Survival of the Fittest (Aki)

[Angmor]

In his early life, Teiris never thought much of running as a form of exercise. Useful as it might have been in some situations, it lacked challenge in his mind. One foot in front of the other, repeat as necessary. Boring.
After the many twists and turns his life had taken since then, however, he had realized the truth. Running was not a physical exercise. Rather, it was a mental one.
Of course, there is definitely a physical side to it... He thought ruefully to himself, wiping the sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand. He was always testing his limits these days, and he was definitely feeling them now. His throat and lungs burned in the cold air, and the beat of his pulse sounded erratically in his ears as if his head had become a tribal drum. The joints of his legs had begun protesting with each impact of his feet upon the ground, and the muscles spanning them felt like they were dissolving into liquid. And of course none of this was helped by the bleeding arrow-wound in his side. He was both weaponless and friendless, while his reletless pursuer had both. In short he was running out. Out of space, out of options, and out of time.
No, running wasn't just a mental exercise either. Running was a way of life.

When he had woken up that morning, he hadn't expected for his day to end this way. Three days before, he had managed to secure a job as a stable assistant in a tiny village at the foot of the Spine, some leagues south of the Palancar Valley. In the six months since his escape, he had been marginally successful evading his pursuers, but running out of money was constantly an issue, and he thought that his presence at such an out of the way place would remain unnoticed. It had been sheer bad luck that a quartet of bounty hunters had rode into down that day, and had recognized his face from the wanted posters as he had been attending to their horses. He had only just managed to escape, spooking the beasts to give him enough of a distraction to make a break for it. The ploy worked, but not before one of the bounty hunters managed to loose his bow and loose a blind shot that took Teiris in the right side. Luckily the wound was not deep, with most of the impact blunted by the thick leather of his coat, but it still bled profusely before it finally clotted around the arrow's head. He'd already snapped off the shaft, casting it aside as far as he could. Worse still, he had not managed to grab any supplies or weapons. He hadn't even been able to collect his first pay.

His only stroke of luck had been the direction he had managed to take, bringing him to the west and into the foothills of the Spine, instead of the open plains of the road where he would have been easy prey. The dense forest sheltered him from sight. This was little comfort, though. In the dead of winter, most of the trees were bare, doing little to impede an arrow's progress. Worse, his feet were crunching through a layer of mostly-melted snow, leaving clear tracks that a blind child could track. The sky under the westering orange sun was clear and cloudless, almost mocking him with its beauty. There would be no snow. His only hope was to find some expanse of bare rock further in the mountains, and then find a cave or some other shelter where he could hide from his pursuers until they gave up. And of course, all this before either ran out of endurance, bled out, or was caught.

Just then, he stumbled on a fallen branch hidden by the snow, wrenching him back to reality with a jolt of pain. He hissed through his teeth, feeling a single tear leak from between his eyelids to evaporate against his cheek as he ran.
Come on, suck it up. He told himself firmly, clenching his teeth hard. It's just pain. You know a thing or two about pain. It can't stop you. The voice of his uncle floated unconsciously through his mind, rising from the knife-edged corridors of his eidetic memory.
You are unbeatable, remember that. They can't beat you unless you give up.
With that thought, he was able to focus past the pain and discomfort, picking up his flagging pace as he repeated to himself, over and over.
Unbeatable. Unbeatable. Unbeatable.

He couldn't say how long and far he ran. Time and distance were meaningless. His senses had receded, as if a thin veil had fallen on the world. He felt as if he was a detached observer from within his own body, studying some clinical specimen.
Blood-loss, probably. This absent part of him thought. After all, he'd had experience with blood loss, having spent much of the past year experience some form of it.
Just then, the air behind him was filled with an angry whistle. Before he could even begin to react, something struck him hard in the lower leg, sending him off balance. He collapsed forwardly limply, skidding to a halt on the hard snow.

For several moments he lay there, unable to do much besides gasp like a landed fish, pondering his position like a drunkard. Very slowly, he turned on his side, looking for the object that had sent him here. He did not have to look far before he found himself looking down at a long arrow, fletched with what looked like a turkey feather. There would be nothing inherently alarming about this, if it was not for the fact that the shaft was embedded in the muscled portion of his left calf. As tired as he was, he could not quite start to register alarm at this, although it would probably begin to hurt pretty soon...
He almost didn't notice as a scruffy, tough-looking man emerged from the trees, bow in hand. Teiris immediately recognized the face of one of the bounty hunters.
This is the second time this man has shot me. He thought to himself, the slightest trace of anger stirring in his chest.
Upon finding his prey lying helpless before him after a long and arduous chase, the hunter did what any man would; double over, gasping.
"My... You..." The man managed eventually, moving a bit closer. "By the blood of Nyx herself... I can't believe that you ran this far with one of my stingers in you."
At the man's words, Teiris felt himself snap back into reality. His body ached all over, and there were now lines of fire arcing through his leg. His limbs felt like they were held down with invisible ropes of exhaustion. He fought it, gritting his teeth, waiting...
"Oh come now boy, don't be so upset. You can be proud of yourself for getting this far."
Teiris waited.
"By the gods, you are a young thing. They keep putting out bounties younger and younger these days. But still, a man's got to make a living..."
There. As the man's voice came closer, a face appeared in Teiris’ vision. This was what he had been waiting for.
Summoning all of his strength into one savage blow, he locked on the face and kicked it as hard as he could.
The man's jaw clicked, and the head snapped back. All feral rage, Teiris kicked again, this time to the stomach, sending his opponent stumbling against a tree. The bow dropped from the man's hand, groping for something on his belt...
Knowing he had to beat the forthcoming dagger from its sheath, Teiris scrambled to his feet, ignoring all of his body's protests with a snarl. Summoning every last reserve of strength, he threw himself toward his opponent, both feet first.
Crunch
As his feet connected with the man's neck, something gave sickeningly under the impact, like a snapped twig. Unable to catch himself, Teiris fell hard on his back, totally spent, unable to move again. He stared up at the bounty hunter, waiting. Strangely, the man made no move to avenge himself. The gloating expression had been replaced by one of complete and total surprise, then increasingly alarmed. Suddenly his body went limp, falling on Teiris, who found himself staring straight into the man's wide, panicked eyes, his throat making little urking sounds, growing ever more feeble. Finally, they stopped altogether, the eyes growing unfocused, the body going limp. Teiris could tell that he was dead.
There was suddenly a profound silence in the wood, disturbed only by the sighing of the wind across the snow. Coming back to his wits, Teiris cautiously rolled the body off him, pushing away the horrid, staring eyes. This done, he collapsed onto his back, staring up into the darkening orange sky as it was blurred by his tears.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there in the cold, crying unashamedly, releasing all the pent up tension within him. Minutes, probably, no more. Finally, his tears were spent, and he knew it was time to get moving again. This couldn't just stop. There were at least three more bounty hunters out there, somewhere. He drew in a slow deep breath, letting the cold seep into his lungs, banishing all thoughts of sleep.
Alright, Teiris. Time to get moving again.
Cautiously, he took stock of his latest injury. He had not fared as well with this one. The protection of his coat stopped just below the knee, and the fabric of his breeches had provided no resistance to the piercing power of the arrow. Still, there was some luck. His second kick had forced the head all the way through his leg, an operation that would have been more unpleasant to do consciously. All he had to do was break off the head on one side, and remove the shaft on the other. He sighed.
This is going to hurt...
He was right.
It did.
Profanity was such a marvelous thing, sometimes. He indulged in as much as he knew, probing his wound to see the extent of the damage. Again, he was lucky. The arrow had only punctured muscle, missing any major nerves or arteries. In fact, there wasn't very much blood at all. It just looked rather... gruesome.
He suppressed a gag, looking away. He wasn't squeamish, but there was just something about being able to see his own muscle tissue working that twisted his stomach.
Ok... Alright. Bind it up, don't look at it.
He removed his scarf, tying it tightly around the wound as he groaned against the pain. That was the best he could do for his injuries. This done, he turned his attention to the body.

He had become far too good at this searching business, he reflected as he crawled laboriously to the dead man, arraying his possessions on the snow. A hunting knife, a small dagger. A small satchel, containing a loaf of bread, a short coil of robe, and a pat of bee's wax. Medium-sized compound bow, along with a simple leather quiver with twenty-four arrows. These he looked at dubiously. The blades he knew for a fact would be useful, but he had never been trained with a bow, and had only a basic idea how to use one.
Well, he told himself, gathering up the objects. No time like the present to learn.
He fastened the man's belt over his own, the sheathed weapons hanging from it. He struggled for a moment with the quiver, but soon had it slung over his right shoulder, just like an illustration he'd seen in one of his books. He shook his head. It seemed he was destined to rob corpses these days. He had gotten his first dagger from the soldier he had killed that night...
...Three more steps. That was all that stood between him and freedom. Three more steps, and a single sentry, guarding the exit to the cathedral. Teiris remained in the shadows, watching. It would be so easy. The man's back was to him, distracted smoking his pipe. A dagger was sheathed on the back of his belt, easily in reach. After whatever the Oracle had done to him, he could remember Tahn's voice like his old master was whispering it in his ear, instructing his sons on just how this operation worked. And yet, he hesitated. Could he do it? Could he really just go forward and end a man's life?
He could feel his heart pounding. His escape from the cages down below could be uncovered any second. There could be a Paladin hunting him right this moment. Freedom from this horrible place was close, close enough that he could taste it, and they only thing that it would cost him would be the life of another. Could he do it? Could he become a killer?
After one more moment, the answer was yes.
His mind made up, he inched forward, listening to the instructions from his past on how to stalk a target. His bare feet made no sound on the stone floor.
Two more steps...
One...
He reached out his hand, inching toward the sheathed dagger...
With an explosive burst of motion, he ripped the blade from its place. Before the man could even begin to turn around, Teiris had clamped a hand over his mouth, tilted the head up, and slit his throat.
He was surprised at how little resistance there was. The blade cut easily through the flesh, feeling just like he was slicing meat at the dinner-table.
The man was dead before he hit the ground.
"No!" Teiris snarled, forcibly shoving the sudden vivid memory back below the surface of his consciousness. That was happening more and more, lately. Those sudden visions thrusting themselves into his mind. Whatever had been done to him that fateful night, it was definitely getting worse. He shuddered.
Get a grip. You have to learn to control this. Or it will destroy you. But now is not the time.
His instincts screamed that he had lingered here for too long. Very carefully, he attempted to stand, using the bow as a cane. This instantly proved too painful, and he collapsed with a cry. For a moment, he was crushed by the enormity of the task at hand. His body was utterly spent, he was sore and bleeding. He could not even stand up.
And yet, he had to move. He had to.
Steeling himself one last time, he picked a direction, and began to drag himself away at a crawl, wincing at every movement.
Not beaten. Not beaten. Not beaten...

[/blockquote]

[Akilinia]

Araseth

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Araseth perched on the bough of a bare old oak tree letting the daily noises of the forest wash over her. Winter had finally arrived, and most of the inhabitants of the Spine had gone into hibernation. Dreams of acorns and nuts buried under the hard earth for safe keeping filtered groggily down from a nest of sleeping squirrels tucked away in a hole farther up the tree she stood in. The birds who had not migrated to the more temperate south for the winter chattered at each other from tree to tree, making branches rustle slightly as they flittered between branches. Snow layered the ground like a white blanket, and from her spot high in the canopy she could see the tracks of various animals that marked winding passages through the underbrush. A chilly wind blew through the tree tops ruffling leaves like the feathers of a bird and making her wolf pelt cloak cling to her skin. She could feel the soft russet hairs brushing over her arms and the breeze caressed her skin through the gap in the front of the pelt like wintry fingers, raising goose bumps in their wake. She barred her teeth against the cold and clutched the trunk of the oak with chilled hands. The bark was rough under her fingertips, and it pierced the numbness that coated her skin sharply, making her fingers throb until she released her tight grip. The pain honed her mind and broke the cold’s spell over her. Warmth radiated throughout her body in a wave, tingling where numbness had previously reigned.

Winter was perhaps her favorite time of year. She loved the way her breath misted as it left her lips, clouding in the air before her for a moment before being scattered by the wind. The trees were all barren of leaves except for the random pine which was a splash of green in a sea of white. Frost glittered like glass in place of the missing leaves, and she thought it seemed like the trees were frozen in time. She knew better. She could still hear their whispers and hopeful images of sun radiated from them in waves. Trees were normally slow moving beings, but in the cold their thoughts were nearly incomprehensible in the swiftness of her mind. She had to listen intently for minutes on end in order to gather a full thought from one of them. They were like snakes in a way. When it was warm, their bodies became flexible and lithe, but when it was cold it was as if the sap congealed in their veins leaving them immobile and stiff under the cool winter sun. Araseth tried to listen for a moment to the oak that patiently bore the weight of her body on one of its arms. Slowly, a picture took shape in her mind. It was the base of its trunk just above where it had sprouted from the ground nearly a century earlier. A feeling followed closely behind the image, easier to decipher. Pain.

She frowned and opened her eyes to stare down the dizzying length of the tree’s trunk to the base, where the source of its pain emanated from. Even from her high vantage point she could make out something brown on the tree’s trunk that was not the normal bark color. Fungus. She dropped from her branch. The air rushed through her hair and clothes, making them billow about her like wings. For a moment she flew like a bird on wings of wolf fur. It was pure freedom, and not for the first time she wished she’d been born a bird instead of an elf. She yearned for the simple life of an animal. She envied birds in particular for their ability to defy normal boundaries. Nothing save a cage could prevent them from flying as high or as far as they wanted. When she hit the ground thirty feet later, the snow cushioned her landing and muffled the small noise her feet made when they made contact with the hard packed brown earth beneath. Immediately, she felt the snow begin to melt where it touched her fur lined moccasins, but the water was repelled by the fat she had rubbed into the hide that morning. She preferred to go barefoot if given the choice. However, she was not fool enough to attempt it when it snowed.

She dropped to her knees in the snow to examine the root. The fungus looked like moss at first, but the color was wrong. Instead of the usual gray it was a sickly brown color. Wherever it touched the healthy bark of the root it began to rot. Araseth knew from experience that the rot would spread through the tree’s whole root system until it was unable to hold itself up any longer if nothing was done. Usually such rot only resulted if a previous injury went untreated. She allowed the thought to float from her mind to the tree’s. Slowly, images of a rugged man clothed in a patched tunic and breeches with a thick wool cloak thrown over his shoulders crossed the divide between their minds. The process of collecting and piecing the images together was much like solving the puzzles her parents used to give her in her youth. At first, one was unable to see the overall picture or image, but as one gathered more pieces, the trend became evident and one could fill in the blanks without much effort just by knowing their general shape. Just from the initial image of the human, and the memory of a hatchet that the tree shared with her, she was able to ascertain what happened. She examined the tree once more and was able to see where a slice of wood had been taken from the base of the tree’s trunk.

The wound was an old one. The tree confirmed that it had been inflicted nearly a year prior. It would have been easy enough to fix at that point, but after such a long time she decided to spread the healing over a few visits to as not to overreach herself. It was a lesson every elf learned young. The consequences of ignoring it were death, plain and simple. No matter the strength of a mage they all had a point where they would surpass their physical limitations. She knew the tree’s wound when paired with a rotting fungus that had had nearly a year to mature and integrate itself was beyond her limit, or at least, she was unwilling to risk the chance that it was. What must have once been a clean slice was warped and stretched grotesquely by the fungus into a gaping maw, and the wet, pungent scent of rotting wood radiated from it.

She laid her hands over the afflicted area, and pushed past the small barrier in her mind that separated her from her magic. It was always a bit difficult to access it the first time, but soon it flowed through her in a rush. Through the lens of her magic, the fungus was like a dark spot in the tree’s bright aura that dampened its whole spirit. She could feel its pain as if it were her own. It coursed through her body in a series of stabbing pains that emanated from her feet and shot up her spine like lightning. She felt tears build in her eyes, more out of sympathy that from the pain. How had she failed to notice the poor oak’s suffering? Determined to put an end to it, she directed her magic through her hands and into the tree. She started the healing in the heart of the ailment and worked her way up to the surface. Wherever her magic touched the fungus was burned away, and healthy trunk was left in its place. However, as she surmised, she was forced to stop short of healing it all the way to the surface by a nagging sense of tiredness that began building in the back of her mind. Despite her inability to complete the healing, she felt the tree’s sigh of relief. It rustled through the air like a breeze and poured through their link in a golden glow. You are welcome my friend. She thought quietly, automatically translating the thought into a series of images the oak would understand. I will return later to relieve you of the rest of the ailment.

She was jolted out of her slow communication with the oak by the panicked cries of a small flock of speckled starlings as they streaked by overhead. After becoming accustomed to the leisurely pace of speaking with the tree, it took her a moment of befuddled scrambling to understand what they were saying. They were fleeing. She knew that much. Gradually, her mind pieced together the frantic images they were broadcasting to the rest of the forest. Fractured flashes of bows and knives, and clothes styled to blend with the forest terrain came together in her mind. Hunters. They were anathema to everything she stood for. They killed only to stuff and mount the heads of their victims on their walls, forever defiled by the horrible act and displayed as trophies in death so that those who visited the hunters in their domains might appreciate their prowess in the art of murder. Their kills were not swift and merciless; they employed wolf brethren to chase animals through the forest for their own entertainment and rarely killed with the first arrow they shot. It was pure and simple cruelty. And the practice of breeding wild animals together to create domestic creatures to obey their whims like slaves… It sickened her. She wished she had the power to annihilate them all, but her power only encompassed the Spine. No matter. She thought viciously. I will end them before they get the chance to spread their evil to any other forest in Alagaesia.

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She allowed the whispers of the trees to guide her as she flitted through the forest like a ghost, deftly weaving around underbrush that threatened to tangle in her cloak and ducking low hanging branches without a thought. After so many years in the Spine, she knew the place as well as she knew her own mind. She knew every animal, every tree and every plant that lived there, and they reached out to caress her mind when she flew by them, but they could sense the urgency and determination that colored her aura and altered the tenor of her mind and did not attempt to stop her.

The plants directed her to where the starlings sighted the hunters. It was just inside the boundary of the forest on the side of the Spine that overlooked Palancar Valley. She knew that if she wandered just a bit farther, until she could see beyond the green depths of the forest, a tiny town would be visible nestled in the foothills of the mountain range. Having never had the need to visit the town, she knew next to nothing about it other than the fact that hunters from it braved her wrath more often than most of the villages that bordered the Spine. Although she did not bother to keep track of how many hunters she’d killed from the little town she knew there were enough grieving widows and children of the hunters who did not return to deter other men from attempting the same feat. Or at least, she thought there were. She was under the impression that given enough time, they would learn from stories told by the widows and the few she let survive not to venture into her forest, but it seemed that their ignorance of the way of life extended to encompass their own self preservation. Perhaps the fact that there were survivors was what gave them enough courage to trespass. Maybe it was time for her to stop showing mercy to the foolish souls who heedlessly entered the Spine despite the death of their predecessors.

Shortly after she made her decision she came across the first hunter. The man’s attire was typical of those who braved the wood. He was heavily armed and wore a leather breastplate over his chest with leather braces on his forearms. He held a short, human crafted compound bow in his hand like someone who knew how to use it, and a quiver of arrows protruded from behind his back. They were fletched from a variety of feathers. She saw the glossy blue-black of a crow, the mottled brown and white of a hawk, and even a few pure white swan fletched arrows. Although she was still a good fifteen feet distant from the hunter, she could tell that the arrows were professional. The feathers were neatly glued to the end of the shafts of the arrow which were formed using meticulously straight cuttings of reed. They were relatively impressive considering they were made by humans. Not up to my standards, but certainly serviceable. She thought, slipping out from behind the large maple tree she’d been standing behind.

The hunter was completely unaware of her approach. He was occupied with something happening closer to the edge of the woods. Not that he would have heard her in any case. Human ears were much too insensitive to discern the nearly imperceptible sounds of her advance, and even if he had happened to catch sight of her with those ugly round orbs humans called eyes, the gray and white tones of her clothing would have camouflaged her. It was a revoltingly simple task to come up behind him, slip a crow-fletched arrow from his quiver, and draw it on her own bow. She paused a moment to see if he would redeem himself by noticing her, but when he continued to stare straight ahead, oblivious to his own mortal peril, she prodded him in the back with the sharp metal tip of his own arrow. “Turn.” Her sounded harsh, almost like a hiss when it reached her ears. However, the effect it had on the man was gratifying. He stiffened, belatedly realizing what the sharp jab in his back he’d dismissed as an errant branch had been. He raised his hands in the universal gesture of harmlessness and slowly pivoted to face her.

His face was a mask of terror, and the predator in her snarled at the weakness he displayed. If he was a part of her pack she would have killed him for his vulnerability. It was the way of the world. The weak died, the strong lived. That was the only way the strength and survival of future generations could be assured. He had thin blood unfit to be passed on to offspring. The snarl escaped her in a guttural ululation that echoed off the surrounding trees. The sharp stench of fresh fear poured off the hunter in waves, filling her nose. The predator exalted. It knew that scent. It meant victory, death, dinner. It meant that its prey had accepted the inevitability of its demise. A fiery rage rose in her chest, followed swiftly by contempt for his vulnerability.

“Please!” The man’s voice cracked in his fear. “Spare me, fair forest spirit…” She loosed the arrow, cutting off his last words with a bloody gurgle. The hunter died instantly. He fell back from her and landed heavily on the ground. The snow did not muffle his fall, it rose greedily to devour his cooling body. She studied his face for a moment as the noisome scent of death –a mix of human waste, the iron smell of blood, and the stale aroma of fear –permeated the air. In death he would forever wear a face of terror. Its hard lines were etched into the contours of his face, and his eyes wore the wide disbelieving stare of a man who finally recognized death. Araseth curled her lip in contempt.

If there was anything she could not bear it was beggars. His life had been a waste, filled with bars and sex and murder. In the last moments of his life, he could have at least died with dignity. A predator understood dignity. Better to kill an elk with a twisted leg while it was still running free across the plain, while it would still remember the rush of the wind in its lungs, than to sever its artery while it moaned in helpless agony. Dignity was a choice a person had when their time in this world came to an end. One could either embrace it like an old friend, or one could resist until the bitter end. When death came for her, she was sure she would be ready to go.

