One speight at a time was not enough to alarm any traveler; two in fact - a male and female woodpecker - was considered good luck in several cultures, but Judson had spotted six altogether, perching around a magnificent elm - a terrible sign. It was bad enough to admit to himself that he was lost. Sighting the birds had only infuriated as well as driven him up a wall of point blank frustration.

He halted, glaring with intense anger at the foraging birds until they got the message and flapped away.

Almost immediately, a sad sigh escaped him. He did not really mean to chase them. Not only was he lost now, but utterly lonely too.

He lumbered to the tree and sat at its foot, squeezing his forehead. It still hurt from a little recent faceplanting hours ago with thistles atop a stone rock. Walking whilst half asleep, he failed to notice when the ground went from stream to pebbles. The impact had chased away sleep from his eyes with a large shovel and a firebrand, baring angry teeth.

If he were in a better situation, Judson would have laughed at his accident, but he could barely remember breaking a smile at all in the past week, or the entire season.

As a matter of fact, humor hardly got to him irrespective of the form it took. One glance and anyone could tell that he was grim and testy - the outcomes of wandering for ages without good results, and wandering with a broken heart at that.

His head lowered as he fished out HalfHyde's little red book. If, at the time when he was first gifted with it he had opened it, he would have known that everything was written in Elvish. Still and all, he appreciated the gift. It helped him revive a somewhat dead desire to learn the Alp tongue. And for the past few years, he could safely say he had learned enough to hold a conversation with an Elf for roughly four minutes before he got confused and appeared foolish.

He flipped through the pages and realized with a faint jolt that he had come to the last few. Just three, in fact. The idea made his chest swell, but not with pride - misery. The book had been something of an indulgence throughout his lonely travels. Countless times he almost lost it; once to the furious teeth of an agitated Roc and twice to angry sea waves.

The book had been authored by HalfHyde himself and was slightly reflective of the kind of things he once taught Waverly during lessons in the past. It contained information on travel, including common shortcuts, secret roads and the dangers that could spring from them should an unsuspecting traveler pass through.

In short, the book directed Judson more times than Bergor's map had.

Of course, he had lost the map and many other belongings given his ever changing location status. The only surviving items were the red book and hunting cloak, which was safely draped so that it always faced one side of his body. He never took it off and soon came to understand why Waverly hardly did either. It was surprisingly comfortable.

A loud ruffling from above abruptly snipped his string of thoughts and made him glance up. A little monkey was in the tree, nibbling away on a large fruit. Given his ability to sense how animals felt, he ignorantly threw his gaze from the starving creature, unable to focus on it or anything other than the fact that he was stuck worse than a fly in spiderweb.

He was utterly and completely lost, and could neither go further nor turn back.

The disappointment of it all weakened him that he felt drawn to tears.

Three years wasted and nothing to show for it.

Was there anywhere he had not gone yet? Anything he had not tried?

At least, the perilous journey to Hammiton to find Resli's friend had proved successful. But Pyralia had only schooled him on the history and dangers of The Chasma, which was the same thing the Gnomes had told him when he visited them. They had been kind enough, at least, to bless him a parting gift - a thin silver band with two gems in a floret style at the head. A Gnome had caught him gaping at it even though, in truth, he had been gaping at everything else.

Judson respected that, for a race so wealthy, Gnomes were humbly silent. They dwelled in the deepest parts of the ground inside seams and layers of earth so intricate that had he not been led to their abode by Pyralia herself, he would have been lost forever.

Contrary to Bergor's claims of the air being unbreathable in Hammiton, he discovered that he breathed easy, and many a-times, it came as a rather puzzling thing for natives.

His thorough exploration of the mysterious realm in search of answers had shockingly swallowed up an entire year. The weight of depression that followed his failure in that same year had stalled him for five months. In that time, he lived all alone in a glen inside a squalid cavern no lion would proudly call its den. For the life of him he could not pick himself up to accomplish even a task as trifle as cooking.

Day by day, he wallowed in suffocating grief and pain, until by the intervention of fate, his unkemptness had a hunting Werewolf mistake him for one.

