I Am Not My Skin [ UNDER EDITING ]

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As Igrette ventured into the great outdoors, he found himself surrounded by the warm, golden sunlight filtering through the trees, accompanied by the gentle rustle of the cherry leaves swaying in the light breeze. "The sun is already shining so intensely, even though it's not late afternoon," he remarked, shielding his eyes from the sun's rays. "Let's hope it won't be too scorching later in the day," he added as he strolled down the walkway, lost in contemplation.

The notion of his father being held captive somewhere in the aron and the likelihood that the white-haired wizard knew his whereabouts burdened his thoughts. If anyone in the ureaf knew where Xerion was, it would be Gollagim. "Even if I ask Gollagim subtly, he will still tell me he doesn't know where my father is or what happened to him," he said to himself as he halted halfway in his tracks to the court. "What if father made Gollagim swear never to tell a single avytes where he ventured, and that––enough, Igrette! You made a promise to yourself and Gingerylle that you would focus on the present and continue to cherish the memories you have of Regerth and those of your dearest father."

"On the other hand, I also made a promise to myself, which is to prioritize the upcoming elven gēäyms and not dwell on things beyond my control," he reflected as he continued walking, spotting Cellithem from a distance, his lively red, wavy hair bouncing as he skilfully hit the oval-shaped ball about with his racket. "If Cellithem is already playing clõvvën in the court, then where is Jodesa—oh, there he is," Igrette smiled warmly as his eyes landed on Jodesanth, his dear sun-kissed friend whom he had known longer than both Cellithem and Gregory. As with every other elf in Regerth, they met at Elvydīn, which most washers considered their grammar schools as well as singing schools for their youngins. "I could join them, but this heat is far too much for me to bear. I'd rather lie under the shaggy tree for a while and wait for the weather to cool."

The second Jodesanth saw him, he waved and called to him. "Care to join us, Igrette?"

Igrette shook his head and said. "I will have to decline your warm invitation, my fellow elf, as I have a date with destiny," he jerked his chin at the shaggy tree. "But I promise to join you two later when the weather cools."

Cellithem sighed, seemingly disappointed by Igrette and his lack of interest. "And so, my fellow elves, this yêrn's thrýpē goes to none other than team Olodor, the pearly-haired elves, who have never participated in the elven gēäyms before this yêrn's nîchāe." He quipped.

"Shall I ask Gregory what his thoughts are on your little remark?" Igrette jests, knowing full well what the consequences could be for Cellithem.

"No," said Cellithem quickly. "I was merely jesting. Regerth will, of course, bring home the thrýpē this year."

"Oh, Cellithem, you poor little coward," chuckled Igrette, finally stopping when he reached the thick, shady, shaggy tree. He indulged in a moment of respite under the shaggy tree, savouring the soothing touch of the cool emerald-coloured grass. In this tranquil setting, surrounded by the natural allure, Igrette found a peaceful reprieve from the day's commotion. However, his peaceful interlude abruptly ceased as he glanced towards the riverbank and spotted Gregory Armargon. He was a well-built elf with a sprinkling of freckles on his face, sporting a striking mass of red, shoulder-length curls. Standing at precisely five feet nine inches, he always carried his sword belt scabbard with pride.

Although brave and hard-working, as often described by Gingerylle, Gregory was also a determined and strong-willed elf, which sometimes frustrated Igrette as it affected his ability to make clear judgments about those around him, especially the white-haired wizard.

And to this day, Gregory stood by his promise that, sooner or later, the white-haired wizard would abuse Igrette's kind-hearted nature.

Igrette observed as Gregory and his steadfast companion (his sword) approached him. "Seems like everyone is relishing the morning sun today, except for me," Igrette mused. "Could it be that I have outgrown my carefree nature as a thýnër? No, that can't be the case, or else Gregory wouldn't have..."