HOME | DD

Description
I always wished I had four fingers, Three and then my thumb, that would be long an nearly skeletal. It fascinated me in movies whenever elven people would have four fingers. I always wanted to have them, and be different from everyone else. Naturally, pointed ears were something I wanted too. These are more pixie like though, since there are only three , so I suppose I'll make him a planet druid.

~~~~

"Mother... Look at the elves..." The small creature whispered in a voice that was more a whispering wind than a voice, but it was audible, and his mother heard him. The two druids sat on a tree branch, their wrinkled faded skin blending with the lush greens of the canopy. Below them, not yet on the forest floor, but in wondrous stone houses in the tree tops, Elves walked across marble bridges leading from tree to tree, defying logic and gravity. Orbs of blue light glittered, magical illuminating each of the wonderful castles the pale skinned creatures walked through.

They were beautiful in every way, and the druid did not understand. Where they had marble skin, he had fading parchment. Where they had long flowing hair of blues, silvers and blacks, he had patches of grasses and vines growing from his scalp. What right did the young child have to even look at these gods of the tree tops? He didn't think he had any.

His mother help him in her lap, leaning back on her feet. She kept perfect balance as she held her little boy in her arms, squatting on the tree branch, gazing down at the elves. Her own voice was a scratchy whisper as she cooed in her sons ear, caressing the vines falling down his back. "What about them, my child...?"

The boy looked up at his mother through large black drooping eyes bordered in wrinkles before looking down at the gorgeous night walkers once more. The moonlight glittered on their perfect skin, but only made his look more faded and worn. He could hear them sing as they bathed, their voices like angels as they washed their hair with their slender fingers, and he could see the black smiths using their mighty strength, four fingered hands raising and lowering a great metal hammer to pound hot metal into it's shape. They could do things with their hands he could never do. He slowly lifted his hands to his face, balling and unballing the three fingers in shame.

"What is wrong...?" The mother breathed.
"Their hands are beautiful..." He sighed.
The mother frowned, causing more wrinkles to appear on her rounded face. "So are yours, my child.."
"Not like theirs.." Te boy protested.
She sighed, stroking the long vines draping down her son's back. "What makes theirs special...?"
"They are strong and mine are weak... They are velvet, and mine are sand.... They have four fingers, But I have only three...." He said sadly, his eyes closing in shame as he slowly hung his head.
The mother frowned, kissing the boys shoulder softly. "My son... You are a miracle.. The elves cannot leap from tree to tree like us. They are beautiful statues, wonderful to look at, but good for very little travelling."

Black eyes opened slowly as the boy thought of his mother's words, and he smiled lightly. A dry, breath laugh escaped tiny, tender, wrinkled lips. "I.... I am beautiful..." He said softly.

"Yes... Yes you are..."

Description
I always wished I had four fingers, Three and then my thumb, that would be long an nearly skeletal. It fascinated me in movies whenever elven people would have four fingers. I always wanted to have them, and be different from everyone else. Naturally, pointed ears were something I wanted too. These are more pixie like though, since there are only three , so I suppose I'll make him a planet druid.

~~~~

"Mother... Look at the elves..." The small creature whispered in a voice that was more a whispering wind than a voice, but it was audible, and his mother heard him. The two druids sat on a tree branch, their wrinkled faded skin blending with the lush greens of the canopy. Below them, not yet on the forest floor, but in wondrous stone houses in the tree tops, Elves walked across marble bridges leading from tree to tree, defying logic and gravity. Orbs of blue light glittered, magical illuminating each of the wonderful castles the pale skinned creatures walked through.

They were beautiful in every way, and the druid did not understand. Where they had marble skin, he had fading parchment. Where they had long flowing hair of blues, silvers and blacks, he had patches of grasses and vines growing from his scalp. What right did the young child have to even look at these gods of the tree tops? He didn't think he had any.

His mother help him in her lap, leaning back on her feet. She kept perfect balance as she held her little boy in her arms, squatting on the tree branch, gazing down at the elves. Her own voice was a scratchy whisper as she cooed in her sons ear, caressing the vines falling down his back. "What about them, my child...?"

The boy looked up at his mother through large black drooping eyes bordered in wrinkles before looking down at the gorgeous night walkers once more. The moonlight glittered on their perfect skin, but only made his look more faded and worn. He could hear them sing as they bathed, their voices like angels as they washed their hair with their slender fingers, and he could see the black smiths using their mighty strength, four fingered hands raising and lowering a great metal hammer to pound hot metal into it's shape. They could do things with their hands he could never do. He slowly lifted his hands to his face, balling and unballing the three fingers in shame.

"What is wrong...?" The mother breathed.
"Their hands are beautiful..." He sighed.
The mother frowned, causing more wrinkles to appear on her rounded face. "So are yours, my child.."
"Not like theirs.." Te boy protested.
She sighed, stroking the long vines draping down her son's back. "What makes theirs special...?"
"They are strong and mine are weak... They are velvet, and mine are sand.... They have four fingers, But I have only three...." He said sadly, his eyes closing in shame as he slowly hung his head.
The mother frowned, kissing the boys shoulder softly. "My son... You are a miracle.. The elves cannot leap from tree to tree like us. They are beautiful statues, wonderful to look at, but good for very little travelling."

Black eyes opened slowly as the boy thought of his mother's words, and he smiled lightly. A dry, breath laugh escaped tiny, tender, wrinkled lips. "I.... I am beautiful..." He said softly.

"Yes... Yes you are..."