The Yellow Band - Part 4

'Tonight I will try to dream of the door. So that I can go back to where I came from,' said Chorgil. 'Swim through memories I chose to put aside.'
'You could drink,' said Stilt. 'Many men do, to forget.'
Sylvia frowned. She looked up at Stilt and shook her head. 'He must not do that. His memories are like raging waters held by a feather-thin dam. If it breaks, they will devour him. It's the way Elves die. The ones that are not killed.'
Shadows coalesced in the air around the Elf's head. Some of them were flickering visions of frail beauty.
'He had lovers?'
'Thousands,' sighed Chorgil. His sigh sounded like it came from many throats. 'Thousands and thousands and thousands.'
'You could go on,' said Stilt. 'And you probably will. How old is he?'
The mask fled the Elf's burnt face. His blue eyes glittered like mountain lakes on a charred plateau. He sang the words: 'Thousands and thousands and thousands and thousands!'
'What's wrong with him?' asked Philippe. 'He has never been like this.'
'He's lonely,' said Sylvia. 'Terribly lonely. All his friends are dead. He's going to dream of his door and visit them in his memories. It's a dangerous trip and he may not come back.' She chewed her lips. She looked down at the ground and then she looked up at Stilt. 'Don't ask that last question. Tug at his roots and the world might shake.'