Don't worry father, I will make you proud."

Cadineal was never one for drawn out speeches, he wasn't blessed with a guilded tounge like his father. He crouched down, dropping to his knees before the polished slate block engraved with the name "Corbio Farkield", all that remained of his father save the few memories from childhood. He smiled a bit as he gathered his robes around his small frame to protect himself from the harsh autumn winds that swept through the quiet graveyard.

Cadineal's family was much more a visiting party than a guiding voice in his life. His father, Lord Corbio Farkield, servant of both Gelathia, then Reiger in his later years, died when he was young. Almost five or six by human standards if anyone was counting. A dying request, as he withered away in his bed in Kisah, was sent to the priests of kisah. "Take my son, show him the way of our people so that he may give life, whereas I took life." And so at the age of seven, he began his lessons.

When other children were out playing on the streets of the the hidden city of elves, Cadineal spent his time left in libraries reading, or in class with one priest or another. The only contact with the world outside was the gossip and talk of fellow schoolmates, reenacting outrageous stories from the Stone City, and his mother Sercina Farkield, who would once a month bring him cookies and other pastries she baked in Karathos. They would sit in the forest, away from the prying eyes and grabby hands of the other students, who flocked around the food like vultures.

Cadineal enjoied this simplistic life, not knowing what he was missing. Life passed him by and he grew and learned, hoping for the day that now had arrived: his return home to Karathos.

He gave the tombstone one last reassuring smile, as if his father would recieve it. He took his bag back onto his shoulder, laden with books and other small items he had collected, small stones and rocks. He had always loved skipping stones, perhaps the Sirlath would provide him with such pleasure.