Ignoring the dead hunter, she turned to peer through the forest at what the human was watching prior to his death. Araseth was uncertain what to make of the scene that unfolded before her. A young human, was sprawled in the snow at the feet of another hunter. The one in the snow appeared to have multiple injuries. His leather jacket was stained dark with blood on his side and an arrow protruded from the upper part of his calf. The hunter looked very much like the one lying dead in the snow behind her. He had similar clothing, and a matching quiver and bow. She assumed the arrow in the young human’s calf was from the hunter’s bow. It was fletched with a turkey feather, and she saw several arrows with similar fletching in the hunter’s quiver. The hunter’s hard face was strained with exhaustion, and he huffed loudly, trying to catch his breath as he bent over the young human. If he had truly been a predator, he would have sensed that his prey was still intent on survival. Of course, a deer’s last attempt at living never involved killing the wolf that was responsible for injuring it. In any case, the hunter deserved death for his foolishness.

In a desperate move that Araseth would not have considered a human capable of, the injured young man flipped his lower body off the ground to slam his feet into the hunter’s face. The man’s face snapped back, but the young human’s move failed to incapacitate him. She waited, sensing that the attack was not over. It had not been fierce enough to be a last attempt at survival. Shortly after the first kick, the young man delivered a second one to his attacker’s stomach. The power of it drove the hunter in the unyielding trunk of a large pine tree. She was dimly aware of the pine’s annoyance at the hunter as it buffeted the man with its prickly branches, but she was too enthralled by the scene to notice. Without hesitating, the young human then drove both feet into the hunter’s neck. She heard the hunter’s trachea collapse and the wet noises as the man tried to breathe through his crushed air way. The sounds were especially satisfying to the predator part of her, who had become excited by the young human’s fight for survival. She found herself baring her teeth in a wolf’s smile.

His last bit of energy spent, the human collapsed to the ground. The hunter’s body followed shortly as the man’s spirit fled its physical shell. The scent of death filled the air for a second time, and the predator reveled in it, wanted to paint itself in the blood to celebrate its victory. She turned from the prone bodies of the young human and his prey to kneel by the body of the hunter she’d killed. She dipped her fingers in the thick blood that pooled around where the arrow was embedded in his heart. It was still warm, and the scent of it filled her nostrils as she lifted her fingers to trace a line on each cheek, on her chin and on her forehead in her victim’s life blood. She waited until she could no longer feel the blood on her face before she returned to watching the human.

He was crying.

Araseth couldn’t believe it for a moment. Was it the same human who had just so viciously killed his attacker? Tears rolled in an uncontrolled tide down his face, leaving tracks that glimmered in the faint sunlight. His face was completely void of any emotion despite his tears, another thing that she found odd. As she thought about it, she realized that all through the attack, he had never once shown anything on his face. Humans were volatile creatures ruled by anger and fear. Why did he not exhibit those emotions? She was intrigued, to say the least, and she watched curiously as the man proceeded to pull the arrow from his calf. He did show some emotion then. Words she had never even heard poured from his mouth in a continuous torrent. She deduced from his tone that they were a way to express his pain. Oaths. That was what they were called. Humans used them to express a particularly strong emotion. It was a foolish practice as far as Araseth was concerned. Why did they not allow their facial expressions to convey their feelings? Were such sordid words necessary for them?

Never before had she seen a human react like that. They were predictable creatures. When faced with death they begged, they pleaded, they gave up, but they never fought so ferociously. The human’s acts confused her. What motivated him to cling to life so strongly? He was a survivor. Maybe still prey, maybe still weak, but he was making the best of his limitations as a human, and he had exceeded her expectations for his race. He was an oddity. Unusual. A peculiarity. She rolled the thoughts over in her head, examining them. They were odd. She had never considered a human as anything more than the weakest creature of a pack; the one that needed to be culled to assure the continued strengthening of their race. No, she did not even consider them worth culling. They deserved to be annihilated. The human race did not hold life sacred. All they did was kill. And the young human was no different. He had just shown her the extent of his brutality by killing the hunter. I will kill him. Araseth decided, drawing a single swan fletched arrow from her quiver. She fit it to her bow with deliberate movements, but did not draw. The human was crawling.

Doubts assailed her. Was he just like the others? If he was, why did he cry? Was it remorse that fueled his tears? Araseth did not think humans capable of remorse. If they were, they would not have as many wars. They would not kill over foolish things like land or shiny rocks. They would know that such things did not belong to them in the first place, but to Nature. Nature’s gifts were given freely. Thus, they could not be sold or bought or owned. Every creature had a right to it. A transfer of gold did not make one section of a plain belong to a certain human. It belonged to all the animals and plants that lived there. Humans believed themselves to be the masters of Alagaesia, and in a way, it was true. They were the only race in the whole country that enslaved other creatures. Even the dwarves, rough and revolting as they were, understood the concept. But how did she know that the young human in front of her was like that? He had no horse that he forced to carry him, he did not hunt and kill the inhabitants she had sworn to protect, and he had only killed to protect himself.

Her thoughts frustrated her, and she drew back on the oiled bow string. She felt the lean muscles in her arm flex as the limber expanse of her ebony bow was bent by the tension she was applying to the string with her first three fingers. She lined the arrow head up with the human’s back, right where she knew his heart would be. She inhaled a deep breath and held it to steady her body for the shot, and released her arrow. The swan fletched shaft flew straight and true and swift to lodge itself in the heart of another hunter. He had time to emit a cry of surprise before his limbs gave out and he crumpled to the ground. The predator was satisfied. It would not let another steal its prey. Araseth grinned humorlessly. Even if she wasn’t sure she was going to kill him yet. She scanned the woods for any more hunters and learned from the trees that another prowled the woods a few miles to the south of her location, but he was heading away. He would not be a threat to her forest, because he was searching for the young human who had stopped trying to crawl to whatever destination he was trying to reach at the death of the third hunter. She stepped from the trees to examine him.

He was not in the best shape, although if he did not die of blood loss he would live. From the cursory examination she gave him as she loped towards his prone form, he appeared to have been shot in the side in addition to the arrow he’d just removed from his calf. From what she could tell, the arrow to his side had not his any internal organs. The wound wasn’t bleeding enough, and she did not smell the putrid scent of stomach acid or anything else that would indicate injury to any part of his body that could prove deadly. She noticed that he’d bound his calf wound with a rough tourniquet made of a scarf. Since she’d last looked at him, he’d also raided the body of the hunter he killed. He wore the dead human’s quiver over his shoulder, and the bow lay in his hand, dirty on one end as if he’d used it to drag himself along. He had a hunting knife and a dagger strapped to his waist as well. A scowl flitted to her face as she saw the hunting knife and compound bow. She would deal with that later. If she was going to spare him, he would not be armed with such atrocities unless he knew how to use them.

She turned from him to examine the arrow that he’d pulled from his calf. It lay abandoned on the ground a few feet from where the young human had crawled to. It was finely crafted like the hunter’s companion’s were, but the fine turkey feather fletching, reed shaft, and sharp metal head were stained red with blood. She bent to retrieve the head, which was a few inches separate from the rest of its body. Small clots of blood covered the gleaming metal in places from when it had been embedded in the human’s calf. She could still smell his scent on it, the particular scent of his blood and body odor. She darted her tongue out to taste the blood. The iron flavor of it washed over her tongue and coated the roof of her mouth. She memorized its unique essence. The human was her prey. She might have decided to let him live, but a predator always knew the scent and taste of their prey. If he escaped, she would be able to track him by it, recognize him by it. She examined the head and tucked it in her sash to pierce later. It would make a good necklace. A memento from the day she decided to spare a human life without first harming it. She looked back to the human.

“I have decided.” Araseth announced to the human, staring down at where he lay vulnerable in the snow. It would be so easy to kill him… “You will be allowed to stay here for the time being on account of the peculiar circumstances of your arrival. But, be warned; I protect this place, and if you harm a creature in it without need then I will kill you.” She bared her teeth at him in a wolf’s grin. “And you will not be able to stop me.”

[Angmor]

Teiris was sure that he had used up the allowance of surprises that fate had allotted to him that day. As he dragged himself agonizingly through the snow, buying every foot with blood and pain, he figured that the sudden malice that chance had turned on him today had to be utterly spent.
Just then, his quick ears caught a sharp twang from somewhere behind him, in the direction of the man he had killed. Before he could react, something long and dark flashed over his head before streaking into the trees on his right. There was a wet thwack sound that his memory dutifully informed him sounded much like the sound the arrow had made striking his thigh, with only a much lower pitch. Even as this thought cleared his perception, a figure slumped limply from behind a tree, collapsing in a heap on the snow about a dozen feet from him.
A figure dressed almost exactly the same as the man he had killed.
Then again, maybe today's surprises weren't quite over with after all...

Teiris found himself blinking dumbly, his fatigued brain doing its very best process the implications of this sudden shift. How had this happened? Was this a new threat to him? Yes, whoever or whatever it was had killed one of his assailants, but that did not necessarily mean the new player was a friend. Bounty hunting was a lucrative and cuttthroat business, and those who professed it spent just as much time outwitting others of their kind as they did tracking targets. Was what Teiris just witnessed a double-cross?
All of these thoughts passed in the space of time it took for him to draw in a breath. Gathering his strength, he rolled onto his back, his steely eyes tracking frantically for the threat as his free hand ripped the dagger from its sheath. Immediately, he rued this choice. Obviously, this new player had a bow or some other ranged weapon, and his dagger would do little against that. Cursing, he reached for the hunter's compound bow which he had slung over his shoulder... And then stopped.
There was nothing there.
Connected to him by a trail of indents in the snow, speckled disturbingly with blotches of blood, the place of his confrontation with his pursuer lay about ten feet behind him. Apart from the man's body, however, the forest was empty.

Teiris scanned frantically, fighting the feeling of panic clawing its way up his throat. Oh, gods, what is this...
Easy there, boys. Easy... The voice of Rygier Tahn echoed unexpectedly in his ears, a recollection of a training session the old merc had been giving his sons.
Concentrate, think it through. Sure, it's dark out and you can't see. Sure, you know there's something out there that wants to kill you. Just slow down, think it through. You were born with other senses besides your eyes. They'll serve you just as well, and sometimes even better. Just slow down, and use them.
Remembering the old merc's advice, Teiris took a deep breath, calming himself. Carefully regulating his breathing in slow, even intervals, he closed his eyes and listened, immersing himself in the sounds of the mountains.
Slow, throaty creaking of trees all around him...
Sighing, hissing wind, clinging low enough to the ground to caress his face and ruffle his hair...
Distantly, a storm of fluttering and flapping, immediately prompting his memory back to the flock of birds he had startled shortly before. In short, nothing unsual, nothing that could give some hint as to the unkown entity's location. His sense of smell was also useless, masked as it was by the stench of his own sweat and blood. Frowning, he opened his eyes again- And froze, the breath catching in his throat.
Now, the place of his conflict was no longer empty.

Some time while his eyes were closed, a figure had appeared, stepping from the trees to stand like a sentinel of doom before him. He knew instantly why he had missed it before. The colors of the figure's raiment blended seemlessly with the surrounding terrain, making it difficult for the eyes to pin down. Even more, the scenery seemed to somehow accept the figure's presence like it belonged there, pulling it into itself and making it its own. He did not have the slightest doubt that he was now looking at the forest spirit.
He had laughed at first. On his second day of employment in the village, the owner of the tavern where he he was staying had shared with him a story of a mysterious phantom of the woods, a strange power that jealously defended the land at the base of the mountains. Bands of hunters would venture into the mountains to search for game, and only one or two would come back, bearing stories of mysterious sounds, and arrows from nowhere. Teiris had scoffed at first, dismissing it as yet another village superstition. Now he knew that the stories of the forest spirit were really, wonderfully, terrifyingly true.

Teiris watched, transfixed by the vision before him. At first, his eyes were drawn to the magnificent bow in the spirit's hands. He had never seen a weapon even remotely like this one. Carved of some kind of dark wood that shone almost like the polished marble of the Cathedral that carried so many bad memories for him, the staff of the bow was etched with a breathtakingly beautiful pattern, reminding Teiris of the intricacy of a bird's wing. It looked almost more like a work of art than a tool of death, but she had just shown how very accurate and deadly it could be.
And the spirit was a she.
As his eyes learned to distinguish between flesh and clothing, he found himself looking at a very slight and slender form of a young woman. From his lowly perspective, it took him a moment to register the slimness of her arms, the delicacy of her stance, and even more diminuitive height. She was half a head shorter than he would have been standing, at the very least. Framed by a tangle of wild and unkempt hair, the face of the forest spirit might have been the most beautiful he had ever seen, except for its hard, searching expression, made even more heavy by the presence of a streaked pattern of what Teiris felt immediately sure was fresh blood. Just then, as if sensing his scrutiny, her eyes turned to his, and Teiris felt immediately transfixed by a heavy presence, every bit as terrible as an avenging diety. He was unable to look away, unable to think, unable even to breathe. He knew beyond all uncertainty that trying to crawl away would damn him just as surely as suicide, ending with an arrow to his heart faster than thought.
He was at the mercy of this strange apparition of the forest, and he knew it.

For a moment, the strange woman only stared, sizing him up like she was trying to decide something. Teiris remained as still and silent as he possibly could, not wanting to do anything to influence the decision one way or another.
After a moment, she turned away, devoting her attention to the two pieces of the arrow that he had so delicately removed from his leg. He watched as she bent sinuously to pick up the quarrel's head, tilting her head to study the bloodstained point with a strangely intent scrutiny.
She's moves like a dog. he couldn't help but think to himself. No, that wasn't quite right...
Images flashed behind his eyes, memories of fanciful stories concerning the predatory ancestors of the dogs that were always roaming wild in the streets of the Tears.
No, he decided, not a dog. A wolf.
Even as he watched, her tongue darted out in a canine lick, sending a chill of fear down his spine.
She's tasting my blood.
With that thought, unbidden memories stirred behind his eyes, images of blood and pain and fear from his time as a victim of the Oracles, as they used him for raw material in their experiments into Blood Magic. He knew well the power that his blood possessed in the hands of another, perhaps better than anyone alive. He pleaded desperately that this woman was not gaining some horrible power over him even as he watched. The woman paused for an instant, almost seeming as if she was considering the taste as if it was an expensive wine. Then she turned, transfixing him again with her gaze as she advanced toward him, her predatory footsteps making no sound on the hard crust of the snow. Teiris fought the urge to scramble backwards or raise his dagger in his defense. At this range, he knew, it would be easy to throw the blade for her throat, but he also knew even with more certainty that it would not do the slightest good. Finally, the woman stood over him, looked him straight in the eyes, and spoke.
“I have decided.” She pronounced bluntly, as if she had been struggling with some great dilemma that had been plaguing her for some time. “You will be allowed to stay here for the time being on account of the peculiar circumstances of your arrival. But, be warned; I protect this place, and if you harm a creature in it without need then I will kill you.” Her expression at this could perhaps have been quantified as a smile, and yet the effect was quite the opposite of the norm for that emotion. “And you will not be able to stop me.”

As an uneasy silence descended, Teiris felt as if a dam had burst inside him, flooding him with a welter of emotions ranging from confusion to fear to relief. Confusion at being suddenly thrust into a totally different situation with entirely different context and rules than the one he had left; fear that the slightest misstep in this new situation would mean death or worse from the hand of a dangerously erratic spirit of the woods; relief that he wasn’t going to die… Just yet, at least. He also discovered that he found his current predicament somewhat humorous, in a dark, morbid sort of way.
Is there anything else out there that would like to almost kill me today? Should I face down a charging horse? Hell, what about an army of Paladins? Perhaps the earth would like to open up and swallow me next…
Freed now from the building tension, he felt the breath he had been holding begin to rush from his lungs, crystallizing in the air above his face in shallow, short-lived clouds. Also, somewhat to his own surprise, he found words tumbling from his mouth before he could stop them, even as he processed the irony of the spirit’s ultimatum.
“Look,” He hissed betweens gasps, his voice quavering slightly. “Do I look like I’m even the slightest bit capable of harming much of anything right now?” Even as he spoke, he realized absently that it was perhaps a bit flippant to be saying to an otherworldly being that was probably capable of changing her mind on a proverbial dime. After all, he had been in something like this situation before, he supposed, if he looked at it hard enough, and from an odd angle. The gang leader, asserting his dominance on his turf. The rules for such an encounter where quite simple: Either dominance combat, or, the usually more effective and less painful option, submission.
That was probably blood-loss talking, anyway. Better try again…
“I… Thank you, for sparing my life, lady.” He said, doing his best to channel his uncle’s best courtly voice around his suddenly uncontrollable trembling. The melted snow had by then thoroughly saturated the front of his tunic and breeches, causing the fabric to cling frigidly to his skin. “I am at your service.” He bowed his head in surrender, which turned out to be a rather awkward action when he was lying on his back. Oh well. He wasn’t about to try standing up again.
He wasn’t that subservient.

[/blockquote]

[Akilinia]

Araseth

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Araseth’s words hung in the air for a moment like a breath that had not been scattered by the chilled winter wind. The human seemed to freeze. He reminded her of a deer that had caught the scent of a wolf. The deer knew it was in danger, but it wanted to locate the source of the threat before it ran. More often than not, it fled too late and was caught by the wolf which was almost as nimble in the forest. Deer were not stupid animals even if they did linger a bit too long when it would be more pertinent to flee. She watched his face carefully from where she stood over him, head held high in dominance. His storm colored orbs were as emotionless as she’d perceived from her hiding place in the trees. It frustrated her a bit that she could not discern his emotions from the expression on his face or in his eyes, but a good predator did not rely on sight alone. There would be times when it was too dark to see, or when the prey was hidden. The predator needed to be able to anticipate the moves of its prey or else it would be hungry come dinner time.

She inhaled deeply, and a rainbow of smells drifted through her nose and over the back of her tongue. She could still smell the bitter tang of fear, but it was stale. She discarded it and sifted through the array of scents. The subtle odor of relief wafted into her flared nostrils. It was almost sweet, but had a slightly sour aftertaste as if reminiscent of the fear it had been moments before. Relief. She considered the emotion for a moment. She could not decide if it resulted from a lack of fear regarding her threat or if the human was just happy to be saved and alive. She could understand self preservation. It was an instinct that ran strong in the blood of the forests’ inhabitants. It was why prey survived despite the best attempts of predators to slay them. It was why hunters were forced to use their domesticated beasts to corral the creatures of the wild, and why they could not simply walk into the Spine to shoot the first animal they saw. She was struck by the idea. Self preservation could have been motive enough for his actions. Often in nature such urges resulted in unexpected displays of violence in desperate prey who knew their time had come. It was their last attempt to survive, to hold on to life.

The relief became visible to her eyes as the young human released a breath of air he’d been holding. It frosted in the space before his face for a moment before the breath of his words forced it to dissipate just as surely as one of winter’s breezes would have. “Look,” His voice was weak. The predator raised its head to sniff the air for vulnerability. “Do I look like I’m even the slightest bit capable of harming much of anything right now?” The weakness disappeared as swiftly as it had come to be replaced by an emotion that she could not quite comprehend. She rocked back on her heels nonetheless. His tone carried anger even if the sentiment evident in his voice did not smell of it. She drew in air through her nostrils, letting her lungs inflate to their fullest before she released it. The spicy flavor of anger was absent, but the slightly sour taste of dour humor rolled over her tongue in its place. She breathed again, questing for the scent of fear. It was conspicuously absent, and Araseth knew then that even if she was able to determine his feelings by scent she was still inadequate when it came to understanding his reasons for feeling them. The predator quieted. Even if she did not fully comprehend his feelings it was apparent that the young human, even injured as he was, was unafraid of her appearance and the threat that she presented. He was either brave or foolish. Maybe a bit of both.

Silence reigned in the forest for a moment. She could still sense animals in the forest around them. They were like small bright points in her mind. If she had not been there they would have fled at the sight of a human in their domain. As it was, they were reassured by her presence, and had decided silence would serve better than flight. The sounds they made rustling through the undergrowth were a comfort to her, a sign that all was well and that she was home. The absence of them unsettled her, and made the hairs on her arms stand on end. Usually, when such silence blanketed the forest it was indicative of the presence of a hunter, or something that was not native to the Spine. The idea set her on edge. She felt the urge to hunt and stalk and kill rise up in her blood. It spread through her veins like a wildfire, and she had to restrain herself from turning on the human, who lay prostrate on the ground before her. She had given her word. She said she would not harm him unless provoked, and he had done nothing to warrant such violence from her. Although it went against every instinct she had, for some reason she found herself reluctant to harm him. She could not identify it, but something about him was different from the rest of his race, and that difference was even more evident now that she was only a few feet from him.

It was not the show of violence that drew her to him. She had seen humans commit acts of such brutality that they no longer came as a surprise to her. They came frequently into her forest to kill and torture animals, and they cut down trees with their primitive instruments of steel and iron. Maybe it was that his aggression had been turned against another of his kind and not towards her forest. That was no unique trait either. Humans fought each other frequently in their pointless wars over land and gold and other things that held some sort of attraction for them. She had even heard stories of humans who would slaughter others while they slept with a slit to the throat for money. Araseth was baffled by the whole concept. Gold had the potential to be beautiful, surely, but she did not consider it worth murdering her own race for. She found beauty in what Mother Nature provided. A shiny rock could not compare to the simple pleasure of watching a mother bear tussle with her cubs near the river, or the shared feeling of victory when a young sparrow flew from the nest for its first time, or the magnificence of an eagle’s golden feathers in the sun as it dove after its fleeing prey. Life held an intangible attraction and breathtaking beauty that a rock could never match. Humans were foolish for trying to imitate such splendor with cold metal.

Perhaps it was not the display of violence towards his race, but his odd actions in the aftermath. Araseth had never seen a human cry before. Sure, she’d assumed such a thing to be possible, but she never expected to be witness to it. It was especially odd to her to see a human cry after harming another creature. Every experience she had with them was hostile, and often involved the death or injury of another living creature. The hunters she’d slain never showed a bit of remorse for their actions. Torturing their prey was a game to them. Often she saw expressions of joy, exhilaration, and pleasure on the faces of the humans during a hunt. The only time they ever professed regret for their actions was at the sight of her, and of their deaths. She was sure that when they saw her they could feel death encroaching upon them with her every step, could see it hovering over her should like a malignant cloud. Humans were all cowards at heart, afraid to face the end of their short, pointless lives. They feared death above all else, and attempted to lend their lives meaning by accomplishing deeds that would see them remembered in history’s eyes. Such was the motivation behind tyrants. The atrocious deeds of violence they committed were remembered more clearly than any peaceful accomplishments made by their fellows, because humans were forever afraid of repeating their past mistakes. She wondered if the youth human’s fear of death spurred him to such lengths in his quest for survival.

