Six Foot Two * Lithe wiry build * Intense blue eyes * Blond Hair

Tall for his bloodline of pure Elf, Meekel Silver-tone stood 74". His own ancestry a long one. Their surname had been chosen for the ability that ran down their line. They were healers through the silver tones in pure notes they could sing. Blue eyed and a lean build, Meekel was always on the move. He wore the soft leathers of brown and green hues. He was adept in speed and tracking. Skills second only to his song. Other races would find him evasive, keeping to his own kind or his ownself in observing. He was one to help others where he could but cautious of overstepping those fragile boundaries between Humans and Elves. Their mindframe was different from their Human counterparts. In essence, they didn't make mistakes. They made choices and either they were accomplished or they weren't. One track minded when set to a task or decision, they rarely failed. The Elves found out early that few Humans held to their given word in promise, unlike themselves. This was where the greatest chasm existed between the two races. Humans made mistakes. They were more ruled by their emotions than their minds in logic.

Their clan of Silver Elves, cousins of the Sylvan Elves, had both been upon the rich lands of Heathfield since the castle was built, hailing originally from lands of Heyatheron, south across the ocean. It was of the Sylvan Elves that the Human, Andrew Barrett, had chosen a princess bride and their offspring ruled in the generations to come. It was why they came here. They still thrived as a clan, more hidden, upon these lands and walked with some of those of Human bred. Their aging process so much slower, time meant little in this passing. It is said they are immortal but can die at will or in battle with a fatal enough blow. For one of them to marry a human, had to be something extremely special and rare. Meekel had his own story to tell in time.

He had been one of those to choose a Human bride. Her Druid dark eyes had drawn him and his heart eventually even if such became a clash with his own people. They had married secretively and left these lands to avoid any rifts. Fate had not been kind in that year to come as Kathy felt regrets in his separation from his people. She felt the cause and took it hard. Hard enough for him to find her gone after their son was born. The note left had been heart wrenching. Regardless of her penned words he set out in search of her. He needed to convince her. In the many years that followed he came up empty handed. So many times he tracked a new lead, so many times to only be disappointed. So many lands he had covered, all four corners of the Earth in all this time until one day as he sat on a ledge high above a valley he felt the call. The call was to come home finally to his people once more. He headed out and arrived some months later. He never found his Kathy but in time his son found him. Two parts to a pendant she wore finally fitted together again.

Once Heathfield lands were reached, he was hesitant, not knowing if his people would accept or reject him for the past. His thoughts were on his clan and all that had transpired so many years ago as he sat along the water's edge of a stream that ran down from the mountains of these mystical lands. The woods of the forest held a deafening silence at first, a full moon to shine its pale light this night in a dance with the shadows. He watched and felt these shadows, sensing each colored leaf to turn and fall quietly. Each being of the night, within his perimeter, walking the forest or snuggled up in safety was felt. He could hear the forest breathe both life and death, held in such a precarious balance. He held no fears even as a bear passed by close to where he sat. There was a respect between the two and a brief moment of acknowledgment before the bear continued on. He knew then what he needed to do. It was time. He had just been waiting for that right moment.

Swiftly he moved through these woods to find the highest point, there to the top of this mountain. No sound was made more than the wisp of a breeze in his passing. He would be within range that his own kind could feel his presence. Would they recognize him? To the edge of a ledge he stepped, standing motionless as he reached out with that inner ability. One silvery laced tone to slip from his lips as he let out a deep breath. Like a nightingale it echoed down the valley below, through forest and dale in a pure octave. It was a call to his people as one lost soul would do in a final measure of hope. He waited to see if he would be welcomed. He waited to hear a returned call. Moments later there  was a chorus of pure octaves to echo in a musical blend. He was home.

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