Chiarrag of Screechbush had been his name.

And he was the one to rouse Judson from his state of self-pity. Chiarrag revealed that his mate, Nythed, had also been lost to The Chasma for a legion of centuries past. Even though he never found her, Chiarrag never stopped looking. The determination in the Werewolf had kick-started Judson's own to overspeed.

With a pocketful of hope and a fresh wave of confidence, he set out of Hammiton only to be stranded deep within the Red Mountains of Ruphat. The dangers he faced in the ranges - a colossal terrain capable only of discouraging hope - had all but drove him to all the more dig his heels in his quest. Experience hardened his neck and his heart, and after another five torturous months, he emerged from Ruphat through an infamous pass named Elsor.

In the blink of an eye, two years whisked off.

Choosing to ignore his failures and bottle up his feelings, he set out for The Moonscape Schaft of Ezkaliepton as directed by Chiarrag. It was where Nythed was unfortunately lost.

Anything as simple as a trace would suffice, he thought.

If the disappointment of finding nothing had not killed him first, the corrosive weather would have. Snowstorms in the Schaft could easily fool one into the belief that someone was cracking the earth in two like an egg. With them came violent earthquakes and erupting volcanoes that were shockingly unaffected by the furious snowfall. Once or twice, Judson could have sworn he saw a star fall or something of the weird sort. Thunderbolts long enough to measure the ocean struck the sky and blinded every eye that looked upon it for two days straight.

In that hazardous land, the only living things were Succubuses, and Judson avoided them like a plague. Where the earth quaked and left depthless fissures was their home. Several times he had found himself sliding off snow to almost skid into a cleft. His ability to fly became his one saving grace as the demons made no attempts to come to him; waiting earnestly to grab at any inch of living thing that so much as neared the cracks.

His next unpleasant destination had been a place called the Wilderness of Bryne, where despite the lack of sleep and food, he somehow rekindled fire in the belly to continue his search. As it turned out, the realm of Hammiton was not the only one famous for underground residents.

With the help of a band of cave dwelling Dwarves under banishment, he was able to scour. Quite heartily while at it too.

He found that he liked Dwarves very much. They were unpredictable beings, mirthful and frivolous to a fault. But should the need be great, they could deliver. From them, he learned muchness; and how to broil mine - a kind of cucumber soup that when covered for too long in a pot would make a plosive sound and pop its lid off in a more literal sense than one expected.

Mine was criminally delicious and could very often disguise even the most troubled of minds with goodness.

Also, the dwarves had theorized that since the Chasma was notorious for wetting its whistle mostly from underground routes, its dumpsite was likely somewhere underground. Because of this, all of Judson's search happened in the subterranean whether prominent or otherwise.

He spent the next few seasons scouring every peephole he could find in the earth until he became something of a scab himself. Not that he particularly cared little for regular baths and grooming, but with his mind so fixated on finding Waverly, he forsook all else.

From being so oblivious of passing time as well, it shocked him to the bone to see how much he grew in a span of three years. It was one fateful day in a Gypsie village that he caught his reflection in a mirror and stood, frozen, staring at the stranger that ogled back at him with eyes as gray as an angry storm. His clothes were all but ragged and in dire need of thorough washing. The curls in his hair had gotten thicker, and browner, and wilder such that they fell across his face and half concealed his eyes. It always baffled him why everything on the ground appeared a tad smaller, but then, he recognized that he had only grown tall. The skin on his face was a field of blemishes; some receding and others stubbornly emerging.

In a strange sort of satisfying way, he appeared and even felt older. A mature adult in Shade terms. Whether or not he liked to believe it, he was already two decades old. It seemed only yesterday when he could barely walk properly on his own feet, toddling in wonder at everything.

Now, he was all defined jawline and concrete eyes.

It finally made sense why he was so frequently stared at. Most especially by girls. There was never an instance he strode into a crowd that a lash did not flutter in his direction. More often than not it set him running along. The last thing on his mind was playing at courtship with anyone. He had his sights set on someone else and was satisfied with her even in her absence.

