Monologue Of Danciet Alternate Ending

The air crackled as Callixta walked. Leaves fell from the trees. Their edges curled as they shriveled in the summer’s heat. Seven years of drought had cost the township of Danciet dearly. Being a nurse and helper in the sick rooms, she had witnessed the villagers hardships first hand. Ever since she was a child, she had helped her father, who was the town’s healer. Never had she seen so much death as she had in the last year. It was frightening to see the shriveled bodies of men who had once been healthy.
Callixta’s eyes burned with dry tears. This morning had been no different. Her son, Elwyn, found a man in the woods. It was rare to discover someone still alive. Usually, everyone perished from dehydration. Even her husband had died searching
“I’m not,” she goaded the evasive owner of the voice to keep him talking, desperate to know how to end Danciet’s suffering.
“Maybe not yet. But you are.” She could now hear him close behind her. “Over here.”

Callixta looked at the tree she had spoken to earlier and spotted a lithe brown figure. “Why’s a sprite in these parts? ”
“I’m not a sprite. I’m an elf,” he said, offended. “But I’d ask the same of you.”
Relaxing a little, Callixta examined the little man. Sprites were evil tricksters, but the immortal elves were, for the most part, well-meaning. “I’m looking for healing plants.”
“So you are a healer then,” the elf taunted. “Why’s a healer walking where nothing grows?”
“I’m not,” Callixta sighed. “I’m a nurse. I tend to the dying.”
“You’re doing it all wrong.” The man frowned.
She narrowed her eyes at the reedy elf who was speaking in riddles, and unappreciative of his criticism. Knowing nothing about her, elf or not, he was up to something. Because she didn’t trust him, she turned to walk away.
“You should be using magic,” the elf sang after
Callixta lifted the flask to her lips then stopped. “What’s the catch?”
“Intelligent lady,” Aklorn smirked. “Of course there’s a catch. But what does it matter if your son’s life is at stake?”
Hating the fact that he was right, Callixta tipped the waterskin slightly. A droplet landed on her lips. Licking her lips, she could taste the sweetness about which everyone had raved. Her parched body screamed at her for her to drink more.
“Step into the moonlight when you drink,” Aklorn ordered.
As the moonlight touched her cheek, she took a swallow. Although she felt no different, she was acutely aware of her thirst. She hadn’t had the opportunity to drink this amount at one time in years. First, she took another quick swig, then drank deeply.
“That’s my girl,” Aklorn encouraged. “How do you feel?”
“The same,” Callixta replied feeling worried that although the water might not kill her, it might not give her magic to cure her son. She took another gulp.
“This is good. You shouldn’t feel different.” Aklorn squared his shoulders with confidence. “Not yet at least.”
“When?” Callixta looked at her writhing son desperate to know when she could try to help