“I… Thank you, for sparing my life, lady.” The young human murmured from his place at her feet. His voice was emotionless, polite, fake. The abrupt change in his tone startled her, and she fixed her eyes on his face. “I am at your service” He bowed his head, dropping his gaze in a show of servility. She did not want his service. She did not want his gratitude. She saved his life for a reason she did not even fully comprehend yet, not because she was disposed towards kindness to the human race, or pity towards creatures who were unable to defend themselves. She was the spirit of the Spine. She struck fear into the hearts of those who dared enter her domain with the intent to cause harm to her forest. She had no need for a human's false promise of servitude. She had received similar offers from others she spared over the years. If that was all he had to offer her, if he truly was no different from the rest of his race, then she would kill him.

Anger flared through her, setting her body aflame. She imagined that if she was a wolf, her hackles would have been up. As it was, a bestial snarl escaped her lips, and then she was crouched over his prone frame. “Lies!” She hissed, wrenching his head up to stare into his face. “You dare to insult me with your false deference? I would not have you lie to my face.” He could not be both dominant and submissive. He was either her equal, or he was not. There was no in between. She would not accept it. “Human politics have no place in the Spine, boy.” Her voice was low, and her face was close enough to his that her breath stirred the hair on his forehead. “I am head bitch of this place, and I will not let your detestable human values soil this sanctuary. I am letting you live, you will not disrespect me by treating me like one of your false monarchs. If you are not timid and weak do not pretend to be. Only the strong thrive out here, and if I was wrong about what I saw when you killed that vile creature over there,” she gestured sharply to where the hunter the young human had killed only moments before lay in a pool of his own blood, “then bare your throat to me now and I will end your pathetic life.”

[Angmor]

It was almost immediately apparent to Teiris that, as a sailor might say, he had chosen the wrong tack. This was evidenced by the fact that the conversation promptly struck a reef. Her wildly beautiful face, which had before settled into a sort of troubled, calculating look, immediately split into a feral grimace, raw anger blazing behind her eyes. "Lies!" She snarled vehemently. Teiris blinked involuntarily at her sudden wrath, and somehow in the space of time between the closing of his eyelids and the reopening, she had navigated the distance between them to crouch directly over his floored body. Her face was suddenly separated from his by the space of inches, throwing her wild features into sharp relief. The panting of her breath felt like the blast of an open forge door, and the metallic scent of the blood patterning her face seemed to crawl into the back of his throat and lodge itself there like a spider. "You dare insult me with your false deference?"The spirit growled harshly, the words striking him like projectiles. "I would not have you lie to my face. Human politics have no place in the Spine, boy. I am head bitch of this place, and I will not let your detestable human values soil this sanctuary." Despite the terror of the situation, a prickle of anger stirred within him. Did she think of him as a fool? Did she have any idea what he had escaped from, what he was running from?
Well, you're some kind of bitch alright...
Carefully, he forced down the sentiment, before it had time to make it past the barrier of his eyes. Now was the time to think logically about the situation, if he had even the slightest chance of keeping up with this sudden new learning curve. So, he had been wrong about his simile of a gang leader. She did not want his surrender, or his thanks. She apparently had not been moved by pity, nor any other feeling of charity. In fact, she seemed to find all of those things detestable. So, he needed to identify exactly what she did want from him, and then provide it, vigorously and often. Then he might live long enough to...
Well, don't think too far ahead. We'll cross that bridge when we come to it.
"I am letting you live, you will not disrespect me by treating me like one of your false monarchs." The spirit was saying amidst his thoughts. "If you are not timid and weak, do not pretend to be." At that, the first glimmerings of a plan rose up through his confusion. It was a stupid, dangerous, poorly conceived plan, his conscious told him, but at the same time, he knew that only a bold measure would put him back within the spirit's favor. In any other situation, it would be suicide. But here, he hoped desperately, it would give him his chance.
As so often happened, obstacles rose up before him as he chose his course. He was utterly exhausted, and every muscle felt as if it would melt off the bone at any second. He was shivering violently now with cold, dulling his dexterity further. His vision was slowly starting to swim out of bloodloss and pain, the outlines of the world around him becoming more and more blurred. Mentally gritting his teeth, he forcefully shoved these objections to the back of his mind, locking them behind iron bars of will. Today was a day for testing his limits, and he had not found his, not just yet.
"Only the strong thrive out here," The spirit continued, her voice still inches from his face. "And if I was wrong about what I saw when you killed that vile creature of there," He pointed violently back toward the man's cooling body like she was throwing a knife. An absent part of Teiris' mind wondered exactly what she did see at that moment... No, focus! Wait for it...
"Then bare your throat to me now and I will end your pathetic life-"
The trick, in this particular plan, was to strike completely without warning. Teiris had grown good at this, having escaped many tight situations by acting in a way that none of his opponents would ever expect. Throughout the spirit's tirade, he was careful to give none of the usual outward signs of what he was about to do. No sudden deep breaths, no tensing of muscles, no blank expressions. All intention, he hoped, would be masked behind the steel barrier of his eyes. Just as the spirit finished, fighting the myriad weaknesses of his body, Teiris gathered his strength for one explosive movement, using the dagger that was still clamped in his hand for a single wide slash at the woman's blood-streaked face.
The word dodged did not quite do justice to the sheer agility and grace of the spirit's evasion, the way she her torso seemed to wink out of existence for a fraction of a second before reappearing again mere inches beyond the range of his arm. The sharp metal whistled ineffectually through the cold air.
All in all, right about as Teiris had planned.

For what seemed an awfully long time, there was silence in the wood. Teiris stayed where he was, suddenly breathing hard with the effort, fighting his shaking arms to hold the dagger in a ready position in case the spirit did not react as he hoped. Still, he thought that he had proved his point, and taught her not to stand so close in future.
But not the near future.
He prayed desperately that he was not outwardly letting on that there was no way he could do that again.
For several moments, the spirit regarded him with a look on her face that he could not even begin to read. But she was not currently ripping his head off, so he assumed it to be a good sign. Hoping he was doing the right thing, he used the opportunity to speak.
"You're right, I was lying." He said bluntly. "Although I am happy to be alive, I suppose gratefulness doesn't quite cut it. And no, I am not at your service. If I could get away from you, I would run. If I thought I could kill you, I would do it. But I can't, and I don't. Do with me what you will, and have done with it."
Darkness closed the edges of his vision. As he was speaking, the strain of holding up the dagger became too much. He let his arm collapse to his chest. Feeling that he had no need to keep with the spirit's eyes, he rested his head back on the snow. The sky, he noticed suddenly, was resplendently beautiful, spreading like a great vaulted chamber above them, the vibrant orange of the setting sun transitioning in the west to layers of the deepest red, red as the blood on the spirit's face.
Blood. He remembered.
"Oh, if you do choose to kill me," He added, speaking to the sky. "Know that you'll be doing a lot of very powerful humans an enormous favor. The only way you could do better would be to send my body to them by courier. Tears of Leona, Cathedral of the Nine Moons. I can write it down, if you like."
It was exhaustion talking, and he knew it. But with the world fading before his eyes, he could not find the energy to care. Finally surrendering to the bodily messages he had ignored far longer than he ever knew he could, he allowed himself to sink into the grey stupor that he knew from experience was the precursor to blissful unconsciousness.
Or what would be blissful, if his memories did not wait for him in the blackness, like predators circling beyond the light of a fire.

[/blockquote]

[Akilinia]

Araseth

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Araseth watched the young human carefully, unsure of how her words may have impacted him. She had a feeling that the human would not just offer her his throat. He was a fighter. She had seen that when he killed the hunter. She had seen the desire to live in the desperate lines of his muscles as he flexed them into impossible shapes in order protect himself even if the cold grey of his eyes repelled her as completely as the hard expanses of a stone wall. She imagined that the stone was a barrier he had erected to contain fiery impulses from escaping unchecked. It was certainly frustrating, but she reveled in the challenge of forcing him to yield to his desires. Humans had a habit of bending things into unnatural shapes. She did not know if such habits were driven by their instincts to feel as if they had complete control over the world around them, or if they just felt as if changing the way things were would make a difference in the world. Either way, they were not exempt from their own tampering. From her personal experiences with the human race, it seemed to her that just as they altered the nature of their “pets” –their dogs, their cats, all mere shadows of what they had been in the wild –they forced themselves to diverge from their own natures.

While studying in Ilirea in her youth, she read a book that detailed the human’s arrival on the continent of Alagaesia. The original humans had been creatures of the wild, not much different from the animals they so desperately tried to distance themselves from by building their towns and their walls. They’d lived in caves, worn pelts sewn to their bodies by their own hands, and had not dared to waste any of the meager resources they had access to. Something caused them to change, to transform into creatures that believed themselves superior to all others in nature even though they were built by nature’s own hands and from the same clay as everything else. They began to build cities, to “tame” the wilderness. However, “tame” wasn’t the word Araseth would use. In their attempts to “tame” nature, something never meant to feel the restraints of humanity, they destroyed it. They killed trees in their attempts to live in them, and in their foolish assumptions that all animals populated the world in a never ending abundance, hunted many species to extinction simply to decorate their walls and prove their manly prowess. But nature wasn’t the only casualty. Humans then proceeded to create pointless traditions and customs to separate themselves further from the barbaric wilderness; politics, they called them. In the process, they bound themselves in societal webs, and forced their instincts to bend in socially acceptable ways to please the masses. Disgusting, foolish creatures that they were. Araseth thought derisively.

So lost in her internal tangent was she that she didn’t notice the movement of the young human’s arm until the silvered edge of his forgotten hunting blade flashed into existence in the corner of her eye. He was slow with fatigue and the cold, and his movements were jerky. If he had not been in such terrible shape, he may have inflicted serious damage with the haphazard strike he aimed towards her face. Such as the situation was, she was faster. Recovering from her preoccupation swiftly, she shifted her weight back on her heels, maneuvering her torso just enough that her face was out of the man’s reach. The sharp expanse of the blade flickered across her vision, mere inches away from her eyes. It seemed to move with extraordinary slowness, and Araseth took the opportunity to leap off the young man. She used her feet to shove off the hardened crust that layered the snow and propelled herself back a good ten feet or so. She landed lightly in a crouch, and then straightened to regard the young human.

He lay in the same place, his chest heaving, dagger raised in a feeble attempt to ward her off She could see his breath clouding the air over his face with each rapid exhale, and could hear the slight whine in his lungs as they labored to provide air to his exhausted muscles. The effort required to wield the blade appeared to have taxed him greatly. She could see his arm shaking as he struggled to keep the small hunting knife pointed in her direction. From her position she could see that his fingers only maintained a loose grip on the knife, and if she desired to it would have been easy to plant his own dagger in his chest. Although, if she truly wanted to kill him she would use her bow, not a hunting knife. Bows were swifter and the prey never saw it coming if the shot was good. And Araseth was good. She had been raised with a bow in her hand, and learned how to kill humanely with a shot to the heart every time she released an arrow. If the shot was not good then like a patient predator she would stalk her prey until she discovered the perfect angle. Then again, was the young human her prey?

She’d asked him to make his decision, and he had answered with a knife. She doubted he meant to end her life with such a poorly executed strike. If he had, he would be a poor predator indeed. The word predator, which she had employed so thoughtlessly in her own ruminations, brought her up short. Yes, She decided after a moment. He is a predator, at least for now. I will grant him that much for such a valiant endeavor. She looked to the human once more, and he appeared different in her eyes. He was a fellow predator, suffering injuries inflicted only through the luck his prey. Through her new eyes she noticed things she had never bothered to take in before. He was shivering, his clothes drenched from melted snow. She could see a blue tinge to his lips and around his eyes, and his fingers were a raw red where they clung desperately to the hilt of his knife. A feeling of pity lanced through her. The foreign emotion brought her up short. I do not know this human, why should I feel such things at the sight of him? The excuse that he had proven himself to be a fellow predator came to mind, but she rejected it. He was human. Eventually he would do as humans do. He would harm her forest, take her mercy for granted…

Conflicting emotions warred through her, and the young human took the opportunity to speak. “You’re right, I was lying.” He admitted. She struggled to understand the tone of his voice. “Although I am happy to be alive, I suppose gratefulness doesn’t quite cut it. And no, I am not at your service. If I could get away from you, I would run. If I thought I could kill you, I would do it. But I can’t, and I don’t. Do with me what you will, and have done with it.” His words made her realize that she had been toying with him. Her actions had mimicked those of a house cat with a mouse in its paws. Vile, inhumane, cruel. That was what she had been. She should have seen a human being chased by his own kind and immediately found an ally in him, in the similarities of his situation and her own life. Her actions in the last hour had been no better than those who she despised. She was no common house cat, she was a lynx, a bobcat, a mountain lion. She was wild and fierce and did not entertain herself by playing with her prey. She opened her mouth to say something. She did not know what, but words were on her lips and she found herself preparing to voice them without consideration to what they might be when the human spoke again.

The words seemed to be an afterthought. She noticed that the dagger had dropped to his chest, and that his arm lay feeble and limp across his body. His strength had given out and the words he voiced were painted with resignation. “Oh, and if you do choose to kill me,” He was not looking at her, but staring up at the sky. “Know that you’ll be doing a lot of very powerful humans an enormous favor. The only way you could do better would be to send my body to them by courier. Tears of Leona, Cathedral of the Nine Moons. I can write it down it you like.” After his last words faded to silence, to all appearances, he seemed to succumb to unconsciousness.

Araseth frowned, mulling over his words. She had never heard of the Cathedral of the Nine Moons. Of course she knew where Leona was, but she had never been there personally. Putting the thought aside for later, she considered his words. They could not have been better chosen to augment her own thoughts if he had been able to read them himself. Nothing else he could have said would have been better guaranteed to earn her assistance and temporary alliance. He must have picked up on her hatred for his race. Not that she had been trying overly hard to hide it. She was sure venom suffused every word she spoke about humans. Only an idiot could listen to her with survival in mind and have failed to pick up on it.

She offered the empty forest a bird-like shrug, lifting her shoulder blades to the sky and then made her way to the fallen human. She imagined that he would look peaceful in his sleep for in the world of unconsciousness pain faded into oblivion, but his brow was creased and his lips were parted in horror. She watched his head twist and turn in his attempts to escape whatever nightmares plagued him, then stooped to remove the dagger from his fingers so he didn’t cause her any harm while he slept. His fingers were closed around the hilt like a vice, and she had to pry it from his hand. One of the curses the man had uttered earlier escaped her lips before she finally wrestled it from his grasp. She paused, rolling the word over her tongue, and then laughed. The sound echoed through the forest and returned to her ears like an old friend, bright and cheery. Only a short time in his presence and his bad habits are rubbing off on me. She thought, both amused and disturbed by the prospect. She slid the blade back into the sheath attached to the man’s waist, admiring the smooth leather of the hilt despite herself before she straightened back up to consider what she was going to do with him. She could not very well leave him frozen in the snow overnight, and his injuries needed tending. Resigned, she slid her bow into its spot in the side of her quiver, and bent down to grab one of his arms. He was a lot larger than her, but she was an elf, and once she managed to lever him off the ground a bit she slid one of her hands around his waist, careful of the area of his side stained read with blood from his injury, and pulled him the rest of the way up.

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Araseth’s home was not far from the edge of the forest and it took them only an hour of slow walking to reach it. Normally, she could traverse the distance in a quarter of that time, but it took her longer with the heavy human draped across her shoulder. Shortly after her arrival in the Spine, she had used the talent of her father’s people to sing a small dwelling from one of the oldest oaks in the forest. The tree had been intrigued by her request and had consented be her home. It was simple, but as she dragged the human through the frozen expanses of her forest she was glad to see it. It was only a small one story structure, sung into the base of the old oak’s trunk. One window marred the smooth expanse of oak next to the small door in the center, but there were two more around the back of it. One faced the west and one faced the south so that light filtered into her home at all times of day. Normally, elves preferred to build their houses further up the tree’s trunk with steep spiral staircases stretching to the ground, but in building her home on the ground, the various animals of the forest were able to visit her without needing wings or the ability to climb trees. They all knew where she lived, and she received unexpected guests at all times of the day with news from other parts of the Spine or in need of healing.

She pushed the door open with a bit of effort and then stooped to pass through the door. It was built to accommodate her diminutive height, and she suspected that she would hit the young human’s head on the frame if she walked through normally. Once inside, she went to the back room and dropped the human on her bed, then set about lighting a fire in the hearth. With the assistance of magic it took her only moments to stack wood in the small fire place and set it ablaze, and soon she could feel the heat from it permeating the small room. She filled a small kettle with rain water with snow gathered from outside her door and suspended it over the fire boil. It was a small black kettle, one of the only metal things she owned, but it was also one of the most heavily used things in her house. The Spine was a cold place, because of its higher altitude, and snow often blanketed the forest for weeks without respite. The relief of a warm drink was one of the few pleasures she allowed herself.

Satisfied with the process of the melting snow, she fetched fresh linens and sliced them into strips using her own hunting knife. Once the water was boiling, she moved over to where the human lay. He had not moved since she’d laid in there, but she still regarded him with suspicion. Cleansing his wounds would be a difficult task if he was awake. She studied him for a moment in silence, alert for any moments or gestures that might reveal him to be awake, but his eyes remained closed and she could see them flickering restlessly beneath their lids. A mark of deep sleep. She drew her hunting knife again and began to slice through the leather armor that layered his torso. It parted like butter beneath her skilled hands, and soon she had removed the cotton tunic underneath and the part of his breeches that covered the wound on his calf. She dropped them unceremoniously on the floor near the fire where they began to steam as the melted snow that soaked them boiled off. She retrieved the black kettle from his place over the fire and dipped a piece of clean linen in it. She watched his face carefully for a moment, but when he remained asleep she quickly cleaned and dressed his wounds.

When she was finished, she covered the human with a black wolf pelt and retreated to the main room of the house. She lit another fire in the larger hearth she’d built there and settled in a small rocking chair she’d sung from a dead cherry tree. She watched the flames flicker in the hearth for a moment, not moving. Fire had always fascinated her. It was beautiful in a deadly way as so many things in the world were. The many hues of orange and yellow and blue that danced together on red coals were hypnotizing. She watched the flames dance as they grew and devoured the fresh wood she’d placed as a bed for them, and reveled in the heat that soaked her skin as the fire grew in strength. She fed it more wood. Fires were like desires, sins. The more one fed them, the larger and stronger they grew. As long as there was something to burn the fire would shine eternally bright, swaying from side to side whimsically as it avoided all attempts to put it out. If even a coal were left alive a new fire could spring anew from the ashes. The only way to completely put it out was to smother it, to remove all sources of fuel. But what were living creatures without desires? One could not smother one’s longings without also destroying the will to live. A delicate balance had to be maintained. The fire could only be fed so much wood or else it would be fanned into a wild blaze that would burn everything in its path. She wondered how a man betrayed by his own race would maintain that balance.

[Angmor]

Teiris surged awake, consciousness making a hard landing inside his skull, stretching every nerve taut as the strings of a harp. His pulse beat a throbbing tempo in his ears, his heart feeling as if was trying to batter down the walls of his ribcage. A headache blazed through him, feeling as if an icy nail had been driven directly through the center of his forehead. His lungs worked frantically, making small choking gasps as it tried to make the hard transition from the shallow breathing of a profound stupor to the full onset of a straining body. Every muscle in his body thrummed with energy, overwhelmed by instincts to run, to fight, to disentangle himself from his restraints. As he flew into a sitting position, fully prepared to run a mile without stopping or to fight ten men his hands grasped desperately at his neck, looking for the bloody wound. He had felt the knife cutting into him, the edge cold as the gap between stars as it carved through his skin…
Instead of the gaping cut that should have been there, his frantic hands instead came in contact with unbroken skin, marred only a ropy line of slightly raised tissue. He was intact. He was not back there. There was nothing to run from, and nothing to fight. It had just been another dream. Another memory.
Immediately, Teiris felt relief flood over him like cold water, melting all the tension from his body as if his muscles had turned to liquid. He collapsed back with a small sob, a single tear squeezing from his eyes.
It’s alright, just a dream… He tried to assure himself, trying to calm the frenetic beating of his heart. Just another nightmare. That was all in the past. It’s already over and done with, it can’t hurt you. He knew it to be true.
But he still reached up to retrace the outline of the hook-shaped scar under his jaw, just to make sure.
For most people, the realm of sleep was a release, a place of escape from the confines of the physical world. It could a place of wonder and beauty, a playground for the imagination in which the mind could roam freely, free of the pressures of a mundane life. It had once been this way for Teiris. He had once been able to lay his head on a pillow without the slightest twinge of fear. He had once been able to dream, and dream grandly. But now, ever since that fateful night, the creation of his eidetic memory, things were different. Now, sleep was no longer an escape. Sleep was a prison.
Every time he closed his eyes, his conscious mind was locked away, giving his subconscious free reign to wander the corridors of his memories. After whatever the Oracles had done to him, every moment of his life was there, perfectly preserved and waiting to be recalled to the light. Also mostly thanks to the Oracles, it was also little more than a storehouse of nightmares.

After a long moment, he was able to calm himself sufficiently to realize with a pang that he did not have the slightest idea where he was. This was not particularly surprising, he supposed, considering the circumstances of his unconsciousness, but still, every time he had fallen out of awareness in the past, he had awoken somewhere unpleasent. Glad of the distraction from his nightmares, he coerced his eyes open, hungrily gathering data on his new situation with senses trained well by the necessity of adapting to sudden changes on the fly.
His sight was greeted first by the gentle curvature of a ceiling, not very far above his head. Sometime while he was out, he had been moved indoors, although he could not tell what manner of building it could possibly be. Frowning, he turned his attention to the surface he was lying on. It was blissfully soft and springy with his touch, just slightly course against his skin, making him think of rough fabric stretched over a pile of hay. At that moment though, he could not conceive anything more comfortable. Turning his eyes downward, he found that the rest of his body had been covered in a large, uneven blanket of long, sable black fur. Teiris had seen pelts before, but he was quite sure he had never seen the animal to which the skin formally belonged, and he hoped he never would. Still, the fur was thick, forming a pleasent cacoon of warmth around him. He could not remembed being this warm since his bed in the house of his uncle, almost a decade ago. He was sorely tempted to simply close his eyes again, surrendering to the buzz of fatigue inside his aching skull as he sank back into sleep. But the thought of what further nightmares might await him quickly put paid to that thought. He could not sleep, not until he knew exactly where he was and what had happened to him, and how the rules of the situation had changed. To this end, he forced himself to move, rolling slowly onto his side to scan the rest of his new surroundings.

