"A living throne is a precarious thing," Dorain told her. "Yet this place strikes me as fitting testimony to the elves."
"It is a lovely spot," replied Lily, realising the full import of the elf woman's words. Dorain herself seemed the living embodiment of the elves' legacy, possessed of a strength and beauty that was forever tied to the natural world. She was at once a creature that depended on the natural wild for existence, and with a pang Lily realised for the first time wherein lay the dangerous tenuousness of the elves' future. Lily sat beside the elf girl trying to munch an apple quietly. Watching Dorain askance, she asked, "How is your leg?"
"It has . . . been kicked out from beneath me before."
Lily nodded. "I'm beginning to find that one has to change their walk as they go through life. And that sometimes we're forced to leave things behind, be those things precious bits of ourselves."
Dorain raised an eyebrow at this. Her gaze was directed inward. "It is harmful thing to do . . . yet however painful, you can get used to leaving precious bits of yourself behind . . . at times all too easily. People, however . . . living or dead . . . they are another matter entirely. They maintain a hold and a claim on your heart when times, things and circumstances are long forgotten."