I will ensure you receive proper credentials," Elyran replied. "Though I share your concern about the political trajectory."

  They were silent for a moment. Then he embraced her and kissed her forehead.

  "This is not an ending, Myrin," Elyran said.

  "I know," Myrin replied. "Yet I can't help feeling intimidated by the divide that is growing between our people."

  "It is an unfortunate part of the cycle," Elyran said.

  "Then what hope is there?" Myrin asked.

  "Hope lies in the work we've begun," he said after a while. "In the knowledge preserved, the connections established, the seeds of understanding planted."

  She nodded and gave him a gentle kiss on the lips. "Then we continue our work, however circumstances allow."

  "Indeed," Elyran smiled and kissed back.

  As he departed Westmark the following morning, passing through city gates now staffed by guards who examined his "visitor's certificate" with officious thoroughness, Elyran found himself reminiscing about the curious journey that had brought him to this point. A simple scholarly mentorship, a political spider web, a relationship with a human, and now a personal investment in the futures of both of their peoples. These thoughts however, did not stay with him for long and soon his mind shifted to the Council. They would undoubtedly have much to say about his activities in Westmark. But that would probably be a temporary annoyance. For now he needed to cross the border safely.