He was in a small, low room of some kind. There was something odd about it, something that tugged at the back of his mind, but he could not tell exactly what. Directly across from where he lay, a fire burned brightly in a small hearth, casting the whole room in its orange radiance and inspiring the shadows to a merry dance about the ceiling and floor, accompanied by the music of the crackling logs. Teiris inhaled deeply of the scent of wood-smoke, finally purging the last vestiges of the nightmare from his mind as he was taken straight back to the kitchens in the house of his old master, helping to prepare a bountiful meal in celebration of the winter solstice. The care-lined face of Rygier Tahn flashed behind his eyes, smiling that jolly, slightly mysterious smile that he knew so well.
"Come and join us, Teiris." He said warmly, his deceptively gruff voice echoing out of the past. "I won't having you eating the scraps after we've finished stuffing our faces. You deserve this bounty just as much as we do. Tonight, you're family."
Immediately, Teiris felt his anxiety bleed out of him, his body relaxing back against the mattress with a deep sigh. He had no doubt that, for the moment at least, there was no danger here. He was safe.

Finally free of his focus on self-preservation, he finally had no choice but to surrender the the complaints of his body. Of these, there were many. Every inch of muscle felt stiff and heavy, his limbs feeling as if they were all one giant bruise. As if competing with the rest of his injuries, his side gave one mighty pulse of pain, viciously reminding him of its injustice at the hand of the hunter's arrow. His stomach sank like a stone as he recalled those merciless bits of metal tearing his flesh. While, true, he had never been shot before, he remembered attending a hunt with his uncle when he was nine years old. He had seen just what kind of permanent damage an arrow could do, even if the buck survived.
Oh, gods...
Dreading what he might find, he cautiously moved his hand up his side, mental images of gaping holes and mangled intestines filling his mind...
Instead, oddly enough, his questing fingers met with the gauzy surface of a bandage. Frowning, he threw back the dark fur of his covering, surveying the wound for himself. Sure enough, someone had removed his coat and tunic while he had been unconscious, taking the time to carefully remove the broken arrowhead and thoroughly clean and bandage the wound. The left leg of his breeches had also been rolled up to his knee, revealing a similar binding. A professional healer would not have been able to better.
He sank back again, blowing out a breath. Despite his relief, his mind swirled with questions. Where was this strange, pleasant place? And how had he come here from nearly freezing to death in the mountains? And who had taken such time and care in tending to his wounds. The last thing he remembered was the forest spirit...
He tensed, eyes widening, remembering her unreadable expression just before he had fallen into darkness. Had she...?
Just then, his stomach grumbled loudly, pulling his attention away from his musings. Hunger gnawed at his insides, as if his guts were pulling back in on themselves to fill the vacuum of his empty stomach. His throat too felt as pieces of dry old parchment rasping together. With a sigh, Teiris set aside his musings, deciding to wait until his baser instincts were satisfied. His immediate objectives would have to be food and drink.

Taking a deep breath, he maneuvered himself slowly and carefully into a sitting position, his side twinging with every movement. This accomplished, he swung his legs over the side of the bed, setting his feet against the warm smoothness of the floor, then tried to rise.
His left leg spasmed, dropping him back to the bed. Despite the pain, he almost laughed.I ran nonstop for almost a mile, with the strength to kill a man and attack a spirit at the end of it. And now getting out of bed is the hardest thing I can think of.
He tried again, careful this time to support all of his weight with his good leg and use his arms to lever himself up. At last, with a slight swirl of dizziness, he was upright, ducking slightly under the low ceiling. From this new vantage point, the thing that had been troubling him about the nature of the room suddenly came into sharp focus. The architecture was strange, unlike anything he had ever seen before. It was all constructed of the same non-descript, sand colored materiel, and there were no straight lines to be seen. It was all gentle angles and flowing curvature, like it was all sculpted in liquid form. even the hearth and the bedframe flowed without transition from the walls and floor, with no joint or crack that he could see, as if the room and the furnishings were all one. Frowning, he attempted to take a step forward, steadying himself against the wall. Strangely, the surface was just slightly moist under his hand, soft and yet harshly solid. It almost felt... alive under the pads of his fingers. Troubled, he pushed the thought aside.
Just... focus on food. One thing at a time.
As he hopped another step toward the door, he noticed his coat and tunic lying in a pile on the floor next to the hearth, fully dried in the heat of the fire. Next to these, his weapons lay in a neater pile, the bow and quiver resting against the wall. He decided to leave them where they were. If he needed to fight anything in his current condition, it wouldn't change his fate if he had a blade in hand. And besides, it was plenty warm here, and he highly doubt that anyone cared if he went shirtless. It wasn't worth the energy and pain involved in stooping to pick them up. This decided, he hobbled carefully forward, ducking through the low aperture of the doorway and into the room beyond.

In layout, it was about the same as the bedroom, except several times larger. The impression was a swirl of strung beads and necklaces of tooth and bone, fur and leather, wooden shapes carved into beautifully simple forms and patterns. All this was bathed in the glow of a large fire, burning enthusiastically in a hearth that was the larger cousin of the one behind him, the orange light making the whole place seem fantastic and surreal. This facade was broken only by three different windows peering outwards, revealing the snowed in forest beyond the walls, submerged in the silvery moonlight under a crystal-clear sky.
All this these were secondary realizations, however.
For the first few seconds, he had eyes only for the forest spirit.
She froze what she was doing the instant she caught sight of him, reminding Teiris unpleasantly of a pack dog about to attack, to defend its territory. Suddenly, he had no doubts of the ownership of this place. Although it was somewhat incongruous to see her here in such a domestic environment, he knew instantly that this was her place, just as much as the forest was hers. She had brought him here, but she could just as easily decide that she no longer wanted him. As ever, his first instinct was to back down and submit, to hold his hands away from his side to show how harmless he was. For anyone else, it would work, probably putting them off guard enough for him to make his move. Then her previous words flashed through his mind.
“You dare to insult me with your false deference? I would not have you lie to my face.”
He quickly repressed his instincts, instead drawing himself to full height as best he could on one leg. He met her eyes steadily, hoping that the fear churning through him would be masked behind his own.
"Nice place." He said finally, trying to break the mounting tension in the air. "It's... very beautiful."

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[Akilinia]

Araseth

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Something sharp cut her hand, and the pain drew her from her contemplation of the flames. She looked down. Her hand was clenched tightly around an object she hadn’t even realized she held. The bones in her knuckles pressed white against her pale skin. It was an effort to release her fingers. They held tightly to the object even as it cut deeper into the sensitive skin of her palm and the backs of her fingers. She could feel the blood from the cuts pooling in the creases of her hand when she finally managed to release her grip. The arrowhead she’d pulled from the human’s wound was still in her hand. Dry blood the color of rust covered it, but she could still see glimmers of the bright steel it was made of through the red. One edge of it was layered in fresh blood, and as she watched more of the ruby liquid fell like a tear from a slice in her hand to pool on the smooth metal. It was a reminder to her of the events that led her to discover the human. Of the remaining hunter that still prowled her woods and of the fresh blood that stained her hands. She was no killer, and the weight of two deaths on her conscious was heavy. The smell of death still clung to her. She could still picture their wide, staring eyes and see them lying in a circle of scarlet-stained snow where she had unceremoniously left them to the tender mercies of nature.

Araseth suspected that Nature was not too kindly disposed towards those who harbored the desire to harm her children. The violence of the humans who came to the Spine never failed to inspire a great rage within Araseth. She wanted to tear them limb from limb, to water the earth with their blood so that the plants that were nourished by it might grow strong. If the volatility of Nature’s emotions were to be judged by the weather then its anger towards the human race must be terrible. When it rained was nature shedding tears for those of her children slain by human hands, or were her tears meant to strengthen her children? Water was the basis of life in nature. Did it originate from Nature’s sorrow, or was it some other emotion a finite creature such as herself could not understand? She knew the sun to be an expression of happiness for she could feel Nature’s kiss in the warmth of the rays as they washed her skin in gold. Thunderstorms could only be anger. The flashes of lightning were Nature’s swords and the booming thunder her battle cries. But what were snow and hail, mist and sleet?

She professed to know much about Nature, but when her thoughts traversed such paths she felt insignificant. Her endeavors to protect the world’s wild and plant life seemed miniscule in the vastness of time. Nature itself was timeless, ageless, and eternal. What were a few centuries of one creature’s life spent protecting Nature’s children to such an entity? In Her eyes, Araseth was only animated earth and would eventually become such again when her life was at its end. However, Araseth believed Nature to be a kind being that cared for the smallest of her creations just as much as the large. She loved the smallest ant and the oldest willow tree equally, and must appreciate Araseth’s efforts to save them from the foolish human creatures. Then again, weren’t humans creatures of Nature as well? That would mean Nature would have to love them as much as Araseth or the ant or the willow tree; that she would consider their deaths a tragic and distressing as the deaths they caused.

She refused to believe it. The humans deviated from Nature’s intended course long ago when they chose to abandon the welcoming leafy depths of the forest to live in cities of cold, dead stone. They’d effectively rejected their ancestry, their origins, when they began to view themselves as superior to their animal brethren. Humans were no different than the rest of Nature’s creations as far as base instincts were concerned. They were ruled by instinct and emotion just as surely as the grizzly bear hibernated every winter. Any superiority or differences that they perceived between themselves and their wild brethren were of their own creation. They were perverted mutations of Nature’s gifts. The intelligence they’d been gifted with in order to compensate for their lack of physical prowess and hairless hides had been warped. They applied their knowledge, abilities to learn and recall knowledge, as well as the unique gift to grasp the concept of future events to their politics and the building of their atrocious cities. They preferred to turn their ingenuity on each other, using the tools they created to fight each other in wars over things that they had no right to claim ownership of. Perhaps it was their limited life spans, their desires to feel significant in the tapestry of life that caused it. In any case, they were foolish creatures and Nature would at most only feel a bit of regret at the sorrowful state of Her creation.

Perhaps She would feel nothing. Humans were only pale imitations of Araseth’s people, the elves. They were short lived barbarians in comparison. Surely Nature would see that. Surely she would see the way the humans turned on each other like a pair of their dogs gone rabid. They were primitive creatures with none of the natural grace of wild animals. Their speech was rough and uncultured when compared to the whispers of leaves and the songs of the wolves as they tipped their maws back to howl to the moon. Their pale, hairless hides were bald and hideous in comparison to the bright feathers of song birds and the intricate markings of a butterfly’s wings that allowed it to blend with the tree bark or the bright petals of a flower. Their senses were inferior to all creatures. Even the moles, which had no need for their eyes made up for the missing sense with their superior smell. All five human senses were like a mole’s sight. They were blind, deaf, and unable to speak or hear or smell all at the same time. In Araseth’s eyes, their only redeeming quality was their ability to love and care, as rare as such emotions were. She found the tenderness exhibited between relatives moving. Then again, she’d only seen it from a distance, and had no experiences with which to compare it. Her relationship with her parents had always been strained, but she was forced to admit to experiencing a certain feeling of affection at the thought of them.

Her thoughts shifted to the human she’d brought back to her home on a whim. When she’d cleaned his wounds she’d seen many scars on his body. They rose from his skin in poorly healed ropy strands of bleached skin, overlapping in a haphazard lattice-like pattern. Such marks were a sign of physical prowess and were indicative of a fighter who had emerged victorious from many battles. Or at least, they were in the natural world. However, the placement of his scars was odd. They were highly concentrated on the tender underside of his wrists, a place that usually meant the death of the person on whom the injuries were inflicted. It was as if many had tried to end his life, but failed to pierce his skin deep enough to sever any major veins or arteries. Had the human been forced to fend them off, or was the fact that he still breathed s sign of his attackers’ mercy? Perhaps the desperation he displayed in fending off the hunter was the extent of his abilities as a fighter. Maybe he excelled at something else.

Araseth was intrigued by the idea that he might be something other than a warrior, but at the same time she was repulsed by the thought that he might be weak and incapable of defending himself. She wondered about the origin of his scars. She did not have many of her own. A jagged, crescent shaped one marked the bicep of her left arm, a mark of her triumph after a tangle with a particularly fierce wolf, but the rest were small and insignificant. The memories of how she earned them faded from her mind like the color bled from a pelt left too long in the sunshine, and dripped through her fingers like water when she tried to quench her thirst at a stream. Frustrating, surely, but the memories were trivial things and she was not vain enough to spare the resulting scars much concern as some elves might. If they bothered her overly much, she supposed she could remove them with magic, but such spells came difficultly to her, and she preferred to display the scars proudly. They told her story. They catalogued her physical mishaps and encounters with others better than her mind did, and sometimes she could even recall vague notions of what they were from. Did the human feel the same? Or did he wish his scars gone?

As if summoned by her thoughts, Araseth’s sensitive ears heard sounds of movement coming from the other room. The first noise to reach her was the labor of his lungs. Understandably, he must be alarmed. He had no recollection of how he came to be in her home, because he’d been unconscious for the entirety of the journey. To awaken in a strange place with your last conscious thought a challenge to an unknown entity to end your life could not be a particularly pleasant experience. She would not know. Araseth had never been in such a situation, but she could imagine the feelings of panic, fear, and confusion that would course through her. She listened as the rasp of his breath slowed. It was the only noise other than the faint crackle of the two fires and her quiet breath. She imagined he would be scanning his surroundings in an attempt to determine his location.

She glanced around her home, trying to see it through the eyes of the human. Surely he’d never seen anything like it before. The oak trunk expanded seamlessly to form the gently curving walls of the two rooms. There were no nails or protruding boards or sharp angles. Everything blended together naturally. Usually the room was lit by the three windows that marred the smooth walls, but the starlight was over overwhelmed and lost in the orange glow of the hearth fire. All varieties of pelts of decorated the light tan walls and covered the floor. She could see the brindled pelts of several wolves, the brown and white fur of many deer, the spotted hues of gray that were unique to the mischievous raccoons, as well as many others. Antlers hung in rows around the perimeter of the room, mostly ten and twelve pointers, and a mountain lion and moose skull sat on the ridge above the hearth. She fingered the wolf tooth necklace that was draped around her neck. The sharp tips of the canine teeth brushed against the hollow of her throat and her collarbones when she moved. She had a drawer filled with similar necklaces in the room where the human was.

Sounds of movement reached her ears. From the racquet he was making, she decided he found rising from the bed to be a difficult task. She heard the rustle of her straw mattress as he sank back down on it after a failed attempt to stand. She heard a few muffled curses before the sound of his feet sliding across the smooth oak floor heralded his success. His gait was uneven as if one leg would not hold his weight, and she was reminded of his leg injury. The arrow had pierced the thick muscle in his calf, but she did not believe it would cause any permanent damage. However, such a wound would make putting weight on the limb very painful until it healed. It would take him a while to reach the main room even though the distance should only have taken a couple of steps to traverse.

She returned her attention to the arrow in her hand, following his painfully slow progress with one ear. The blood had congealed over the cuts in her hand while she’d been paying attention to the human. On the arrowhead’s edge the blood from her hand was only slightly darker than the dried blood from the human’s wound. It was odd. If she did not know that both elf and human blood coated the small piece of metal she would have been unable to differentiate between the two. They were the same shade of brown-red, and both gave off the same metallic scent. Animal blood was much the same. Perhaps it was Nature’s way of reminding them that She created them all. It could not be a sign of the similarities between them, for humans were nothing like elves or animals. Their blood was the only similarity. Physically, they were inferior. Elves were formed from a similar mould, but with superior materials. They walked on two legs, had minimal hair on their bodies, and were gifted with great intelligence. However, where human muscles were incapable of fending off even the weakest predator, elves were stronger than even the giant grizzly bear. Human senses were dull, but elves had the scent and hearing of wolves, and the sharp eye sight of an eagle. Above all, elves were born with magic. Araseth knew from her studies in Ilirea that humans had the potential for magic, but very few of them were born with the ability. Elves were Nature’s masterpiece. They were made from the best parts of all her other creations.

The black kettle was sitting on the stone in front of the heart, and she leaned forward to retrieve it. The metal had cooled since its time suspended over the flames, but a small portion of water remained in the bottom. She dropped the arrowhead in. For a moment nothing happened, but then the blood began to rise from it in crimson tendrils that spread out across the water and stained it red. After a moment, all of the blood had been washed from the metal and its wet surface shone bright in the firelight as she pulled it from the kettle. She set the kettle down in its place next to the fire and then carefully dried the arrowhead off on her leather breeches. Water from the arrowhead left streaks of dampness on her breeches that imitated the pyramid shape of the metal. Careful not to cut herself on its sharp edges, she used magic to form a small hole at its base and then carefully fed a leather thong from the collection she kept in a small basket next to the hearth through it.

Shortly after she’d completed it, the human emerged from the other room. His torso was bare, and the firelight threw his scars into sharp relief, and etched the lean plains of his muscles in shadow, sharpening them and giving his frame an angular appearance that was not so different from her’s. Her eyes traced the lines of his muscles up to his face. His silver eyes flashed iridescent like an animal’s in the light. The fact that he stood tall despite his injury induced weakness surprised her. So he can learn. She thought with a measure of satisfaction. From her time spent hunting them through her forest, she knew humans had a very low tolerance for pain. They were easily distracted by it, and once injured curled up to tend their injuries instead of trying harder to prevent themselves from sustaining more. The fact that he tried to hide that pain and appear strong in front of her pleased her. If he wanted to be a predator, no, if he wanted to avoid becoming her prey he would need to be fierce and strong even if he did not feel that way. Predators could not be perceived as weak or they would be destroyed by their own family. Weak wolves were driven from the pack so they did not slow the clan down when it hunted. Lone wolves constantly challenged alpha wolves in their attempts to be part of a pack. If the alpha was not strong at all times then they would die. The lone wolf would sense that weakness and his attack would be all the fiercer because he believed he had a chance to win. The human would be part of her pack for now. She would not cast him out as a lone wolf quite yet.

He stood in silence for a moment, his silver eyes roving over her home, assessing, measuring it. "Nice place." He told her after a moment. "It's... very beautiful." The word struck her like a blow, and her pleasure soured to anger just as swiftly as a small shower could become a thunderstorm. The feeling coursed through her veins like fire, setting her muscles ablaze and chilling her to bone all at once. “Beautiful?” She growled, rising from her chair in one swift motion to stand before him with her head raised to meet his gaze. She still held the arrowhead in her hand, and she could feel its bladed edges cutting into her hand again. The pain was not great, and she ignored it. “What could a human know of beauty? You spend your lives surrounded by stone, and living in houses made of trees you kill. You are an anathema to beauty. You destroy it with your greed and your feelings of superiority.” Araseth held the arrowhead up for him to see. It swung from its leather thong, covered in her blood. “This is your beauty. Destruction, death, violence. That is the only beauty humans know. They are blind to everything else.” Her muscles shifted and flowed like a liquid as she lifted her arm and threw the arrowhead down at his feet. A challenge to him to contradict her.

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OOC: Mmm.. Not sure how much I like this. The last few paragraphs aren't too bad, but the beginning...

[Angmor]

The arrowhead struck the floor with a muted plink, leaving a tiny spatter of blood as it slid to a stop against the bare toes of his good foot. Teiris followed its progress with his eyes, glad of the excuse to turn his eyes to the floor and hopefully hide the flash of fear that chilled through him at her sudden wrath. It would seem that he still hadn't figured out the correct things to say to her. It seemed that no words of his would evoke a positive reaction, and he guessed that if he continued blundering through these conversations, sparking her rage at every turn, whatever brief tolerance she harbored towards him would wear thin in a hurry. So the question remained, what did she want from him?

Feeling the heat of her gaze on him mingling with the ambient warmth of the fire, he quickly recalled all memories of his interactions with the spirit so far. This was the second time she had flown instantly into a rage at his words. It did not seem to take much to make her angry, and the transition came without warning. In fact, the only time she seemed to approve of him was when he was speaking sharply to her, or fighting her. Finally, understanding clicked into place. Of course, she didn't want anything a human might want. She didn't want deference, she didn't want praise, she didn't want service. She wanted a challenge. She wanted him to prove his strength to her, she wanted him to show he wasn't weak. The realization felt like a bolt of lighting. Her angry words against his race had been the opening moves of a duel. The arrowhead was a thrown gauntlet. She wanted him to argue with her.
And this, he realized with a rush of confidence, was just the sort of fight he knew how to win.

In the first half of his life, Teiris had spent hour upon hour in his uncle's study, absorbing his extensive knowledge of logic and political maneuvering. Even without eidetic memory, the words came easily to him, drilled by constant repetition. "It's all about defining what you want, Teiris." His uncle had said many times. Once you have done that, it provides the basis for everything else. But, here's the catch. Once you decide what you want, there will always, always be someone or something to oppose you. Such is the nature of free commerce. There will always be competition. And most of the time, you will not be in an advantageous position to compete. What I'm teaching you to do is to face a larger, better equipped, stronger opponent who stands in your way, and out-think them. If you can master this, then nothing will ever be able to stand in your way."
During that time Teiris had become very well-versed in the art of verbal sparring and diplomacy, plot and counter-plot and evasion. He was good at it, and he enjoyed it. Despite the pain and fatigue of his body, he found himself buoyed up by a spark of energy in his chest. It felt like it had been a long time since his fate had hinged completely on something familiar to him. Even though he knew he was probably still in mortal danger, at the mercy of the vagaries of an elemental fury, he still felt comfortable. Debate was a weapon in his hands. While he knew he couldn't outfight the spirit on physical terms, but he knew that he could out-think her.