After a long swig from his waterskin, Judson pulled up his sleeve to stare briefly at Calaire. The weapon randomly crossed his mind at certain times of day. It was dormant as ever, dull and lifeless like a simple piece of wounded rope. He wielded it only in dire times such as when he was in need of a line to climb or descend an impossible height with care. Just because he could soar before his feet touched the ground did not mean it was always safe to plummet.

He learned that the hard way.

Glancing about at the peaceful field, he tried to remember what realm he was in. It had become a whole task of its own to keep up with place names and how often he crossed the bridge of Bridge, so he chose to pay no mind altogether. Yet, he sensed that he was still within Ezkaliepton. He had traveled and seen much of the realm that he began to secretly cherish it. Once in a while, he would linger on purpose to fully absorb the nature of a place; to commit it to memory. There were certain places he promised he would bring Waverly when he found her; sceneries he wanted her to see.

Once he even heard of a place called the Golden Hills of Ganagor. Sacred land it was and the home of Ganagor, mountain spirit and sire of the race of Outcasts. Places like that nurtured untainted power, and Judson had discovered that stepping into such environments unraveled him. It opened up his mind, like a locked up chest, and spilled out treasures untold. His powers showed forth in abundance, and it was thrilling how much his mind could contain. It felt as though it expanded each time to accommodate better. His greatest unraveling had taken place in Ruphat, where the very soil was as ancient as the gods. A fountain had broke open inside him after much struggle to hold back, allowing him exercise an authority he never knew he possessed.

Now, his powers were right at his fingertips. All of them. Numberless as they were, he spent no energy to reach nor utilize them like before.

A long chitter distracted him again and he glanced up. The monkey was staring and its lunch had obviously been gobbled up.

"Not satisfied?" Judson asked, rolling his eyes as he pushed to his feet. It was one thing to sense a hungry monkey, and it was another for it to sense that he was capable of growing plenty.

The animal swung with ease to the lowest branch and dangled upside down then let out rapid chitters that sounded much like complaints.

Judson heaved a sigh. "You just ate a fruit the same size as my fists."

Another chitter, but in protest. It did not exactly come as a translation in English whenever animals babbled - he once thought it would - instead, it came as a surface feeling. A kind of confirmed guess.

"No." He leaned outward, avoiding the monkey's long arm as it took a lazy swipe at him. "What is this violence? If you refuse to be polite, then you will go on searching for food on your own."

The monkey swerved and sat upright on its behind then recoiled and began to make low noises.

"Your apology is unclear." Judson taunted, tapping against his right ear.

The sounds increased by a few decibels. He grinned. "There now! Much better. Follow me. I will not disrespect the elmen and spring at its foot."

At a safe distance, he sprouted a muskmelon from the ground and watched the monkey jump at it with the enthusiasm of many. No sooner had it started to grub than two more emerged out of nowhere to join in. Judson backed away to avoid the ensuing chaos that was a trio of monkeys in disagreement over food.

Just then, the force of a flying arrow sent one of the animals tumbling roughly to the ground, dead.

Judson's head snapped up, frozen by the unexpected intrusion. It was unlikely that an attacker would come to a grove, but he had seen too many oddities in the past to be wholly surprised. The other monkeys scrambled in different directions, squealing in fear. He, on the other hand, quickly concealed himself behind a tree trunk to see who had come a-hunting.

The hunter was well draped to hide their identity. They strolled forward in a bold march, tucking away a fairly good bow. Halfway to squatting over the dead prey, the hunter paused, body arching ever so slightly then, at the last minute, retrieved the bow and nocked an arrow.

Judson heard nothing and saw nothing, until he spun about to peep again only to find that both prey and predator were gone.

He frowned.

It was not possible for a being to have been so silent.

Just then, he felt a raid of nerves and all the hair on his neck stand on end. The tip of an arrow pressed dangerously against the back of his skull.

"Move and you won't be alive long enough to regret it."

The voice was muffled yet undeniably female.

He remained as he was, still.

Risking a side glance, he saw the limp monkey dangling from a secure knot around her waist. It hurt him to see a creature he just conversed with, dead and ready to be devoured, but even if he wanted to get angry, he considered the fact that, one way or another, the animal would have fallen prey. It only hurt that he witnessed it.

