The rain fell.

They say the heavens weep when an elf dies. They certainly seemed to be weeping now. The foliage swayed to and fro in the downpour. Rain poured from the dark sky, dripping off of the trees and bushes, rippling the pools of water. And J'eahan Alreth lay dying in one of these pools.

Well, it's a comforting idea, I suppose. A comforting idea to take to the grave with me. It’s good to know that at least someone will notice me die. Wearily, he opened his eyes again. So this was what death was like. The eyelids get heavy; the energy drains out of you. What people said was one thing, but living it was another. Or dying it, rather. Still, I never thought I'd be dying in a godforsaken place like this, alone. No, it was more than that; by damnation, he'd never expected to die at all.

The death of an elf is not natural, after all. The elven lands had not experienced war since the beginning of recorded history, and, unlike the mortal races, elves never grow elderly, and never fall ill. Death...no such thing exists, in the elven country. Even J'eahan, though youthful in appearance, had wandered this earth for more than 1200 years. Ha, he thought, 1200 years and it comes down to this, half submerged in a muddy pool, dying to a group of common bandits. Father would be so displeased; having a family member die was a shameful thing in elven society. It's the fault of those damn humans you keep company with, he’d say. I always knew they’d be the death of you.

150 years he'd been in the human lands, and in every last one of them he’d enjoyed himself. It was nothing like what he’d known at home. Humans lived their lives with such…urgency. Such passion. Of course, such a thing was to be expected. Mortal beings are often troubled by their fate. And yet, somehow, the prospect of death seemed to make them more…alive. As he had grown up, he had idly wondered which was more natural. His fellow elves had warned him against venturing into human society; they were barbaric, savage. They lacked the repose and calm of higher beings. They were fools.

But elvish society was only alive in the technical sense of the word. They breathed, and they endured, but they did not live. To be alive for eternity…would he become like them, too, in time? Alive and yet dead, uninteresting and uninterested? A fate like that was unacceptable, unendurable. And so he had left to join humans. Maybe they knew how to live, maybe not. But you can’t really be alive unless you try. You can’t be alive unless you try.

By the flame, you’ve got to live and only then can you be complete.

Fighting, eating, drinking, friends and colleagues, dangers and good times; all of these things were worth it. And the fact that he risked death to enjoy them; that made it even better. You don’t know what you’ve got until you lose it.

And now, he had lost it. He could feel himself drifting away. His spirit was fading; he was not long for this world. His eyes had closed again; he forced them open. I’ll take one last look around, and then die content.

But there was someone there, a boy, holding his hand. Surprised, J’eahan momentarily forgot to die.

“Ummm…”, the boy said. He looked no older than…20? J’eahan was notoriously bad at judging human ages, as were most elves. “Are you okay?”

How long have you been there? J’eahan meant to ask, but he could not form the words. His mouth moved, but he could not speak; he had lost too much energy. But it didn’t matter, not at all. J’eahan was glad not to die alone. He gave the boy’s hand a little squeeze; the child smiled and squeezed back.

J’eahan Alreth died smiling.

The rain fell.