He brushed his bandaged side with his free hand, putting enough casualty in the movement that it could easily have been a subconscious twitch. It was carefully calculated, as all his actions would be from now on. His strategy was rapidly evolving in his mind, and now it was time for the opening move.
"You know," He said finally, his tone flat and controlled, not lifting his eyes from the wedge of metal at his feet. "If you're going to use that for your metaphorical anchor, you should remember whose chest cavity it came from."
He could still feel the spirit's presence uncomfortably close, he angry gaze boring into the top of his head. Anger was a good thing in an opponent. It made them easier to manipulate. Teiris had learned long ago to keep a rigid check on his emotions, to use his anger, instead of it using him. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet hers, matching her flashing brown with his impassive steel. The difference in height helped slightly. Now he was not staring helplessly up at her from flat on his back, and that provided the psychological edge he needed to frame the first probing attack of his strategy.
"No matter how you look at it, I wasn't the one shooting things out there. I watched you kill that bounty hunter. It wasn't the most cold-blooded act I've ever seen in my life, but it was close. Violence and destruction seems to be an essential tool in your arsenal as well. Humans kill, you kill... Pardon me if I find it difficult to distinguish the difference, or if I don't find any of it particularly beautiful." He paused, making a sweeping gesture at the room, the wavering firelight dancing in the shadows between his fingers.He could almost hear the voice of his uncle, telling him to press the attack, to go on the offensive as quickly as possible, to bring in the double-pronged argument. "As for your home, I meant what I said. I look around, and I find it beautiful. Do I understand it? Of course not. But if perception of beauty comes only through understanding, then I know why you hate humans so much."

[/blockquote]

I feel a bit guilty, posting up something this short, but I can't think of much else I can do with it. XD

[Akilinia]

Araseth

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The arrowhead necklace came to a stop near the human’s foot, leaving a trail of her blood in its wake. The firelight played off of the crimson drops, making them glow and flash in the corner of her eye. However, Araseth’s eyes never strayed from the ruffled brown strands of hair that fell messily across the top of the human’s head. He had followed the progress of the arrowhead intently with his eyes, and had yet to meet her gaze. Such reluctance to bare his expression to her meant he was attempting to hide something, and every predator learned early on to keep their eyes on their prey at all times. Prey was unpredictable, and once it knew its life was in danger it would do anything to escape the hot gaze of the predator. The best strategy was for the predator to make the kill before the prey became aware its presence Failing that, the only way a predator could hope to catch it was to move as soon as its prey did, which required watching the prey for any indication of what it planned to do. Araseth was past the point of striking before the human noticed her presence. She had forgone that chance when she saved him from the hunters. That left her the second choice. The human had surprised her several times since their meeting hours earlier, and she was not fond of the idea that it might happen again.

Silence reigned in her home for a few moments as the human thought, and then Araseth felt the shift in the atmosphere. It stole over the room like the quiet before a thunderstorm. Everything was still as if in anticipation of the ferocity of the winds, rain, thunder and lightning. Soon the scent of the human’s fear dissipated, and the spicy flavor indicative of confidence flooded her nose and coated the back of her tongue. She did not have much experience with the emotion, having only smelled it on the rare occasion that a hunter she was stalking caught sight of her and was reassured by her diminutive size. However, she never forgot a scent, and it rose from the human in strong waves, permeating the room. The predator stirred, roused by the sudden quiet and the scent of the human’s inexplicable confidence. It wanted to press its advantage and strike while the human’s head was bowed, while his gaze was foolishly turned from her. It wanted to be known as a threat, to cause him pain so that he would never take the moments of peace it offered lightly. Patience. She consoled it. The human would reveal his hand soon enough. She could afford to wait him out, because there was nothing to fear from him. He could not harm her in his condition. She doubted he could even if he had been healthy.

Soon enough the human stirred. His hand rose in a deliberately blasé motion to brush lightly over the injury on his side. She followed his arm with half of her gaze, but did not allow herself to be distracted on the off chance that he intended to attempt some desperate, poorly thought out plan while her attention was drawn to the white cloth of the bandages over his wound. The memory of how the human had killed the hunter mere hours ago flashed through her mind. His moves had been born from his desire to survive, and were beyond what a normal human was capable of. Perhaps it would be more beneficial to assume he was capable of repeating the feat. He might be injured, but he had proven that pain did not incapacitate him as it did the rest of his race. She rocked forward on her toes, muscles flexed in preparation to counter any unexpected attacks. He did not attempt to utilize his hand motion as a distraction; at least, there was no physical manifestation of such an attempt. He simply spoke to the arrowhead where it lay on the floor.

“You know,” His voice was not loud, but she could hear him clearly over the cackle of the flames. "If you're going to use that for your metaphorical anchor, you should remember whose chest cavity it came from." She decided to let his words hang in the air, and did not dignify them with a reply. She had not forgotten that. She intended the arrowhead to be a reminder of what his race was capable of. The fact that he believed himself to be devoid of humanity’s inclination towards cruelty and violence meant he was idealistic, not that he was truly without such tendencies. Araseth would not consent to take his word for it. In order to convince her, his tongue would have to be much more nimble. The tenor of her thoughts must have carried to him. He finally lifted his eyes from the floor to meet her gaze.

As always, she was struck by the lack of emotion in his eyes. It baffled her, and continually rebuffed her attempts to decipher the emotions she could see hidden in their depths. Araseth had never before met a human capable of concealing his emotions. All of the humans who trespassed in her woods wore their emotions openly on their faces, and they always followed the same progression; surprise, fear, desperation, and at last, resignation. Their deaths marked the end of successful hunts. She was always able to predict their moves. First, they tried to outrun her. They stumbled blindly through the trees, crashed through the underbrush, and caught themselves on briars and roots while she kept pace easily with them. After a while, they realized that they would never be able to elude her with speed, and some tried to hide. Their endeavors were hopeless. Humans willingly distanced themselves from Nature, and were strangers in her woods. How could they hope to escape a forest spirit whom the Spine embraced with open arms? How could they hide when the very plants they used as cover betrayed their location to her? Eventually, they all understood the futility of their attempts to flee. Attempts to negotiate and begging followed.

Humans were banal creatures who all chose the same path through the maze. They hit dead ends, but ultimately kept trying to find the exit they were convinced was just around the corner. This human, though, cut through the hedges of her maze when he reached a dead end, and refused to be deterred even as he ran in circles. Whenever she thought she had him figured out he would do something to surprise her. He never followed the common paths of begging and pleading. He never gave her an excuse to kill him. He was a lynx. Whenever she dropped him, he always landed on his feet. He learned swiftly, and analyzed every reaction she offered him with the precision of one accustomed to finding himself in situations he had no control over. He deciphered the rules of the game almost as fast as she could fabricate them. The predator rejoiced at the challenge, and she decided that if he continued to play her game with such effortless grace, then she would let him walk from the Spine unharmed, but as soon as he fell into the monotonous mold of humanity, she would kill him.

“No matter how you look at it, I wasn’t the one shooting things out there.” His voice sliced through her musings like a well honed blade. “I watched you kill that bounty hunter. It wasn’t the most cold-blooded act I’ve ever seen in my life, but it was close. Violence and destruction seem to be an essential tool in your arsenal as well. Humans kill, you kill… Pardon me if I find it difficult to distinguish the difference, or if I don’t find any of it particularly beautiful.” His words rekindled the anger that had been content to slumber in her breast until that moment, but he did not give her the opportunity to offer a rebuttal to his claims. Like a true predator, he had the scent of the kill in his muzzle and would not be deterred. “As for your home,” He indicated the fire-lit room with a sweep of one arm. “I meant what I said. I look around, and I find it beautiful. Do I understand it? Of course not. But if perception of beauty comes only through understanding, then I know why you have humans so much.”

The anger cooled to embers. They simmered beneath her breast bone in a comforting heat as she regarded the human with something akin to surprise. Never before had one of his kind admitted ignorance. They believed themselves to possess the boundless wisdom of their elders shortly after birth, and upon reaching an age where they could make a just claim on a small portion of wisdom, they believed they had nothing left to learn from the world. Humans were a race blinded by self-imposed ignorance. They were unwilling to learn, and uncompromising and certain of their knowledge. Yet, the one who stood before her had defied all those rules in one breath, one sentence. Araseth was speechless for a moment, and regarded the man curiously. What events in his life had opened his eyes?

“You surprise me.” She said at last. “I will not refute your words. I did end his life in cold blood, but his death was not undeserved. He entered my forest with ill intent, and he was about to harm you. I am unsure of why I desired to save your life, I only know that I did, and that I can just as easily change my mind. Violence is only a part of my “arsenal” because of necessity. It is the only thing those who hunt and kill in the Spine for their pleasure understand. I am not cruel. Contrary to what you may believe, I do not enjoy killing. Even if their deaths are warranted, the humans I kill are still living creatures. Unlike humans, who kill for the twisted pleasure it affords their black souls, I have an appreciation for life. It is the heedless destruction caused by your race that drives me to such lengths in my quest to protect the forest. Nothing more, nothing less. I gain no pleasure, no satisfaction other than what little is given by the knowledge that I have saved countless innocent lived through the death of one that is guilty. And do not forget that you killed a man as well. It may have been in self defence, but his body lies cold and dead in a pool of his own blood all the same.” She had not meant to reveal so much to the human, but she did not let her chagrin show on her face.

She pushed on, offering the human a genuine smile for the first time as she danced freely to the tune of her whimsical emotions. She imitated the sweep of his arm with her own, encompassing the small room in which they stood. “Perhaps it is not beautiful by the standards of your homes, but I am grateful that you believe this place to hold a form of beauty, even if you do not understand it.” She traced one of the delicate wood spirals that arched up the wall and across the ceiling to support it. The tree embraced her mood gladly, and a small vine extended from the wall where her hand touched it to wrap lovingly around her wrist. She delighted at the feel of the tree’s consciousness, brushing her other hand over the smooth wall. Ripples formed in the wake of her hand, spreading across the wood like waves in the ocean. Life. That was what made her home beautiful. Even if they entertained the aspiration to preserve life, they would be unable to live as the elves did. Their minds were forever closed to the magic of nature. The only course of redemption available to them lay in joining minds with a dragon hatchling in Ilirea, but humans were denied that privilege. "What are you called, stone eyes?" She asked finally, not turning from the comforting touch of the oak.

[Angmor]

Teiris could tell immediately that he had scored a point. So far, he had really seen two sides to the spirit’s outer demeanor; somewhat grudging admiration, and unchained rage at his very existence. Now, his actions had managed to coax out on more: abject surprise. The spirit was visibly taken aback by his words, rocking back on her heels as if he had struck her. From under the tangled mass of color-streaked hair, her deer-brown eyes gazed at him as if he had transformed right before her. The streaks of blood that she had smeared on her flawless face had by then dried to stripes of dark brown, making the expression seem ill-fitting. Teiris felt a rush of triumph. After being shot and raged at, having to deal with bounty hunters and erratic supernatural beings and having to run flat-out for miles across the gods-forsaken wilderness before nearly bleeding out, it was high time he started asserting some control here. He was tempted to press on further, but he restrained himself, picturing himself circling with his guard up like a swordsman after winning a preliminary bout. The metaphor of a duel held up very well for this sort of conflict. There as here, it did not pay to fly into a bezerker rage, attacking wildly without thought to finesse or timing. After striking a blow, it was better to ease off and watch, planning and strategizing the next move.

The silence drew longer, making Teiris very aware of the lively crackle of the fire. In that time, he watched the spirit very closely. She had appeared angry at first, but now that seemingly unending spark had faded, replaced by a strange mix of emotions. The shadows that danced across the contours of her face made it difficult to tell if it was surprise or some kind of frustration that plagued her. Perhaps it was the fact that a mere human had managed to assail her hatred against his race, instead of laying down to die like a good prey animal. Well, that figured. Throughout his life, he was always a pawn in someone else's game. His future had always been determined by someone besides him, whether it was his uncle as the head of a shipping company, the Broddring government as a slave, Rygier Tahn as a respected servant, or the Hand as dead laboratory specimen, used up and thrown away. And now here, the forest spirit of the Spine wanted to decide his destiny, as just yet another dead human, killed in favor of her bizarre cause. At this thought, the iron resolve that had become so familiar to him since his tenure with the Hand rose up within him.
No. He wouldn't play their games, any of them. He would decide his end, not some sick bitch of a Prophet bent on the total dominance of the human race, nor some weird supernatural projection of nature bent on its destruction. Sure, his journey would end at the grave, as it did every man.
But if he was going to be put in the ground, he would only go when he was good and ready.

Finally, the spirit spoke. "You surprise me." She said, her voice oddly musical and comforting now that it did not possess its usual edge of menace. "I will not refute your words. I did end his life in cold blood, but his death was not undeserved. He entered my forest with ill intent, and he was about to harm you. I am unsure of why I desired to save your life, I only know that I did, and that I can just as easily change my mind."
Teiris sighed inwardly. So, no progress there. He was on just as shaky footing as ever. He wished that she would just make a decision and stick with it, instead of toying with him so. Unbidden, her first words to him rang in his ears.
“I have decided.” She pronounced bluntly, as if she had been struggling with some great dilemma that had been plaguing her for some time. “You will be allowed to stay here for the time being on account of the peculiar circumstances of your arrival. But, be warned; I protect this place, and if you harm a creature in it without need then I will kill you.” Her expression at this could perhaps have been quantified as a smile, and yet the effect was quite the opposite of the norm for that emotion. “And you will not be able to stop me.”
Oh, he would be very careful with anything having remotely to do with the forest, very careful indeed. And yet, her instructions were a paradox. The more he learned about her, the more he thought that she viewed the world strictly as black and white. Humans were evil, and nature was god. If that was the case, did not his very being here harm her forest, representing a breach in her resolve? He very carefully stored the thought away, feeling like he was on to something. While it represented his greatest danger, he felt that it could also be turned into his trump card.

"Violence is only a part of my "arsenal" because of necessity." The spirit was saying, an undertone to his thoughts. "It is the only thing those who hunt and kill in the Spine for their pleasure understand. I am not cruel. Contrary to what you may believe, I do not enjoy killing Even if their deaths are warranted, the humans I kill are still living creatures." Teiris found himself surprised that she was talking so much, and still entirely on the defensive from his arguments. He could tell, it wasn't really about him anymore. Her eyes had lost some of their sharp definition, focusing through him as if he wasn't there. He listened hungrily, suppressing the noise of his breathing as he tried to remain still. Whatever had come over her, he did not want to break the spell. Every new piece of information he gathered added strength to his position.
"Unlike humans, who kill for the twisted pleasure it affords their black souls, I have an appreciation for life It is the heedless destruction caused by your race that drives me to such lengths in my quest to protect the forest. Nothing more, nothing less. I gain no pleasure, no satisfaction other than what little is given by the knowledge that I have saved countless innocents through the death of one that is guilty. And do not forget that you killed a man as well. It may have been in self defence, but his body lies cold and dead in a pool of his own blood all the same." As she spoke the last two sentences, she seemed to come back to the world of the living, her eyes drawing back to him.
Finally. He thought. About time you started fighting back. He wished he had time to consider her words more fully, but this sort of duel required timing and initiative. He had foreseen this argument from her. He could not refute it entirely, but he had a strategy for limiting its impact.

Strangely enough, he did not have to. She did not press on with her counter-attack as she should have. Instead, her expression softened, casting her features in a serenity that was totally incongruous under the smears of blood. And then she smiled at him, revealing a row of flawless white teeth. Normal teeth, not the canine incisors or cat-like needle fangs he found that he had been expecting.
She smiled.
Teiris couldn't believe it. He tensed, hoping he was ready for what was coming. It was a trick, it had to be. A smile was usually interpreted as a sign to be at ease, but he had learned otherwise in his experiences. The Oracles had often smiled, when they were draining the blood from his veins. Redoubling his guard, Teiris watched the spirit carefully, hoping that he was ready for whatever she was about to do.
He wasn't.
She spun gracefully away from him, the rough hides of her clothing swirling as she seemed to dance to a lively reel that resided somewhere beyond his hearing. She came to a stop at the opposite end of the room, indicating it with a graceful sweep of her small hand. The tableau was so utterly surreal, Teiris had to fight himself from laughing, despite the gravity of his situation. Without her weapons and her rage, he decided, she really was an odd creature.
"Perhaps it is not beautiful by the standards of your homes, but I am grateful that you believe this place to hold a form of beauty, even if you do not understand it." She said to him, surprising him further. As she spoke, she ran her hand along the gentle slope of the wall, caressing one of the whirling patterns outlined in paler lines than the surrounding. And the wall actually responded Not quite able to fathom what he was seeing, he watched as a pale tendril of flesh seemed to appear from nowhere, wrapping around the spirit's wrist in a way that his idle, pattern-recognizing self said affection. He noticed also a vibration that seemed to spread from her touch, reminding him for all the world of a cat purring under the petting hand of its master. The shiver spread throughout the room, even to where he stood. Teiris gasped, feeling the ripples pass under his fingers for an instant, gone before he could tear his hand away. What in the name of all the gods was this place?

"What are you called, stone eyes?" The spirit said suddenly, distracting him from his confusion. Instantly, he was wrenched away from considering the magic of the moment by the training of his suspicious nature. He almost resented it, but he knew it was that suspicion, that instinct, was the one thing that had kept him alive this long, as it very well might now. Why did she want his name? Was it truly idle curiosity, as it her tone suggested, or was it something more sinister? As far as he knew, a name had very little power beyond what was associated with it. He could rattle off any one of a dozen aliases he had used over the past few months to safeguard himself from his birth name, which was plastered all over the kingdom under the heading "Murder, Escaped Slave." But what good would that do for the spirit? What was she going to do, turn him in for the reward? He doubted she had even seen a wanted poster, much less knew of their content.
"Teiris." He said finally, hopping a pace further into the room. "I am called Teiris Vorthain." The name brought to him a strange feeling of relief. He realized with a pang that he had not spoken it aloud for a long while, very nearly two years ago. In fact, the last person to whom he had revealed his birth name had been Myrei...
The thought unearthed a rush of memories, threatening to overwhelm him. Like his name, he had not thought of Myrei for a very long time. He had buried them away, keeping them in a special place near his heart. Myrei had been one of only two people in his life who had truly cared about him, but even more than that. Tahn had been kind to him, but his care had always been undertoned by pragmatism. Myrei had cared for him, not because she wanted something in return, but because she had loved him for who he was, even to the point of risking her entire life to save him. The only one who had not wanted to control his destiny. It was an emotion that was so far removed from anything in his present life, the realization of its loss was like a crushing weight over his heart. Where was she now? She was most likely dead, killed for her treachery. Or worse, they had probably left her alive. And what kind of sick bastard was he, never to wonder at her fate before now?
With a mental snarl, he forced the thoughts away, locking them back in their padded box. He could not afford to think about that now. He had never asked, for the same reason he could not ask now. Such thoughts would not help him survive.

He was glad the spirit’s back had been turned on him for that. Locking down his face again, he focused his attention back to her, framing more conversation. Probably more to distract himself then to try and gain any advantage, he admitted, but he could not think of anything else. “My name is not very important, however. You may call me whatever you like.” Like, perhaps, 'Hungry.' He thought to himself. His hunger was consuming now. His stomach felt like it was turning back in on itself, and he could feel his extremities trembling. Still he ignored it. He felt that showing weakness to her now would lose whatever standing he had gained in her mind, and that could not be allowed to happen. He would endure, because he had to.
“What of you?” He asked finally, probing gently. “Do you have a name? And am I allowed to know it?”

[/blockquote]

[Akilinia]

Araseth

<><><><><><>

The human did not answer for a moment, and she traced her fingers aimlessly over the grains that marred the smooth tan color of the inside of the tree in small swirls of light brown that looked like ripples in a pond. They started small in the center, but the dark pigments spread and stretched until they became like works of art on a blank canvas. The patterns of each grain marked how the tree grew over its long life. The straight ones that extended from the floor to the ceiling were reminiscent of times when the tree was growing straight and proud towards the sun, and the curving and circular grains marked the time when the oak was forced to bend and twist around the shadows of other trees growing along side of it in order to feel the sun’s warm kiss on its leaves. The grains were the old oak’s history, its legacy. She could feel the tree vibrate beneath the pads of her fingers, calloused from many years of living in the harsh wilderness, as they followed the creases that marked its life lines as if she were blind. It was as if the oak’s life stretched out before her. Memories began to flash through her mind; glorious sunshine after days of rain; the relief as the cold of winter ebbed and the long days of spring began; the comforting weight of its leaves as they rustled, blown back and forth in the wind; the feel of rain drenching the soil around its roots after a summer drought; delight as squirrels and various creatures found homes among its branches and in the earth at its feet; and pride at the successful sprouting of one of its many seedlings.

The oak gently tugged her mind free of her body to show her the forest through its eyes. Although the tree did not have eyes in the animal sense of the word, it did see the world around it clearly. Araseth could not help but gasp in wonder at the magnificence of the sight. Brightly colored veins of green and brown ran throughout the plants of the forest, outlining their trunks and their branches and leaves. She could see the bright flashes of copper that marked the passage of animals through the underbrush. A small vole burrowed into the loamy topsoil to retrieve nuts stored away for the winter. Small birds glinted like bright copper stars as they flitted agilely around low hanging vines and branches. Deer curled up to sleep, sheltered by the bright green veins of ferns and small bushes, and cushioned by a layer of fallen leaves and snow. The snow glowed an iridescent silver, and covered the ground like a transparent layer of mist rather than an opaque layer of frozen water. The decomposing leaves beneath the snow glowed dimly in hues of brown and orange as they returned to the land.

Faintly, she heard the human voice his reply to her query. “I am called Teiris Vorthain.” He told her. His voice sounded distant to her ears even though she knew he stood only a small distance from her. It echoed as if they were separated by mountains and his words were bouncing off their towering snow covered peaks. The oak was unconcerned by the human. His injuries shone an odd, iridescent purple in the tree’s sight. To the oak he was a sapling infected by rot. Prior to his contraction of the illness he had been a competitor in attracting the sun’s bright gaze, but the oak knew that the sapling was too weak and feeble to grow much taller, and that soon it would collapse as the disease devoured it from the inside. There was a spark of sadness for the human’s pain deep in the vast consciousness of the old oak, but it was fleeting and dismissed swiftly as the tree knew nothing more could be done for the man than what Araseth had done already. The oak was more interested in showing her more of its world. Araseth wondered why she had never connected with a plant before. She often joined with the minds of animals as they scampered through the forest, but the thought of trying with a tree never crossed her mind. Perhaps a part of her never believed it to be possible. She could heal them, but she had thought her mind to be incompatible with that of a plant’s. She was glad the wise old oak finally showed her it was. The brilliance of its sight was addicting, and she felt as if she were a newborn child opening its eyes for the first time.