"Do you feast on flesh too?" He asked casually.

"No." She was disgusted. "You'll live if you won't stand in my way."

"I do not intend to. Your victim there was a friend."

A minute of silence fell.

"I had no foreknowledge. Do you go about befriending monkeys?"

"Perhaps not as often as you go about shooting them."

"Odd for a Shade." She mumbled then came around to stand before him. A long gasp came out of her and she tossed back the greenish hood that concealed her face.

Judson half frowned because, for a split second, he seemed to recognize her.

"By Gayl!" She exclaimed. There was obvious excitement in her shocked tone. "It's you again!"

His eyes roamed her face in search of familiarity. She was clearly an Elf. Two things were stunning about her; the first being her eyes - a shock of blue, like plates of glacier ice; the second was her hair - white as silver. A diamond ring was clasped in her nostril. With the way she sized him up, it was obvious that she racked her brain to recall his name.

Meanwhile, he had suddenly remembered hers.

"Vestri." He said simply.

She gave a joyous squeal and almost leaped. "You remember me."

"Took a few moments." He admitted, dryly, subconsciously bracing himself for a very delicate question he believed would soon pop out of the Elfin. She had matured physically, perhaps six years ahead of him even though he doubted she was precisely as old. Elves were confusing in the age arena.

"It's abnormal meeting you here. Aren't Shades sworn to Dakriton?"

"I believe as Elves are glued to their bow," He replied. "But we have an easier time detaching."

Her chuckle was gleeful. "You've grown witty."

His gaze, which had long been fixed grimly on the dead monkey, shifted to the muskmelons scattered about the verdure. "I have grown."

A pause and Vestri glanced about.

In his mind, Judson began to count. One, two, three. . .

"Where is Waverly?"

Involuntarily, his eyes closed, but Vestri did not see it. Pain came afresh. He heard her voice for the billionth time - at the tip of his memory, whispering soft, incoherent things; her laughter resounded from a great distance yet seemed to cloak around him and raised goosebumps across his forearms; her smell raided his senses like the shocking breath from a poppy after being stirred by the wind. It stung and sweetened at the same time, lulling him to feel a slight drowsiness. He bit down on his tongue. It was accustomed to rolling out an answer, mindless of how much it hurt to speak of that dreadful day.

"Oh!" The She-Elf exclaimed in a pitiful, small voice after his silence lengthened. "Have you gone your separate ways then?"

He almost chuckled. "You could put it that way."

Perhaps, from the grim nature of his replies, Vestri gathered that the Shade was in no mood for a conversation, even one as friendly as theirs. He seemed to be distracted. They stood at the same eye level now, although she had once been taller. His appearance was wilder, like a seasoned hunter, yet he looked perfectly handsome under all of it.

"Is there something you are looking for?" She inquired.

Judson glanced up, surprised. The question threw him off guard yet it had not been totally unexpected. He had somehow cultivated the habit of peering about when idle.

He opened his mouth to speak then realized that the question was also a very complicated one. Aiming for truth, he sighed weakly.

"Yes."

Vestri nodded, wishing that he would meet her eyes. She aimed to decipher the trouble in them because she sensed he was deeply troubled. "I offer to help you look."

"Thank you, but I would rather you went ahead and had your lunch." He had not intended to sound so dismissive and glimpsed her flinch a bit.

"I see!" She mumbled, stepping backwards for she recognized boundaries as soon as she saw one. "I will leave you to it then."

She turned to go.

Judson fought with himself within seconds. There were definitely places he was yet to visit. He did not need to be told that Vestri was a traveler. It was a new skill of his - to sense those who had spent weathers on the road. Before he could stop himself, he called her to a halt.

"Vestri, wait."

She spun on her heels.

"I apologize for being so blunt."

"I want to believe you had a good reason for it." She supposed, hefting the striped bow around her shoulder.

"There was," He admitted. "And I do need help in searching for something I have lost."

After his tale, Vestri was unable to cook and eat the monkey. Instead, she gave it a respectful burial and settled for pieces of muskmelons The news shocked her to abrupt silence that lingered until noon of the next day.

