Heart of Clear Springs: III

A tale the hunters of Springvale pass mouth to mouth—how a spring spirit and a youth made a promise.

When the night wind ceased and the moon in the pool was full again, the youth first heard the spirit's voice.

Spirits are born finer and more sensitive than humans; the youth could not help being captivated by her language, soft as a lament.

But spirits are also born finer and more sensitive than humans; through the youth's eyes she saw unspoken longing and a vow about to leave his lips.

Suddenly the spirit was panic-stricken.

A mortal's life is hardy yet brief; the youth would grow and grow old. When he shed greenness and purity, how would he treat a pure descendant of the elements? When his years declined, would he blame himself for wasting a life on a childish promise?

The spring spirit was pure and kind, but she did not know human love. She had never seen human miracles, and took centuries of change as ordinary. Thus she especially feared parting.

What mortals see as miraculous waiting is, to elemental spirits, only brief beauty.

And the aging of the beloved—even a spirit's power cannot reverse.

The fine spring spirit could not bear to watch that day arrive irreversible, and so stopped the youth with a kiss.

How dull the youth was—he mistook the spirit's cool kiss of refusal for approval of his vow.

In that moment the spirit resolved she would one day harden her heart and leave him.

And the youth swore he would forever stay by the clear spring.