After a while the tree released its hold on her mind, and she could only see the dull tan of her wall, and the bland orange of the flames in her hearth once more. Stifling her disappointment, she focused on the human. Teiris Vorthain. She corrected herself as his name rose from the depths of her mind like a vague memory from a dream. It felt odd in her mind, like a foreign word she could not quite grasp the meaning of. She rolled it around on her tongue for a moment, saying it in her mind to become accustomed to the unusual combination of sounds it was composed of. It was the first human name she’d learned. Araseth never bothered to learn the names of those who violated the sanctity of the Spine. All she needed to know what that they were trespassing. Their names were unimportant, inconsequential, unnecessary, and superfluous. They were not essential in removing them from her forest. She did not need to call them by name as she haunted them like one of their ghosts from the boughs of her trees while they fled in fear, nor did she need to bid them farewell as she loosed the arrow that would end their miserable lives. Teiris. For some reason, knowing his name felt necessary. He was not running in terror, and she was not aiming an arrow at his breast.

“What of you?” His voice sounded normal again. There were no mountains between them, just the short distance across her small living room. “Do you have a name? And am I allowed to know it?” Was he? That was a good question. Was she willing to share her name with him? A human? Was he even aware of what he asked of her? Names were sacred to her people. Elves, who spoke in the Ancient language which was the native tongue of Alagaesia, understood the meaning behind a name. They knew what it was capable of as humans did not. Humans gave their names to anyone who asked like it was worthless, simply a trinket imposed on them at birth by their parents. They even changed their names over the course of their lives as if changing what they called themselves did not change their identities as well. Humans were unaware that their carelessness could enslave them if they happened to give their name to someone willing to use it against them. Then again, perhaps humans did not know their other names. Maybe he only knew the name he had given her. Teiris was not a word in the Ancient Language. It was not him, and she could not control him with it. Then again, maybe he deliberately chose not to share his true name with her. A good choice. That was not what she had been asking for when she inquired about his name. I will give him the same, then. She decided, turning to face Teiris.

The oak reluctantly unwound the vine it had grown from her wrist. Suddenly bereft of her feel of the tree’s mind, Araseth felt as light as a feather without it, and braced herself against wall to prevent herself from floating away. It felt solid under her hand, and after a moment she had regained enough control to meet the young man’s stony gaze. While she’d communed with the oak, he had taken the opportunity to come farther into the room, and he stood balancing precariously on his good leg while he stared at her emotionlessly. A frown drew the corners of her lips down, and created a wrinkle in between her eyes. She touched the oak’s consciousness once more to ask its permission, and then used her magic to mold a chair out of the wall behind Teiris. “Please, sit.” She told him, gesturing to the seat behind him. “You are hurt yet and must rest.” He turned at her gesture and seemed a bit startled to find the chair behind him, but after a moment’s hesitation, he sank down into it. “It’s Araseth.” She said, finally answering his question.

Reminded of his ordeal, and suddenly aware that it had probably been a while since his last meal, she turned to the flickering fire in the hearth where several smoked pieces of deer left over from her lunch were suspended on a metal grill above the flames. She retrieved a few slices and set them on one of her few wooden plates, and then placed them on the small table next to Teiris that she’d created after the chair as an afterthought. “I will hunt for something fresh in the morning. This is all...”

Her voice caught in her throat as a dagger of pain pierced her skull like a hot knife, scalding her eyes and causing her to reflexively clutch her head with her hands even though the ache resulted from her magic rather than any physical injury. Hot flashes of cutting agony burned her abdomen and she bent double, falling to her knees in an attempt to quell the pain. Her eyes watered fiercely and a small cry escaped her lips before she could clamp them shut. She would not show weakness. Especially not in front of a human. She bit her lip until she tasted blood as she tried to locate the source of the pain. She knew it had to be from somewhere in the forest. It was a familiar ache. She had similar episodes whenever a creature in the Spine was in any unnatural pain. She was their protector, and her mind was bound to theirs. It was as if they were a part of her body. Their pain was her pain just as they knew when she was harmed or sustained an injury. She wrestled the searing agony to the back of her mind, teeth barred fiercely with the effort it took, and reached out to the forest with her mind searching for the cause of her pain. No, the tree’s pain. A young yew tree.

Slowly emotions filtered through the haze of the tree’s pain. Her vision flared red and flashes of bright light danced across the insides of her eyelids as she closed them tightly. Pain, fear, pain, confusion, anger. The yew did not understand much of what was happening to it beyond that it hurt immensely and that it could do nothing to prevent the attack other than strike out with its branches. She reached out to the young tree, coating her mind with cool, soothing thoughts to keep it calm while she used her newly found ability to see through its eyes. Veins of crimson met her gaze, and she struggled to understand the shape they were forming. It was like piecing a puzzle together without some of the pieces. The old oak had been there to help her identify what she was seeing, but the young yew tree was not familiar with the creature that assaulted it, and was in no state of mind to help her in any case. After a couple moments of fumbling she recognized the shape. A human. A snarl of rage escaped her as anger coursed through her veins like liquid fire, burning her insides just as surely as her earlier pain had. The hunter she had assumed would not cause trouble in her woods if he was unable to find Teiris was hacking viciously as the yew’s lower branches with an axe that shone a sickly gray-black in the tree’s sight. She could see the yellow blaze of a small fire in a small clearing the yew bordered.

“I would have let him go.” Araseth growled, clenching her hands so tightly that the new cuts on her hand began to bleed again. “I was prepared to show him mercy, but now I will kill him. I will tear him limb from limb for what he has done.” Tears poured down her face as sorrow for the tree’s ordeal welled up in her heart and built in her chest. Her throat tightened convulsively, and before she understood what was happening a high wail of rage and sorrow burst from her lips. It was the cry of a wolf in mourning and the screech of a hawk as it dove from the sky with its talons extended to capture its prey. The old oak shivered in shared pain and anticipation of revenge for the pain of its brother. She would have retribution.

[Angmor]

Teiris wasn’t really sure what he was expecting from his query. Perhaps he had asked out of simple curiosity, perhaps he simply wished for something better to refer to her in his mind beyond ‘the spirit.’ After their swift bout of conflict, it was a rather odd feeling. It was like a pair of fighters in a duel, stepping back from a particularly vicious round of blows in order to introduce themselves and start a conversation. Still, he supposed it was better than anger seething his direction. He would ride this wave of the spirit’s good mood as far as he could take it, but he would also stay ready for when it subsided again.

After several moments of what looked to him like staring at the wall of her dwelling, she turned slowly to face him, the pale tendril of the wall releasing her wrist with every appearance of a pet reluctant to leave the lap of its master. Oddly enough, she tottered slightly, unsteady on her feet, lungs working as if she had just lifted something heavy. If he had not been watching her so closely, he would not have noticed. It was almost like she had undergone a long and taxing ordeal, even though he knew that she had been standing against the wall for only a minute or two. The confusion that had become so familiar to him since he had entered the Spine intensified a few notches. He supposed he should have been used to it by now. She was a spirit. It was probably a lost cause trying to make sense of it all. Finally, she seemed to regain herself, her eyes locking back onto his as if noticing him for the first time. Teiris forced himself to stay outwardly relaxed. From what he had observed so far, the spirit’s behavior did not abide by the normal rules of Cause and Effect. From this point, she could do anything, and he had to be ready for every eventuality. As he thought this, a frown creased her face, as if she had noticed something that troubled her. Finally, she spoke, gesturing to something behind him. “Please, sit. You are hurt yet, and must rest.” Now it was Teiris’ turn to frown. Somehow, even though he was careful not to expect anything from her behavior, she still managed to throw him off guard at almost every turn. Of all the possibilities his quick mind had so dutifully calculated, concern for his condition had not been one of them. There was also the matter of being instructed to sit, when there wasn’t actually anything within reach to sit on…

He threw a glance over his shoulder… And stopped, his frown deepening. There was now a chair behind him, styled in the manner of the hearth and the bedframe, and he was reasonably certain that it had not been there before. He had noted before that the carved rocking chair had been the only furnishings. But then, he had been focusing on the spirit, and his examination of the room had not been thorough. Besides, the instant she had mentioned it, his rigid barriers of self-control shattered like glass, his pain and hunger and fatigue pouring back into his consciousness yet again. He suddenly realized that, yes, sitting and resting was exactly what he wanted to do. Putting aside his objections, he slid against the wall and slowly levered himself into a sitting position, suppressing a groan as his wounds objected. To his surprise, the chair was very comfortable, despite it being made of the same unyielding material of the rest of the dwelling. As he sat, it molded almost perfectly to his contours, cradling his back and shoulders without tension. Immediately, his eyelids felt heavier, a haze of fatigue falling over his senses. It took him a moment to realize that the spirit had belatedly answered his previous question.
“It’s Araseth.”

Araseth… Teiris wasn’t sure exactly why, but he liked the sound of the name. It was unlike any other he had ever heard, but it seemed to fit her somehow, locking into his developing mental file of her. It possessed an unfamiliar musical quality in its sound, which he supposed was perfectly for a supernatural being. She wouldn’t have a simply ordinary name. He absently turned it over in his sluggish mind, only half watching her remove something for the hearth and place it on a carved wooden plate. His attention immediately grew more acute when he noticed that the objects looked and smelled very much edible, causing his stomach to growl mightily. As Araseth moved closer, setting the plate on the table beside him, the savory-smelling objects resolved themselves into sliced of smoked meat…
…Table?
He did a double take. Sure enough, there was now a small table extending from the wall beside the chair, and he was now certain beyond a doubt that it had never been there before. It couldn’t be denied, there was magic at work here.
And you’re honestly surprised? He wondered to himself, almost suppressing a chuckle. Of course the supernatural being could summon furniture from nowhere. The sooner he accepted the fact that the laws of the world he knew did not necessarily apply here, the sooner he could stop jumping at every new development like a nervous hen.

“I will hunt for something fresh in the morning.” She was saying, her voice sounding strange now that it was full of concern. “This is all...” Without the slightest warning, her words were suddenly lost, robbed of air as if she had been struck in the stomach. Her expression was instantly screwed up in agony, her hands flying to the sides of her head as if she was trying to prevent it from flying apart. With an anguished cry, she collapsed to her knees, curling around her abdomen like she had been pierced with shards of glass. On a flash of adrenaline, Teiris felt all his fatigue fall away, every muscle tensing for action as he watched helplessly, his voice frantic in his own ears. “What’s wrong? What’s wrong?”
She gave no sign that she even remembered her existence, her face showing nothing but pain. A trickle of blood flowed from her lower lip, like she was locking back a scream. Unsure what to do, Teiris slid out of the chair, ignoring his pain yet again as he dropped to his knees beside her, laying a careful hand on her shoulder. Even with her smaller frame, he could feel the power she contained in her tensed muscles. “What can I do?” He asked as calmly as he could, bringing his face close to hers. “What can I do to help you?”
Just then, her eyes snapped open, her face contorted not now by pain, but by pure, feral rage. Teiris scrambled backwards with a yelp, his progress arrested by the wall. He watched fearfully as Araseth’s eyes roamed unseeingly through the room, as if looking for something. For some reason, Teiris knew that she was no longer actually there, instead occupying an entirely different plain that he could not access with his feeble human senses. After a moment, her eyes shut again, a snarl escaping her lips as she seemed to find what she was looking for. Teiris wished desperately that he could see what she was seeing, providing him with some idea what was going on.
“I would have let him live.” She said suddenly. Her voice was now entirely different. Teiris had thought he had heard her angry before, this was something new. It had grown deeper and mellower, a dark pit of unfettered rage. Her hands balled into fists, so tightly that blood seeped through her fingers, mimicking the tears that poured from her tightly-clenched eyelids. “I was prepared to show him mercy, but now I will kill him. I will tear him limb from limb for what he has done.”
And then she screamed.
It was unlike anything Teiris had ever experienced. There was nothing he could compare it to. It was anger and sadness itself, incarnate in a brutal wave of sound. It seemed to hammer against all his senses, until the whole world seemed to quake it sympathy. He felt himself fall backwards, stuffing his fingers in his ears and screwing his eyes tight shut, trying in vain to block out the terrible sound.
And then, it was over. The assault ceased, leaving blessed, comforting silence.
Teiris wasn't sure how long he lay there. Carefully, he removed his hands from his ears, almost expecting the attack to resume as soon as his guard was down. Happily, it did not. It seemed that the elemental rage of the universe had exhausted itself. He cautiously peeled his eyelids apart, raising himself on his elbows to gauge the situation. His head pounded with a renewed headache, making it difficult to focus on what he was seeing.

As far as he could tell, whatever had incapacitated Araseth was completely gone, or at least completely overshadowed by a new, single-minded focus. As he watched, raised herself sinuously to her feet, towering above him much like she had in the forest. This time though, she did not seem to even notice his presence, not even sparing him a glance as she literally stepped over him to move further into the room. Teiris remained still, following her progress only with his eyes, fearing to break whatever spell had fallen over her. There was a subtle fire in her eyes now, and the grimly homicidal intentions were clear on her face. She moved in a trance to the wall next to the door, taking the thick fur pelt she wore as a cloak and throwing it about her shoulders. She then checked the contents of her quiver in a single, fluid motion, strapping it over her cloak as soon as she was satisfied. Finally, she picked up the ebony staff of her bow, testing the tension of the string with her fingers. Without even a single look back, she swept out of the dwelling, the crash of the door shutting adding the perfect note of finality to her departure.
Teiris remained lying on the floor, feeling dazed and stupid. “Aye, sure…” He said to the empty room around him. “Just… Leave me here, all alone. Sure, it’s just fine. I can take care of myself.” His voice was instantly absorbed by the furnishings around him, not even dignified by an echo.

With a sigh, he laboriously maneuvered himself back into the chair, his throbbing head swirling with speculations as to what the hell all that had been about. What had happened to her to bring on that sudden fit? He supposed it had to be something out in the forest. There had been nothing in the house that would inspire such a thing. That had to be it. She had to have some kind of… connection with the forest, perhaps even at an emotional level. It would appear that she could feel its pain, and was able to pinpoint the source of that pain. That would fit with many things, and explain why she had to do what she did in the first place. Assuming he was right, it cast her in a whole different light. The poor woman… He wondered now if she even was a being of supernatural source, or just a natural being with an extraordinary ability she could not escape. She would be trapped here, doomed to ease the pain of the forest for as long as she lived. He looked about the rustic trappings of the home, and now finding them entirely different. Did she live this way by choice, or was she at the mercy of an ability, through no fault of her own?
He supposed a better and more relevant question would be where was she going now. After all, her intentions would determine just what kind of mood she would have toward him when she got back,
He was distracted from his musings by the slow realization of the smell of food. Glancing down, he found the slices of meat had remained exactly where Araseth had put them, as if nothing had happened. His stomach, he suddenly realized, felt like it was rapidly turning itself inside out. All thoughts fled from his mind, and he hurriedly jammed one of the slices of savory meat into his mouth before anything else could happen.

Over the course of his life, Teiris had mixed with many circles. In his earliest years, he and his uncle had been an important fixture in the Tears society. He had attended the some of the most lavish banquets that the rich and powerful had to offer, and sampled some of the choicest delicacies. But now, he found he could not remember anything in his life tasting so good. He tore ravenously at the meat, totally disregarding manners as he greedily filled his stomach. The food rapidly disappeared, Within minutes, the venison was gone. He settled back into the chair, sighing contentedly. The food had not sated him, but it had at least taken away the feeling that he was devouring himself from the inside out. Now a warm blanket of drowsiness fell over him, causing his eyelids to droop.
Ok, you’re right. He thought. That’s quite enough for one night. Time to get back to bed.
Despite his fatigue, the habits he had learned as a fugitive were hard to break. Before he did anything, he hobbled to Araseth’s small, beautifully carved rocking chair and dragged it laboriously in front of the door. For good measure, he removed the small black kettle from the fire, emptying the dirty water out one of the windows and placing it on the seat of the chair. Luckily, the door to the dwelling opened inward. If anyone tried to enter stealthily while he slept, the resulting clatter would surely wake him. That done, he at least made his way back to the smaller room. Even then, he was not ready. Stooping painfully to his haphazard pile of possessions, he extricated his shortbow, three arrows from the quiver, and the hunting knife. These he placed in a neat row on the edge of the bedframe, lying directly beside the mattress within easy reach of his hands. He could use the bow first, he decided. In the closed quarters of the room, with a target restricted by the narrow doorway, he couldn’t miss. Now he was satisfied that if Araseth did not come back first, and someone tried to sneak in and harm him as he slept, they would get more than they bargained for. Finally feeling somewhat secure, he flopped onto the blissfully soft mattress and instantly tumbled into a deep, blessedly dreamless sleep.

[/blockquote]

[Akilinia]

Araseth

<><><><><><>

The tree’s pain pulsed through her like a second heartbeat, but her fury burned it from her blood and made her immune to it. Slowly, she rose to her feet. Her muscles felt like liquid as they flexed to lift her weight from her place on the ground; like the muscles of a snake, prepared to strike at the slightest indication of a threat. Adrenaline coursed through her body like a wave, bringing everything sharply into focus. Everything around her seemed frozen, slow. She could see the individual strands of hair that fell over her face; black and white, tan, brown, even the rare shade of gold. Her eyes flickered over the room and settled on the place where her wolf pelt cloak, quiver, and bow rested near the door. She felt a growl of anger rumble deep in her chest. It warmed her as she crossed the small room of her dwelling to fetch them. A distant part of her noticed the human, Teiris, on the ground frozen in fear as she threw the gray and white pelt over her shoulders and fastened the quiver of arrows across her chest. Two out of the twenty four she usually carried were missing, but she was unconcerned. I will only need one to finish him. She thought as she flew out the door and into the cold winter night.

Araseth raced through the forest without seeing the starry sky that hung suspended above the canopy of trees like a curtain, or the iridescent flashes of animal eyes as they turned to observe her passage. She moved like a wraith, a ghost. Her feet barely brushed the hard layer of snow that covered the ground and glittered in the starlight before pushing off to propel her into her next stride. All she heard was the rush of wind in her ears and the steady pump of her heart as it gifted her muscles with oxygen. She was deaf to the sounds of animals moving through the underbrush or the creak of the trees as they bent their trunks to stay out of her path. The whip of their branches on her cheeks and arms felt like the tender caresses shared between lovers even as they scratched and marred her fair skin. Their anger was palpable. They whispered darkly to each other in the wake of her passage, pulled from their wintery slumber by the pain of one of their own. Murderer. They chanted. Revenge. They advocated. Roots shifted below layers of soil and ice in agitation as she raced over them. The smell of fresh sap permeated the air and overwhelmed her senses.

Soon she could see the hunter’s fire. A feral snarl burst from her lips, spawned by the roar of anger building and roiling in her chest like molten lava. The yew’s cries of pain were like sharp daggers in her mind as the small clearing came into view. The hunter was silhouetted against the clearing, which was brightly lit by the stars and moon. It shone silver in her sight as the ice and snow reflected the nighttime light. The light traveled down the sharpened blade of the axe as the human raised it to chop at another branch. The yew’s cries crescendoed frantically in her mind as she came to an abrupt stop. The adrenaline made the axe’s descent seem as if it was in slow motion. In one fluid motion, she pulled an arrow from her quiver and knocked it on the ebony staff of her bow. Her muscles coiled and flexed as she drew the oiled string back to her ear. She sighted along its length and lined it up with the human’s arm. Her lungs expanded as she drew in a deep breath to steady her body, and released the arrow.

It parted the cold night air with a whine as it sliced towards the hunter. It lodged firmly in the man’s forearm, sending a spray off blood over the ivory expanse of undisturbed snow at his feet. With a cry, the human dropped the axe before it could harm the young tree any further, and clutched his arm. The trees around the clearing rattled their branches, echoing his cry with one of satisfaction. She launched herself by the human, almost brushing him with her body, and into the clearing. The human jerked back, startled by her swiftness and sudden appearance. His movements were slow and jerky with pain as he whirled to face her.

She stared at him coldly from beneath the fringe of her windblown hair as the light from the clearing illuminated his features. His face was contorted grotesquely from the pain, and deep lines marked his countenance around his mouth and eyes. A scraggly black beard grew from his chin, and his greasy black mane was pulled back from his face into a braid. His face must have been tanned normally, but the moonlight and pain bleached all color from his skin and left it a pasty white. His body was sheathed in patched and cracked leather, and his brown cloak was stained and torn from his time in the Spine. She could also see scratches on his arms and cheeks from the yew’s brethren. The Spine was not kind to trespassers. The human Teiris Vorthain was under her protection, and thus allowed temporary sanctuary, but forest had not spared this man, this hunter, its wrath. She could see that his packs were terribly small, and had been ripped and chewed by small teeth and claws. The jagged marks of a wolf’s teeth were also evident on the leather that covered the man’s leg. A fierce stab of dark satisfaction burned through her at his suffering.

“You must be the creature responsible for the death of my mates.” The hunter said after a moment. His voice was gravelly with pain. She could see blood pooling around the arrow where it was embedded in his arm. It ran over the hand he held around it in small rivers, and puddle on the snow like a small lake. “Those superstitious fools in the village.” He continued, uttering a word she recognized as a curse. “They spout all these tales of avenging spirits and the forest coming to life, but it’s only a little girl.” He spat on the ground at her feet. She scowled at his coarseness, but remained quiet. For all his bravado, she could see him weakening as his life blood poured out of him. He could curse and mutter all he wanted as far as she was concerned. It would make little difference in the end. He would die no matter what he did or said. “Imagine the reward I’ll get when I tell them about you.” He dropped his good hand to his belt to fumble at his belt knife. “Or maybe I should just bring them your head as proof.” He ripped the knife from its sheath and hurled it at her head.

