Ralph and the Pixie

As beautiful as the Elf Kingdom was, it was not a natural beauty. Instead, it was cultivated, selective, exclusive, and inherently harmful to anything or anyone the Elves had no interest in or use for.

Many Elves like Pran desired to change this, having always revered Nature for its own sake, and having mistrusted what others had done to meddle with it. Within the Elf Kingdom there had been no seasonal change for as long as anyone could remember; just one, long, stagnant summer. True, there had been no drought nor famine in as long a time, and there had been few storms. But gone, too, was the enriching decay and smell of fall, the long, meditative quiet of winter, the gentle spring mists which seemed inseparable from the new, verdant growth and poignant sense of renewal. The great Cycle of Life been stopped in its course.

The questions uppermost in the minds of many were these: what lay beyond the borders of the Elf Kingdom? Did Nymphs and Sprites still play in the streams and meadows and forests, or had they perished utterly? What unknown eyes might view a people fleeing their own folly, a people who had dispossessed others, and were themselves now likewise dispossessed? It was never spoken of openly, but there were those who felt that Elvenkind was cursed, that innocence was no guarantee of mercy. For as we have sown, so, perhaps, shall we reap, they thought to themselves.