I dropped the final apple into my basket. And I could smell the rain coming. It was poignant in the moist air, brushing beneath my nostrils whenever I inhaled. A longing gray colored the sky above the treetops and dropped beads of light through the branches.
Elves hated the rain because it disrupted their senses. Sounds became strident, and scents were lost. Disorientating it was, so most, including myself, avoided it. However, I recognized the importance of rain and depended on it to nourish the environment I so adored, even if the weather inconvenienced me.
And here I was, picking fruit for a human that had forgotten about me. Bleeding my fingers on thorns to reach the untouched berries at the heart of bushes. The cold rain could capture me—torment and abuse my skin, but my limbs were heavy with resolve. Encouraging me to stay, allowing me to be vulnerable. It'd been a month since I last saw Simon. And a month since his promise of soon. Humans did not live long enough for their soon to take so long. Simon would not be coming back.
Whatever he'd seemed to be desperately searching for that night when he was reluctant to leave must have found its way to him. Now, he had no reason to come back. I was a hopelessly lonely fool. Because even after I'd acknowledged this, I sat by the lake and waited…
…for the human that never came.