Just like everything else that night, the knife seemed to be moving in slow motion, like the air had suddenly turned to syrup and was arresting its progress. Araseth felt cold. This human is just like the rest of his kind. He’s coarse and violent, and has no sense or dignity or honor. He has no concept of how precious life is. All thoughts of giving the man a swift death fled from her mind. Anger ruled her body as she snatched the knife carelessly from the air and threw it back at the hunter. It impaled his shoulder with a sickening thud. His expression turned from one of cunning anger to surprise as he stared down at where his own knife lay imbedded in his shoulder. He was in shock, unable to understand how the situation had so suddenly gone spiraling out of control. She let his slow human mind think for a moment, and was rewarded by the look of horror in his face as he stared at her. Araseth took a step closer to him, and laughed as he stumbled away from her. “Foolish human.” She told him, drawing another arrow from her quiver. “You should have listened to the townspeople. They learned long ago not to come here.” She fit the arrow to her bow with deliberate movements, never letting her eyes drop from the human’s. “I protect this forest from your race when your greed would destroy all that lives here. I did indeed kill your… “mates” and now I will end your life as well.” She drew back on the bow and aimed at his heart.

“No.. please! Don’t kill me.” How predictable. Scorn laced her thoughts. Just like the rest of his race, when he finds himself in danger of losing his life, he begs. “I’ll… I’ll give you whatever you want. I didn’t come here to hurt your forest; I’m after a young man. A human! Maybe you’ve seen him?” Spittle flew from his mouth as his lips tried to keep up with his words. “There’s a bounty on his head, and if you help me catch him I’ll share…” She released the arrow and stemmed the tide on his unruly tongue. It was just like a human to ignore the warnings of the townspeople in a quest for money. Even having lived for well over two centuries, Araseth still failed to understand the human fascination with gold. They were willing to throw everything away for a bit of shiny ore. Was it the status being rich afforded them? Or maybe the things they could buy with the gold? She stared at the hunter’s unseeing eyes and his mouth, still poised to utter the words that he’d thought would prevent his death. I hope that gold was worth your life. She thought, turning to the yew.

Its cries had diminished somewhat as the hunter turned his attention from it, but she could still feel its pain. She placed her hands on its trunk and reached for the magic that flowed deep within her mind. With a small effort, she broke past the barrier that separated it from the rest of her mind, and delved into it. “ Waíse heil.” She murmured, relishing the feel of the magic as it flowed through her hands and into the tree. Slowly, new branches began to form where the hunter had cut them off. At first they were as small as twigs, but after a few moments they thickened and grew until they were similar in size to the rest of the tree’s branches. A sigh seemed to course through the tree as she pulled her hands away. She could feel its relief at the absence of pain, and gave its trunk an affectionate pat.

She gathered a pile of snow and dumped it over the small fire the hunter had built. It went out with a sizzle, and a small string of black smoke rose from the blackened coals. A large sigh left her lips, and suddenly she felt exhausted. She slid the ebony bow into her quiver and began to make her way home.

<><><><><><>

The trip back to her home took a lot longer than the one to the clearing. Her limbs felt like lead and weighed her down as she moved slowly through the forest. She hadn’t been lying when she’d told Teiris that she did not consider herself cruel. The hunter’s expression of terror and his blank, staring eyes seemed to be burned into the back of her eyelids. Whenever she closed her eyes, she could see his face as his knife pierced his shoulder, see his fear as he understood that he was about to die. She was ashamed of herself for letting her emotions rule her. No, not even her emotions; the emotions of the forest. The anger of the trees and the plants and animals had been hot in her veins and she had let it control her actions. The hunter’s death had been cruel, deliberately so. His actions may have warranted it, but it did not change the fact that she had lessened herself by dropping to his level. Her own actions sickened her. Sure, she could justify herself by calling it revenge, or saying that she was only turning his acts back on him, but the facts remained the same; she’d caused a living being excess pain when it would have been a simple matter to end his life swiftly.

Then again, that was how she’d always done things. Humans hunted and stalked their prey. They used their horses and dogs to drive the animal they chased to the edge of exhaustion and then rarely used a killing blow to end its life. More often than not, the animal was wounded, made to run some more, and then killed when its body gave out. She had been in the minds of the prey, trying to guide them to safety until she could get there. They were ruled by fear; their hearts beating frantically; their breath coming in shallow gasps as they looked in vain for some place to hide. The hunt was a terrible thing; a mockery of the efficient way predators brought down prey in the wilderness. Predators hunted to survive, while the humans killed for sport. Predators identified the weakest of the pack, the deer with a twisted limb or a buck with no antlers, and killed that one. It was simply survival of the fittest. Humans failed to understand the concept and slaughtered any animals that happened to cross their path regardless of the effect it could have on the herd in the upcoming seasons, and they always killed in excess. A few seasons past humans had almost hunted the bucks to extinction in order to collect their antlers for trophies. Araseth hunted them when they entered the Spine in an attempt to make them understand the horror they put the animals through.

However, she’d never inflicted unnecessary pain on a human before. She hunted them, and stalked them silently through the woods until their pupils were dilated in fear and their bodies were about to collapse from exertion. On occasion, if they committed some particularly fiendish act then she killed them, but her kills were always merciful, always painless. Her arrows flew straight and true to lodge in heart or head. She never aimed for a place where the arrow would fail to kill on contact. She was a predator. Her kills were swift and efficient without needless pain like a wolf or a mountain lion or a tiger.

He was only a human. She thought scornfully, cracking a fallen tree branch under her foot viciously. They were all cruel monsters. None of them deserved the merciful deaths she’d given them.

But are they all like that? She’d never stopped to consider the idea that not all humans were like the ones she’d encountered. Every so often a boar went on a wild rampage, striking down everything in its path with deadly ivory tusks, but she did not judge the whole species on those encounters alone. Perhaps humans were like that. Maybe the cruelty she’d seen in the humans she’d come across was as rare among their race as rampages were among boars. The human Teiris Vorthain certainly supported that theory. Despite her efforts she had yet to understand his reactions. He had never met her violence with violence of his own, never attempted to harm her as one of his kind had scarcely an hour prior, and he never once appeared to consider hurting any of the plants or animals under her protection. Then again, perhaps he was the exception to the cruelty that seemed to plague his race rather than a representative of the majority. A vague memory slowly filtered into her thoughts as she walked. It was like trying to see the bottom of a pond after the sediment that coats the bottom has been stirred up. The tree’s pain had consumed her mind and obscured the memory whenever she attempted to recall it much like clouds blocked the sun. Slowly, she was able to remember.

She felt a slight pressure on her back, and the human’s unique scent of leather, blood, earth, horses and the individual scents of his emotions pierced her nostrils: anxiety, fear, worry, and the lighting tang of his adrenaline. A corner of her mind wondered where the blood in his scent came from. It did not match the rusty stench of the stale blood that coated his bandages. It was old and laced with pain, terror and desperation. “What can I do?” He asked in a deceptively calm voice, moving closer to her. If she was not preoccupied she would have struck out at him for daring to get so close to her. “What can I do to help you?” More urgent this time. His calm façade was slipping, and she could hear an edge of panic in his voice. And then the memory faded away as the vision of the hunter chopping the tree and her own terrible anger over the yew’s pain engulfed her mind.

Araseth scowled and scuffed her foot through the top layer of snow, spraying the powder in a sparkling white mist. Where had his concern for her stemmed from? All she had done since meeting him was threaten his life and push him to disregard his pointless human etiquette. Perhaps the only kind she’d done was tend to his wounds, and even that was inferior to what one of her elven brethren could have managed. Her talent lay in healing plants and animals. Humans had always been beyond her. Always would be. Why would he bother to care for her wellbeing when she admitted that she would help him just as easily as she would harm him? Things had been much simpler prior to the human’s arrival. She had been content believing that her convictions regarding the humans were irrefutable. The possibility that she’d been living in ignorance; taking lives in ignorance irritated her. Was there even a point to her existence? The majority of her life had been consumed with exacting revenge on the human race for the murder of her parents and for their transgressions against nature. If their whole race was not responsible for the actions she persecuted them for then were her actions justified? Was she destroying innocent living creatures in revenge for the acts of a small portion of their race?

No, She corrected herself, shaking her hair back from her face. Even if I am incorrect about the human race as a whole, those whose blood stains my hands deserved to die. They were undeniably barbaric.

<><><><><><>

After a while, she was finally able to see the glow of her hearth through the trees. The orange light flickering on the bark of the trees just beyond her windows was a soothing sight. She increased her pace a little, eager to reach the comfort of her home. However, when she went to push her front door open, the sturdy wood rebuffed her. Startled, Araseth stepped back. She had not built her home with a lock on the door. She had no need for such precautions in the Spine. Humans never came near her home, and none of the animals harbored any malicious intent towards her, and they certainly would not consider stealing anything. The only explanation was that Teiris had blocked the door. But why? Surely he would feel secure enough after seeing her animosity towards his race. He should know that she would not let any humans near her home. A thought struck her. What if he was trying to keep her out? Was he so foolish to believe that a small barricade would keep her from her own home?

Her fatigue forgotten, Araseth shoved on the door, hard.

The crunch of wood and the dull clang of thick metal striking something solid met her ears and she saw that the barricade was composed of her rocking chair and small black kettle. The remains of the rocking chair lay off to the left of the door way. It had been pinned between the solid wall of the oak and the thick wood of the door when it swung open and had been smashed to pieces. She could see jagged splinters of wood strewn over the floor. However, she was distracted from her search for the location of the kettle by the twang of a bowstring from her bedroom. She jerked her head around and caught a glimpse off Teiris with one of the hunter’s bows in his hand, but then her attention was drawn to the mottled brown of an owl-fletched arrow as it whistled through the air towards her. She reacted instinctively. Her hand flashed up to snatch the arrow from the air, but at such a short distance even her reflexes were not swift enough. A gasp escaped from her lips as she felt the soft fringe of the arrow’s feathers slip through her fingers, and then the arrow struck her shoulder. It felt like being hit by a bull. Her breath rushed from her lungs, and she staggered back a step, catching the door frame with her fingers to steady herself.

Before she knew what was happening, her fingers had nimbly slid her hunting knife from its sheath and it was spinning end over end towards Teiris. It lodged in the thick bear pelt that hung from the wall behind him, only inches from his head. However, she was too distracted by the pain that was blossoming in her shoulder as the shock of being shot wore off to see Teiris' expression. It felt like it was on fire, like her veins were suddenly filled with molten lava rather than blood. Sharp jolts of pain lanced out from where the shaft was embedded, and she looked down to see blood welling rapidly around the wood. It stained the leather of her shirt and ran down her chest and arm in crimson tears.

[Angmor]

As the silence of the dwelling exploded with the sound of shattering wood, Teiris surged into a sitting position like he had been scalded, his pleasant dream shattering in a thousand shards of memory under the blunt impact of wakefulness. Adrenaline struck his system like lightning, filling his veins with ice. Instantly, everything around him took on a kind of crystalline clarity, all of his senses stretched to the utmost in response to his panicked instinct. He could hear the splinters of wood still skittering across the floor, the sighing of the breeze through the window, the crackling of the dying fires in the hearth. He could pick out the distinct scents of wood-smoke, oiled leather, and the metallic musk of old blood. He could feel each and every hair that made up the fur pelt as it pressed against his skin. Most importantly, he could see the motions of a dark figure skylighted against the stars, edging around the wreckage of his feeble barricade.

Teiris didn't think. His mind was blank, reason and emotion completely eclipsed by the instinct to fight, to escape, to avoid capture, the sheer animal will to live. His body moving of its own accord, he reached down beside the mattress, one hand curling around gritty leather grip of the bow, the other around the smooth shaft of an arrow. Now, Teiris had never before held a bow before that evening. He had never been trained, or indeed, ever even fired one. And yet, as he drew them up, he found his fingers knew what to do. His memory worked on its own, immediately forcing a welter of images and sensations through his mind. While he had never used a bow before, he had seen them used, and he now recall those times, down to the last detail. He knew just how to place the grooved nock of the arrow on the string from attending the hunt when he was nine. Raising the bow with his arm locked, and drawing back the string until the arrow's fletching tickled his cheek was drawn from an archery competition he had witnessed at sixteen. Closing one eye and sighting down the shaft was mostly conjecture, but it seemed to make sense, and it matched an illustration of a book on warfare he had read when he was twelve. His conscious thought still blank, he lined up the arrow's head on the center mass of the dark figure, and let go of the string.
Everything seemed to happen so slowly, as if his perception of time had been altered by the gods for this one moment of clarity. An absent part of his mind noted that the sense of release granted by the snapping bowstring felt imminently satisfying, like skipping a stone on a pond. The arrow left him with a hiss, speeding fairly but not quite straight toward his target, wobbling in midair. The bowstring slapped painfully against his bare forearm, leaving an angry red mark between the scars of his old wounds. It really wasn't a very good shot, he decided. Although his instruction had come from those skilled in the art, it could not quite make up for the ineptitude of his hands. However, his target was clearing defined, confined to the doorway as he had hoped. The distance separating them was barely a dozen yards. As he had reflected before, he just couldn't miss, and this thought was born out when the arrow connected with a satisfying wet thwack.

The figure in the doorway stumbled back with a soft cry of pain, but did not fall. Teiris saw immediately that his shot had passed too far to the right, taking his target in the left shoulder. There was a subdued flush of disappointment at the failure of his shot. He had revealed his position and the nature of his weapon, and while he had inflicted damage, it would not be enough to stop the assailant from killing him…
As if to provide emphasis for the thought, the figure’s intact arm gave a spasmodic jerk that he had recognized from some traveling performers he had once come across on the road. On pure instinct, he threw himself backwards onto the bed, as if he was merely lying down to sleep again. His adrenaline enhanced eyes actually watched as the sinuously-designed knife flashed over him, passing close enough to cut a lock of hair from his head before planting half its length in the curve of the wall behind him. He felt a surge of triumph at the failure of his assailant’s counterattack, readying himself to press his advantage. Driven by a new rush of energy, he rolled out of the bed, his free hand snaring another arrow before he landed in a crouch on the floor, his subconscious automatically compensating for his injured leg. Even quicker than before, he nocked the arrow, drew back the string, sighted the shaft…
Just then, the figure raised its head, revealing its features to the light of the dying fire in the hearth. A thick fringe of wildly-colored hair fell aside, allowing him to make out the contorted, pain-streaked face of Araseth, the woman who had taken him to her home, tended him, and fed him. The woman who had abused him, fought with him, and was practically looking for a reason to kill him. Just then, their eyes met, and through the pain and surprise in her gaze, he could clearly see the beginnings of the murderous intent, letting him know that he had made a terrible mistake.
Oh… Oh, damnation…

Teiris felt his stomach drop sickeningly, with all the alacrity of a comet down a well. All at once, the rush of adrenaline was gone, like waking up from a dream. His body was suddenly shaking uncontrollably, a cold sweat breaking out on his back. He realized suddenly that the bow was still in his hands, ready to fire, ready to kill. As carefully as he could, he eased back the string, dropping the weapon as if it burned him. What have I done? He asked himself, watching his shaking hands. What happened to me?
He had never felt anything like that before. He had been in tight situations before, but this was something different. That complete lack of feeling… Acting without the slightest trace of thought, letting his instincts take complete control… He could not stop himself, even if he had wanted to. And as a result, he had nearly killed Araseth…
Oh, gods… Araseth!
Looking up, he found that she had not moved. Even as he watched, she sank to her knees, grimacing in agony. Teiris was sickened by the sight of the arrow still protruding from her shoulder, blood pouring freely from the wound and running in crimson rivulets down her clothing. Worse, she simply stared at it, as if she could not bring herself to believe that it had happened.

Feeling as if he was in a trance, Teiris rose to his feet, doing his best to stumble toward her, to try and help her, to correct his mistake. Absently, he noted that his leg had healed some in the past hours, and was able to support a little weight. He limped his way across the room, his feet scattering bits of wood from the rocking chair. “Oh… gods, I’m sorry…” He said, his own voice sounding soft and ethereal in his ears. Finally, he sank to his knees in front of her. “Here, let me see…”
He could see now that it had really not been a good shot. The arrow had been way off, embedding cleanly in the meaty muscle on the outside of her shoulder, completely missing any major arteries or nerves. It was a flesh wound, nothing more. Either way though, it would still hurt.
He swore quietly, debating the best way to get the quarrel out and to bind up the wound. “I’m sorry,” He said again. “I’ve… I’ve never done anything like that before.”

[/blockquote]

[Akilinia]

Araseth
<><><><><><>

The dark pull of oblivion was seductive. She could sense the promise of sweet relief in its cool depths. Relief from the bright flashes of starlight that danced across her sight like beams of sunlight, and sharp twinges of pain lanced through her shoulder with every minute movement, sending waves of crimson crashing across her gaze. She could sense it at the edge of her vision like a half-forgotten dream, or the lust filled memories from a past lover. She knew that if she succumbed to its draw she would be rewarded with unconsciousness, peace, and painlessness. She almost relented, almost allowed its calming tides to wash over her and carry her away from the pain, but her instincts pulled at her. A sense of worry broke through her contemplation of oblivion, pushing the dark tide inexorably back as she surged towards awareness. She shoved the pain aside with a fierce effort of will, breaking the surprised stupor she’d fallen into. A feeling of danger and alarm coursed through her as her eyes focused, pupils dilated, to center on the sharp iron tip of another arrow, knocked and drawn, and aimed at her chest by a pair of steady hands. Steady, but incompetent.

Adrenaline had that affect. It lent the body a strength and awareness, heightening it to a level it could never reach normally, but it failed to provide one with knowledge in the place of ignorance. Now that her mind was unclouded by pain, she could see that the hands gripped the bow in a fashion that revealed the wielder of the weapon to be amateur at best. The human held the string of sinew precariously in between his thumb and fore-finger, and the hand that gripped the staff of the bow was bent at the wrist, skewing the angle of the weapon so that the string would painfully snap his forearm upon release. Araseth could also see that the arrow was knocked crooked, its pointed metal head dipping towards the ground. She glanced up at the man’s face, and frowned to see that one of his eyes was closed as he stared at her down the smooth length of the arrow’s shaft. Such technique, while perceived as correct by those with little experience, limited ones vision and made accuracy more difficult. She was lucky the creature was so unskilled, or that first shot would certainly have finished her off.

Her breath snagged in her chest as her racing eyes traced the familiar plains of the man’s face: the emotionless gray eyes, the pronounced cheek bones, and the jagged scar on his jaw. Creature, human, man… Certainly he was all of those, but the human that stood in her home with an arrow aimed at her heart was also Teiris. Teiris Vorthain. The shock of being shot by someone she’d willingly let into her home, and the resulting pain had driven the short glimpse of his face she’d managed upon breaking through the barricaded door from her mind. Unbidden, a feeling of betrayal rose within her, yawning hungrily in the base of her chest. Certainly she had not been exceedingly kind to him in the few hours that they’d known each other, but she had offered him refuge in her home from the bounty hunters without asking for any sort of compensation, tended to his wounds, and supplied him food from her meager stores. And killed for him. She, who held life sacred above all else, had killed men who had done nothing but chase one of their own into her forest. They had harmed nothing, hunted nothing, killed nothing, done nothing to deserve her wrath. She killed only those who were deserving of such harsh punishment. When had she become so pitiless, so unforgiving, that she would slaughter any helpless human who happened to walk into her woods?

It was that realization more than anything that allowed her to snap from her stupor. The fact that one human who she’d adopted into her life in an odd moment of kindness could turn convictions she had believed in for a century and a half on end in less than a day lit a fire in her stomach, and flames of white, hot rage filled the yawning pit of betrayal and coursed through her blood, lending strength to her fatigued body. She was ashamed to realize that she had developed a sort of fondness towards him. His unprecedented and unpredictable reactions captivated her, and constantly surprised her, but she had allowed his unusual behavior to blind her to his true nature. He was just like the rest of his kind, willing to turn on friend and foe alike just like a rabid dog will turn on the hand that feeds it. She knew from past experience that humans did not feel gratitude or loyalty; they lived according to their own selfish desires, regardless of the ramifications their actions might have. The arrow he now had trained on her was proof of that.

The anger cooled into a steely resolve that sat heavily on her chest. I will be damned if it is my fate to die at the hands of a human. She thought, reaching for her remaining hunting knife. She kept the movements of her hand slow and discrete, shielding the motions with the shaggy length of her colorful hair. The human had the benefit of the superior weapon, but his lack of skill would hinder him. Even injured, she was swift and agile: always a predator. Even a wolf could cause severe harm when hurt; his fangs and claws deadly until the last spark of life faded from his eyes. Her shoulder wound was nothing more than a small inconvenience, numbed and washed away by the tide of adrenaline that roared through her. He is injured as well. She recalled, noting the stiffness in his limbs as he dared a small step toward where she slumped in the shattered frame of what had been the door to her home. He’ll want to be sure he finishes me off with the next shot. She thought grimly, slowly closing her fingers around the worn leather of her knife.

The supple texture of the hilt was comforting, and she dared a glance at the human’s face as she carefully loosened the knife in its sheath. It slid, smooth as butter, into her hand, and she lifted her eyes to stare into the face of the man as she prepared to kill him.

His eyes were flinty, hard and unyielding, as she met his gaze. He met her stare for stare, but after a moment he seemed to flinch, and suddenly he seemed horrified. What he was horrified at she was unable to determine. A dizzying array of emotions flashed across his usually stoic countenance, too swift for her to follow. However, his actions spoke more than the hints of chagrin and regret that tightened the corners of his mouth and eyes.

Without warning, his body began to shake uncontrollably, as if he was suffering from extreme exhaustion. His hands and arms trembled like leaves trapped in the wind, and his legs wobbled under the strain of his weight. His skin was pale, and his eyes glazed as if he were about to be sick. Against her will, a surge of pity grew within her, dampening her anger towards him, but she did not let her guard down until the human had slowly released the tension on the string and dropped the bow to the floor. The arrow sprang free and clattered mockingly across the floor as the bow landed. Its silvery tip flashed in the dying light of the fire, and her shoulder throbbed painfully in harmony. Araseth could not help but stare at it for a moment in shock. What a fool. She thought, astonished at the turn events had taken. Was his conviction that her injury was enough to prevent her from harming him so strong that he would relinquish his only chance of defending himself from her? He had seen her strength, her speed, in the forest. She had not considered him a fool when she decided to spare his life. She’d believed him to be a fighter, someone who wanted to survive whatever the cost. But, hadn’t the last few minutes afforded enough proof that she had been mistaken in her assumptions about this man?

