![]() ![]() Her words were like music, the song of a wooden flute that had been polished a thousand thousand times. "Not so pointy as a full elf's ear, yet clearly no round human ear, either," Eld Ailea told the infant, who opened one eye, squinted in the firelight, and shut it again. The chair, its wood burnished with centuries of use, creaked comfortably as Eld Ailea settled into it, lay the infant on her green skirt, and traced a finger around one baby ear. The chair, nearly as old as Eld Ailea herself, contrasted with the living rock walls much as a well-worn pair of slippers offset a new-sewn robe. The midwife gathered the tiny bundle to her and stepped to a rocking chair placed before the fire. "Even with your first breaths, you reveal your parentage." As if to give lie to her murmuring, the baby, arms swaddled against his chest, ceased his cries, yawned, and fell asleep. A breeze entered from a window overlooking a Qualinost lane, freshening air redolent with sweat, blood, and sorrow. The firelight reflected off the rose quartz walls of the midwife's Qualinost home, bathing the angry newborn in a peach-colored glow as he wailed, small chest shuddering as he drew in gulps of air. ![]() The infant's cry was not the cry of an elven child.Įld Ailea, ancient even in the eyes of the long-lived elves, cast a sympathetic eye on the infant as she wrapped him in swaddling clothes of silvery linen. ![]()
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