Young Writers Society

Chapter Three

"Father, I am going to search for Jellal." I stated after pushing my plate away and standing up to leave.

Father nods absently as he listens to Mother's chatter for her plans with the garden this coming week.

Dinner ended a few hours ago and Jellal had fled the room too quickly for me to follow. I had been searching for him since. Despite the fear that wells up in my heart every time he turns and looks at me, I couldn't help but crave his warm smiles and the laughter we shared as children.

I finally find him in a room near the attic. He looked to be drawing and as I draw closer I can make out the outline of a forest. He was surprisingly very good at it and I remain quiet so he could finish.

"I hope it was alright that I used some of the supplies in the room." He quietly explains as he sets down the half finished drawing to glance over at me.

I smile slightly. The art supplies in the room had been bought when I was a pre-teen and was interested in drawing and found a loving for it. However, most of it wasn't used since I found my calling with painting.

"It's alight. Most of it doesn't get used since I prefer painting over sketching so feel free to use the room." I offered, watching as his dark violet eyes widen in surprise.

He stands up and crosses the room to stare out at the setting sun. "Why are you so kind to me now? I don't deserve it." He asks, the last part coming out as a whisper that I could barely hear.

I place my hand against the scar left behind and sighed. "I hated you for what you did to me that day. But you don't remember it. I can't be so cruel as to be harsh to someone who doesn't remember what they've done and if they even were the one to do it in the first place."

He doesn't reply and I move forward to take his hand. He finally glances at me and I smiled. "Until the time comes and the truth is revealed, I wish for us to start over."

Jellal smiles warmly at that and nods. He reaches out and ruffles my hair like when he did when we were younger. I grinned and moved away stating, "When did you start drawing? You got talent." I complimented as I sat down on one of the stools near where the sketchy lay.

A sheepish smile crosses his face. "I took classes in the prison in order to keep up with my education and one day I sneaked into the art room and got caught drawing. Apparently even then, the teacher noticed I had potential and for punishment she ordered that I spent my weekends learning the skills to draw. It was quite fun on the weekends."

I couldn't help but laugh hysterically at that. He had to be the only person who would find drawing lessons on the weekends to be fun. I caught my breath after several minutes and survey the sketch more closely. Except for a few minute differences, it looked like the forest up north called Hira. It was rather popular due to the large amount of strange flowers that blossomed in the summer in the forest's heart.

"Have you been there?" I asked. It was very hard to get there because of the steep mountains and the treacherous rapids of the Hira River that outlined the southern part of the forest.

He glanced up from his sketch in confusion. "Been where?"

I pointed at the forest, explaining, "That looks eerily similar to Hira Forest."

He looks at me in shock and then down at the paper in contemplation. Violet eyes became hazy and I knew he was remembering something. I could feel the room slip down a few degrees as the power of his magic leaks through just a bit.

Finally, he shakes his head in attempt to clear it before speaking, "For some reason I feel like I remember it. As if it had been a part of a very distant memory. But I've drawn many pictures that bring me to the same confusion so I don't know what it's about."

I nod and decide to speak to Father and Mother about this. Maybe there was another incident of this before. But we slip into a rather comfortable silence as he begins to color the drawing and I go upstairs to bring down my painting for a few finishing touches.

He glances up after I finish setting up the canvas on the easel. I had been painting a rather large painting of the orchid outside during the autumn season. The apples were falling off and the maple trees changing colors.

"That's beautiful. Is it the orchid out back?"

I grinned. "Yes, it was based off last year's fall harvest. It had been a rather good harvest compared to the past years before." I explained and we spent the rest of the night quietly working on our separate pieces.