As she straightened out her cloak, she seemed to have fallen deep in thought because it took a long while before she spoke.

"Come with me to the North." She offered, her expression flickering from a blank one to a frown. The blue in her eyes went dangerously sharp. "I hope that we can find something useful there."

"The North." Judson repeated, anticipation rupturing into air bubbles in his blood. He long believed the Northern Elvish city was non-existent and something of a myth, but the She-Elf had a glow in her eyes that proved she was far from willing to indulge in falsified stories.

"Adondriñn." She pronounced the word in her native tongue. "We will give our very best and all of it too to find her." After a pause, her eyes flitted away. "She gave hers once."

The statement reminded Judson that Waverly was the Elfin's hero. He remembered how fascinated Vestri had been when they first met; and how the She-Elf had risked punishment twice just to help them. No doubt, half the whole world saw Waverly as their hero, but he understood that Vestri's enamoration was on a different, more personal level.

"That would be delightful." He calmly put out.

It was such a relief to finally be up and about again, in a sturdier direction. He recognized as soon as Vestri made the suggestion that he preferred to try and fail than to sit and wish. In the past week, his aim had only been to find a town or settlement where he could rest after spending two whole seasons lost in a sly woods. That was the very first time nature did not speak to him and a very uncomfortable experience too. There was no way to navigate his way out, until he met a very chatty Derew that promised one second to show him the right path then forgot again the very next. Perambulating without rest was the reason he faceplanted a rock and came close to destroying the structure of his face.

"On horseback, it should take us four days and a week's ride. Double by foot. Do you fly?" She squinted, and Judson wondered if she thought he found the question offensive.

"When I need to." He responded airily, consciously keeping the briskness from his tone. It often manifested through his sour mood even when he did not mean for it to.

"Then you will have to pardon me for slowing you down. A week it will be if you can keep up with Dwinvirrea."

Judson peered furtively about. "Your horse."

"Yes."

"She is thirsty."

"Of course, we've ridden nonstop for three days through. . ." There, Vestri paused again and her eyebrows knitted closely. "How do you know Dwin is thirsty?"

Without a word, he turned and strolled in the direction of the horse. She laid down on her gleaming white front in obvious exhaustion. Judson stood there quietly and watched her while she blinked orbicular eyes of earth brown at him, communicating her displeasure. Vestri caught up to him in gentle strides.

"You wear her out too often for her age." He announced calmly without taking his gaze off the pony. "If you keep it up, she may fall sick of a terrible illness."

He felt the Elfin nod. She walked forward and squatted in front of the horse, affectionately rubbing her front.

"mir anvi, mir aléon." She whispered in a soft voice that made Dwin lift her head. "mélāo queno ra mir ei sar nohel erethan pari orth anornon."

Judson felt a wave of satisfaction over the fact that he understood all that the Elfin said. He doubted she would pay more attention to Dwin as she promised, but from the looks of it, both rider and horse had a closeness likened to that of siblings. It put the worry out of his mind.

"A long stream is just past those hedges." He advised, pointing. "You can take her for a drink there. I will wait for you both."

When Vestri and Dwin disappeared down the line of tall trees, a shuffling noise like that of sand being dug made Judson casually turn. From experience, he gathered it was a mole and paid no attention, but when the noise began to heighten, his attention snapped back. It took a long time before he had the mind to walk toward the site, and by then, Vestri had already returned.

"Do you see something?" She asked, furtively taking out her bow.

"Do you not?" He retorted then held out a placating hand. "There might be no need for hostility."

Together, they inched across the field, until the sight of deep brown earth scattered into heaps against the green earth came to view. The unseen digger was unusually fast and precise, digging in a particular fashion as if its aim was to make a trench in the end, but it did not look to be doing much of a great job.

Judson's head tilted to the side, interest spiking inside him.

"Is it a mole?" Vestri asked. She sounded more panicked than afraid. He doubted anything could scare her.

Just then, the head of a creature popped out of the ground, causing the pair to jerk back in surprise at its sudden emergence.

"A Burrower." Judson exclaimed in a mutter.

"Borrower?" Vestri frowned.

"Burrower." He corrected, standing up straight. The tendency to lean often took him subconsciously.

"What is the difference?"

The little creature climbed out of the hole, and with a nostalgic jolt, Judson recognized it.

"Qar?"

Its purple eyes were unforgettable.

The Burrower blinked repeatedly in surprise. "As you presume, sire. Have I known you before?"

A part of him wanted to explain and another part of him decided to leave it be. "I. . . knew your parents once."

The creature's face twitched several times over. He had grown much and lost every trace of plumpness he once had as a youngling. From a short distance, he could have easily been mistaken for a rabbit. The image of him being shot down by a hunter's arrow suddenly filled Judson's mind and made him glance in wariness at Vestri.

"I may have some faint memory of you, sire. Vague, but memory still." Qar began dreamily, stepping forward in an awkward gait. "Memory of winter and springtime after; odd guests my ma received once long ago, but I am unable to place faces to them. I was far too young to retain such things."

Judson gave a nod. "Odd guests indeed."

For moments, the Burrower's eyes stayed fixed on Judson's.

"What is it you are doing digging in an elm grove?" Vestri asked, stepping forward.

At the sight of her, or it seemed that he was only registering her presence for the first time, Qar's breath shuddered loudly in awe.

"An Elf!" He exclaimed, then advanced and mimicked a very hilarious salute, although, it would have looked chivalrous had he been any taller. "My lovely lady, I humbly esteem you."

A sweet giggle made Vestri's shoulders vibrate. "How mannerful! How do you do!"

She held out a hand, and Qar, managing to hold it up, placed several kisses across the back.

"Wonderfully, My lady. You must pardon my digging, but I am only in search of two things."

"And what are they?" She queried.

"A home or a purpose, My lady." He sighed, growing crestfallen the next instant. "You see, I am different from the rest of my family, and for that, I cannot live with them anymore. I have refused the way of my kind and chosen a path unlikely of their nature. It is disgraceful, but I say and think not. My pa took the same path. He found purpose and a home. I intend to do the same, but it is difficult."

Here, he turned to the hole.

"I am not yet skilled at digging up a trench to live in. When it snows, I shall freeze, and when it rains, I am doomed to drown. When it shines, my coat will burn. This is no shelter."

"Since you have no way of building yourself a home yet, what about finding purpose?" Vestri suggested.

Qar's head wobbled as it lowered. "I am a dreamer and nothing more, My lady. My pa says it is not enough to dream, but to do. And if purpose is to be found, I have to look right. I have looked sincerely for years and years, and it is dawning on me that, perhaps, I am nothing but a dreamer as my brothers say."

Judson's blink was soft. He deeply understood all that the Burrower meant, and also, the sudden thought of company thrilled him.

"Your brothers are wrong." He cut in. "I believe that you have found purpose at last."

Qar's large eyes widened to an alarming size. "I-I have?"

"Here and now. I ask you, of your own free will, to join me on a quest. I cannot promise that it is going to prove easy nor safe; your life may constantly be in danger, but you will achieve purpose and perhaps, a home after it all."

Qar's chest swole so much that he looked as though he had sucked in every one else's air. He went down on one knee, appearing much shorter, and his head bowed.

"I offer my servitude, sire, and loyalty and devotion, and my freedom. Until your quest is fulfilled, I am bound to you. And until you release me of service, I remain bound."

Then, for the first time in a long while, a smile curved Judson's lips. "Take it to be more of companionship than servitude, Qar. You might not remember it, but we were friends once before. To your feet and come with us. We are northward bound."

With a skip in his step, Qar followed Vestri to be formally introduced to Dwinvirrea. According to the Burrower, it had always been a dream of his since childhood to see a valiant horse up close. Out of humor, Judson shook his head as he watched the creature in the distance fawn and muse over the lovely pony.

He stretched out both hands and the sand Qar had heaped up began to sweep back into the hole. It did this until the ground was a perfect plane and green again.

Then, with a thankful glance at the elm tree he had been sulking under the day before, he walked off to join his new company.