She slid her knife a little further from its sheath, her eyes riveted on the spectacle unfolding before her.

He stared at his hands in obvious repulsion. She was surprised by the jolt of recognition that arched through her like lightning. She knew that look. She had regarded her own hands with a similar emotion after her first kill. She knew that he would be struggling with revulsion directed towards himself, wondering how he could be capable of such an atrocity, wondering how he could cause another person harm. Denial and horror would follow shortly, and suddenly, she knew that her initial impression of him had not been completely incorrect. He was a survivor. The arrow in her shoulder was a testament to what he was willing to do to stay alive. And the horror and repulsion with which he regarded himself proved that he was not inclined towards violence like the rest of his race, or at least, not accustomed to it. He would not cause her further harm.

Suddenly exhausted, Araseth dropped to her knees as her legs lost the ability to bear her weight. Her unexpected adrenaline rush had disappeared as quickly as it had come, leaving her completely bereft of energy. The throbbing pain of her injured shoulder made itself known, more prominent than the other, smaller aches and pains that plagued her body after such a long day in the Spine. She settled against the ruined wood wall of her home and released a heavy sigh, releasing tension from her muscles as she turned to examine the arrow. It was certainly a grotesque sight. The arrow was embedded crookedly in the thick muscle of her shoulder. It had failed to completely pierce her arm. A cursory examination of the arrow laying abandoned on the floor of her home revealed barbed ends on the arrowhead. She barely withheld a moan as her fatigued mind realized she would have to push the arrow all the way through her appendage in order to avoid causing more damage by trying to pull it back out the way it had entered. It would be a painful process, but she thought her shoulder would heal without too much damage. The arrow had not pierced any nerves, and was not in an area where any arteries were located. Although, the quantity of crimson liquid pouring sluggishly from it seemed to offer evidence to the contrary.

Her examination of the wound was interrupted as Teiris stumbled his way over to her. His movements were clumsy and stiff as he tried to compensate for his injured leg, and his passage scattered the splintered remnants of her door and rocking chair across the floor. “Oh… gods, I’m sorry…” He told her, sinking to his knees in front of her. If she had not been preoccupied with her wound and a little less exhausted, she would have flinched away from his proximity, but she could not find the energy to shrink from his attentions. “Here, let me see…” He murmured, moving closer to peer at the arrow. She waited, her tiredness lending her the patience she normally lacked, for him to reach the same conclusions she had. Although, he did not seem to have much experiences with such wounds. She would probably end up treating herself.

After a few moments of silence, only broken by the steady crackle of the dying hearth fire, he leaned away from her, uttering a few words she recognized oaths. “I’m sorry,” He repeated, still staring at the arrow. “I’ve… I’ve never done anything like that before.”

She saw genuine pain in his eyes at what he had done to her, and the fondness she had reluctantly acknowledged welled up inside her. Araseth felt something akin to a small smile lift the corners of her mouth as she stared at the stricken human on his knees before her. She closed her eyes, and leaned her head back against the wall with a sigh. “I remember what it was like when I killed my first man.” She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it away from her face. “It was the first time I had ever maliciously harmed another creature. I had been hunting all my life, of course, but it was not the same. The rage that filled me. It was… overwhelming. It swept me up, and I lost myself in it. The next thing I knew there was a living creature dead at my feet.” She opened her eyes to meet his gaze. “The worst part was that I felt no remorse for doing it. He deserved it. I’ve killed since then. You’ve seen it. I hate it, but the scary part is that every time I end a life it becomes easier. It makes me wonder if I do not have some of the same qualities that I kill humans for.”

She looked back down at the arrow in her shoulder. The tide of blood had slowed, but it would need to be bound before long. She was already a little light headed from the blood loss. She drew her hunting knife and used its keen edge to slice away the clothing around the wound until her shoulder was bare. Her skin was a pale white in the moonlight, and streaks of green and brown followed the rounded muscles of her arm. She could see a fresh tide of blood welling around the arrowshaft, its clotting disturbed by the removal of the clothing around it. “Push it through, snap off the arrowhead, and then pull the rest of the shaft out. There are some linens near the hearth that you can use to bind it. Melt snow water over the fire until it boils. Use that to flush the wound.” Her lips quirked a bit as she regarded the mess strewn across the floor of her small home. “That is, if you can find the kettle.”

Teiris blinked as if startled, and then rose to so as she suggested. He moved stiffly, but was able to walk without leaning on the wall or the aid of a walking stick. She watched through half-lidded eyes as he collected the linens from the cupboard near the hearth and set snow from outside the door to boil in her small black kettle, which he'd located remarkably quick. As they waited for the water to heat, she recalled the words of the hunter she'd killed. I didn’t come here to hurt your forest; I’m after a young man. A human! Maybe you’ve seen him?” Spittle flew from his mouth as his lips tried to keep up with his words. “There’s a bounty on his head, and if you help me catch him I’ll share…” The rest of his words had died unspoken on his lips as her arrow pierced his heart. What had he meant? She had allowed her anger to rule her, and her rashness had deprived her of important information. Would the bounty on Teiris' head lure other humans to the Spine in search of him? She needed to know, had to understand the full extent of the situation. After all, she'd become involved now.

"Teiris." She said quietly. His name sounded wierd on her lips, and she realized it was the first time she'd called him by it. "Why is there a bounty on your head?"

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OOC: Edited. I also fixed up the last paragraph I'd written a bit.

[Angmor]

Teiris figured that his life was over now. He was honestly certain of it, even as his survival instinct scrambled futilely for some way to escape it. His unconscious mind idly ran the possible scenarios and predicted their outcomes without his permission, though each one ended invariably in failure. There was only one door to the dwelling, and that was the one in which Araseth was ensconced, and the small doorway left no possibility for him to attempt leaping over her. That left only the windows, which offered only an ignominious end to his life if he tried to scramble through them with an injured leg and side. After everything he had been through, after everything he’d done, his death was inescapable after all. As he came to this realization, he found that instead of fear or pain, there was only a feeling of weary resignation that settled around his shoulders like a heavy blanket. He was tired of running. Tired of delaying the inevitable, of buying his way out of trouble with brutality and blood. Now he might as well wait silently, and face his ending with a little bit of dignity. The thick silence that had fallen over them dragged on for several seconds, but Teiris did not feel that he should lift his eyes until she bade him to. She was to choose the manner of his ending, and if that meant swiftly, with him kneeling before her, so be it.

Finally, Araseth broke the stupor with a long, hissing breath, and Teiris somehow sensed that the tension had left her body. His weariness lifting somewhat, he looked up, wondering what she could be playing at now. Strangely, sometime since he had looked away from her the murderous rage on her face had been replaced by… something else. It took Teiris a full second of working through his surprise to figure out that it resembled something akin to… grim amusement. Her head slumped tiredly against the doorframe, which distorted slightly to cradle her narrow crown. Even more strangely, her eyes were shut unseeingly, whether in pain or weariness, he could not tell. “I remember what it was like when I killed my first man.” She said, startling him somewhat even before he could begin to process the words. “It was the first time I had ever maliciously harmed another creature. I had been hunting all my life, of course, but it was not the same. The rage that filled me. It was… overwhelming. It swept me up, and I lost myself in it. The next thing I knew there was a living creature dead at my feet.” Her words were flat, clinical. A simple statement of fact, nothing more. Even so, Teiris could not help but wonder at their underlying meaning. Could she actually be sympathizing with him? Just then, her eyes opened, seeking out his gaze and freezing the thought in its tracks. But not, however, for the same reason as usual. Oddly, he could detect no hostility in her scrutiny. If anything, her doe-brown eyes were softer toward him than he had ever seen them. They were nice eyes, he thought, when they weren’t burning with anger. “The worst part,” She went on, “Was that I felt no remorse for doing it. He deserved it. I’ve killed since then. You’ve seen it. I hate it, but the scary part is that every time I end a life it becomes easier. It makes me wonder if I do not have some of the same qualities that I kill humans for.”

Teiris could only remain still, blinking, trying to process what he had just heard. His mind was blank, his reactions sluggish with fatigue. Or perhaps, numbed as a defense mechanism against his complete confusion. One thing was clear though; Yet again, she was not going to kill him. At least, not yet. He supposed he should have felt relieved about that. He supposed he should have felt something. Finally, she released his gaze, devoting hers to inspecting the extent of the injury. Teiris looked as well, trying to find some way he could be somewhat helpful in this situation. Unfortunately, despite his background, wounds were not something he had much knowledge on. Cuts and gashes maybe, but not arrows. His eyes were trained enough at least to see that the blood-flow had lessened somewhat, clotting a bit around the shaft, but that could be a good thing and a bad thing. Already, Araseth’s porcelain complexion had taken on a more chalky hue. He hoped that she would remain conscious. If she did not, he would need to figure out how to remediate his mistake alone. As he thought this, there was a rasp of metal as Araseth produced a second hunting knife, the twin of the one currently embedded in the wall over the bed, and proceeded to cut away the leather hides that covered her shoulder. As her flesh was slowly bared before his sight, Teiris noticed something odd. While the pale fairness of her face had struck him upon their first meeting, the skin under her clothing appeared to be marred by some kind of mottled coloration. The ivory flesh was there, but it carried with it a seemingly random striping pattern of green and brown. At first, his subconscious compared it to a tattoo, but he quickly realized that it seemed to continue under the edges of the hide that she had cut away, perhaps even traversing the rest of her body. He realized that he was staring, but he couldn’t tear his gaze away. What reason could their possibly be for…
Suddenly, it clicked into place, as a memory floated out of his archive of a book he had once read about various predators in nature.
While the patterns on these animal’s hides make them beautiful and exotic, they also serve a practical function. In their natural environments, these spots, stripes, or mottled patterns often serve as a natural camouflage…
That had to be it. While it appeared strange, here in the firelight right before his eyes, it had to provide some kind of advantage in the forest. After all, he had seen firsthand how the environment seemed to embrace her as a part of it, like she was just another bush, or a tree. Perhaps that wasn’t quite as supernatural a phenomenon as he had originally assumed. Perhaps it had a bit more practical source.
Interesting. I’ll have to remember that… He thought, then chuckled inwardly. As if I could ever forget it…
Just then, Araseth gave a slight hiss of pain, drawing his thoughts back to the matter at hand. The removal of the clothing had caused the wound to start bleeding again, the blood weeping around the shaft still protruding grotesquely from the wound. Teiris braced himself, trying to focus. True, her skin was fascinating, but he could think about that after his arrow had been removed from it.
“Push it through, snap off the arrowhead, and then pull the rest of the shaft out.” She instructed sharply, still probing the extent of the wound. Sharp, but not as sharp as her usual tone. “There are some linens near the hearth that you can use to bind it. Melt snow water over the fire until it boils. Use that to flush the wound.” She looked up at that, a rueful glance at the warzone that had once been her home. “That is, if you can find the kettle.”

As her orders filtered through to him, Teiris felt his stupor lighten somewhat. He blinked, letting out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding, then rose, ignoring his aching limbs. Objectives. He knew that was what he needed now. In the wake of what had happened, he just needed a task, something he could do. It was not the first time in his life that he had needed to lose himself in simple busywork in order to sort through his feelings. It helped to ease his thoughts, clearing the blockages so that he could think clearly.
The kettle… As he stood, he shut his eyes, summoning the memory of when Araseth first burst through the door. He often found it strange that he could review what he had seen in the past to look for something that he had not noticed before, but that was only one of many strange things he could do as a result of the Oracles experimentations. There. As the door had shattered, the kettle had flown from its perch, coming to a rest… He opened his eyes, finding the small black object right where it was supposed to be, lying on its side under an errant spar of the pulverized rocking chair. Teiris winced, gingerly lifting aside the wood, the remains of its rich carving still visible. The chair had been another casualty of his stupidity, one which he regretted almost as bitterly. It had apparently been dear to her, and by the intricacy of the decoration, it might very well have taken her years to have completed it. And he had managed to destroy it in an instant. What had he been thinking? The answer was simple, really. He had been tired, and hadn’t been thinking, and his instincts had taken over. He remembered it from his first night after he had managed to escape. He had been tired then, too, and hungry, and terrified almost witness by strange visions inside his head as his new ‘gift’ took full root. But he had only allowed himself to stop running when he reached an old, secluded barn outside of the city. He had barricaded himself inside, trying desperately to feel safe, to shake the feeling that the Paladins where coming for him even as he trembled in the dark. He’d spent many more nights like that, unable to sleep, haunted by fear within and fear without. Eventually, it had just become a habit to try and secure his doors at night, and a habit that had served him well, until tonight. Now his lack of regard for another’s belongings had caused all this. And then there was what happened just a minute ago…
“I remember what it was like when I killed my first man…”
For the first time, he was able to actually consider her words. She had described it as rage, a feeling of impossible anger that rose up and overwhelmed her thought and reason, enough to kill. Now, Teiris had already killed twice before that night, and it hadn’t been all that difficult. At those times, it had been simple mathematics. His life, or theirs. If he hadn’t killed them, they would have killed him. But this, this had been different. It was a preemptive movement, a cold-blooded act of attempted murder. And it hadn’t felt like rage. Running back over the incident in his mind, he really hadn’t felt angry. He hadn’t felt anything. It was like a dark gap that had opened beneath his feet, a yawning lack of feeling as cold as steel in the night. His conscious mind had just… drawn back, as if something else had been in control of his body. He didn’t like it. There had been times during his imprisonment when he hadn’t been in control of himself. This could never end well, whatever it was.
I’m going to have to learn to control this. I have to be the master of what I do, at all times. This will have to stop. To his surprise, he realized that while he had been lost in thought, he had mechanically gone through the motions of what he had been instructed, placing the snow-filled cauldron over the fire, a bundle of clean white linen in his free hand. He had done it all without thought. As if to illustrate the point. He shook his head ruefully.
Gods, that adrenaline rush must have taken a lot out of me. I’m more tired than I thought.
Just then, Araseth’s voice broke in from behind him. “Teiris.”
He froze. This was the first time she had used that name.
"Why is there a bounty on your head?"

Teiris was caught entirely off guard by the question. Immediately, his trained paranoia intervened, flooding him with suspicious questions. Why was she asking now? Why hadn’t she sometime earlier? She hadn’t wanted to know before, so what had changed? The only explanation he could think of for the last one was that whatever had planted the idea, it had happened sometime after she had rushed out into the night. And the only other person in the Spine who knew anything about him were the bounty hunters…
Teiris felt his throat constrict. If Araseth had gone out to talk with them…
But no, that couldn’t be right. She had been downright enraged when she had left. There was no way that she had let anything human out there continue breathing in that state. But all the same, the question remained, why did she suddenly care? What was she planning on doing with the information, if he gave it to her? To hide his musings, he stoked the dying fire, adding to the flames from the small pile of firewood stacked at the base of the hearth, arranging the logs with deliberate slowness. As he did, his fear receded somewhat. After all, it couldn’t be for the purpose of turning him in. After all of her impassioned ravings against humans, there was no way that she would give the most powerful human organization on the continent something that they wanted, even if it was just a human fugitive. She was probably asking out of simple, animal curiousity. Well, that was settled. He would tell her. At least a bit of the story, anyway. After all, after what he had just done, he felt that he owed her something, and this so far was the only request she had ever made of him. “Well,” He began softly, not turning away from the flames. “That’s rather a long story.” The words were strangely reluctant to leave him. He had buried them away for so long, he felt as if he was violating some unspoken vow. “The short version is that I’m wanted by the Broddring kingdom. I’ve been on the run for about six months now. If you look up my charges, you’ll find that I’m an escaped slave and a murderer. Which would be right, technically.” Just then, he was distracted by a bubbling hiss, the water in the kettle coming to a lively boil. It was time, then. Using the linens, he removed the container from the fire, the steaming warmth feeling good against hands he hadn’t known were chilled. He sighed. “The truth is… more complicated.”

After a few seconds, the water settled, ready to be used. There was more to say, Teiris knew. But it would wait until after her wound was tended. Grasping the kettle’s rounded handle with both hands, he turned back towards her, beginning his painful hobble back to where she lay slumped in the door. It was harder to ignore his leg this time. Each step sent red hot irons scraping against the nerves under his skin. I'm going to need to get a lot better with that bow. He thought. If I'm going to have to be hobbling like a crippled beggar for the next week or two... Gritting his teeth, he finally set the pot down on the floor next to her, dropping back to his knees in front of Araseth. He set his attention back on the arrow, refamiliarizing himself with its extent. “Right. Push it through, snap it off, and pull it out.” He hadn’t considered it before, he realize, but that was going to be a rather gruesome operation for him to perform. Not to mention painful beyond imagining for Araseth. He blew out a breath to steel himself, glancing squarely into her eyes. “Are you ready? Do you want this done slow or fast?”

[/blockquote]

[Akilinia]

Araseth
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His immediate reaction to her question was somewhat expected. After-all, it couldn’t be an easy one to answer. It probably required him to recall many unpleasant experiences, if his relations with the men chasing after him were anything to judge by. Why were his own people hunting him like an animal? What could he have possibly done to result in his own race turning on him? Had he murdered someone, stolen something? She was not familiar enough with human customs to know what sort of transgression would result in such violent retribution. She stared at the taught cords of muscle in his back and shoulders. He’d been staring, unmoving at her small kettle for a few moments now. Thinking about how to answer, or how to avoid the question…? Her resolve to hear the answer wavered for a moment, before she gripped her roiling emotions in a steely fist. Must be the injury. She thought, frowning at Teiris’ unmoving frame. No, she wouldn’t have asked him such a personal thing if it was not necessary for her to know the answer. But what sort of answer was she even expecting from him? And did it truly matter what the reason behind the bounty on his head was? Even if he was wanted for murder, or stealing something exceptionally valuable, it wouldn’t change her stance in the matter. Araseth did not care for human justice. She had never been one to judge a person based on their past, or the crimes others believed them to be guilty of. People who had been wronged were very rarely objective when sentencing others.

She had already formed her opinion of him based on his actions since entering her forest. Was she willing to let what he might be preparing to tell her warp those opinions? She scowled, toying with her hunting knife, which she had just noticed was still in her hand. The mirrored length of the blade reflected her pale features and turned her mottled hair into a dark blur of gold and brown, slightly distorted by the leaves engraved down its length. She traced the simple pattern of swirls in the bright metal, reveling in the simple nature of the carvings and the smooth feel of the curved wooden hilt beneath her hand. No, she decided, sliding the knife back into the sheath strapped to her thigh, he was part of her pack, at least for the duration of his stay in the Spine, and she would stand by his side, regardless of the dark nature of the tale he spoke in the next few moments. Even if he’d slaughtered another in cold blood or stolen the queen’s most treasured jewels, those actions were not for her to judge. There were always extenuating circumstances that validated such actions, or condemned them. As far as she was concerned, the fact that he had not considered harming any living thing in her forest, and had only resulted to violence in an attempt to protect himself proved his innocence.

She halted, abruptly aware that she had just contradicted the views of humanity which she had spent the majority of her lifetime cultivating. She had always been convinced that the human race was one only capable of violence, and that their brand of violence was not necessary. It had none of the simple purity of a wolf killing a deer and other, weaker animals in order to survive, it was cruel and dirty, something that spawns from a race not meant to inhabit its place in the food chain. But, perhaps she had been wrong. Was it her right to judge all humans based on her personal experiences with them? If it was, then that would mean it was also right for a person who might have been wronged by Teiris, to pass judgment on his actions. It wasn’t objective, and thus, it was unfair. If that was the case, then it would only be proper that she consider his past and the reasons of his own race to pursue him with bows and arrows in place of words. Additionally, if she believed in survival of the fittest, and allowing nature to run its course, then shouldn’t she just let Teiris deal with his own problems? Shouldn’t she just let whatever happens to him happen?

Damn. She growled, running her good hand through her hair in agitation. How was it that one human could cause her so much confusion? It should not have been possible. She should have just let him bleed to death in the forest. That would have been nature’s intended course. She could remedy that. She could toss him out of her home and he would surely die of starvation or the cold. But, no, that didn’t feel right. Her stomach twisted at the thought of turning the poor, injured human out into the elements. He was weak, he certainly wouldn’t survive. How had this happened? When had it become acceptable in her mind for her to bring a human, a creature from a race she supposedly despised, into her home? Then again, why was she having second thoughts in the first place? Just moments ago, she had been feeling sorry for Teiris’ pain at causing her harm. She had sympathized with him. Was it so difficult to form an opinion about her feelings regarding one human? She clutched her hair tighter. Perhaps it was her own instincts to hate all humans that made it so difficult for her to decipher her own emotions. In one moment she could view him clearly as an individual, but in the next she saw him through a haze of hatred built and stoked for over a hundred years. As an individual man she could not deny she was growing fond of him, but as a human… Did she hate him?

The sound of Teiris’ soft voice penetrated the cloud of her thoughts, and forced her to put her musings aside. Maybe it would become clearer after she heard his response. “Well,” He said, his back still to her, “That’s rather a long story.” She could not seem to understand his tone. There was something hesitant in the way he spoke, as if the words were reluctant to be voiced. “The short version is that I’m wanted by the Broddring kingdom. I’ve been on the run for about six months now. If you look up my charges, you’ll find that I’m an escaped slave and a murderer. Which would be right, technically.” He stopped speaking as the kettle began to boil. He wrapped his hands in the clean linens he’d collected and removed the small black pot from its place over the coals. “The truth is… more complicated.”

But Araseth wasn’t listening. Memories of a time, long ago were flickering through her mind. That name… Broddring. It had once been a familiar curse among her people. It reminded her of that day…

As always, the trees had hidden her from sight, and the invading humans had failed to notice her, but the smell of death was strong as she emerged from her haven within the comfort of its leafy green depths. She smelled burned flesh, and the stench of the uncontrolled bowels of the death permeated the air. It assaulted her in a wave as she walked hesitantly through the city streets. The ground was stained red with blood, and it ran in rivulets down the streets in place of the water that usually occupied the ditches dug on either side of the road for that purpose. She could feel her feet stick to the ground as if the crimson liquid warned her to keep her distance. The aftermath of the battle was horrible. Elf and human bodies alike were strewn haphazardly across the ground, all equal in death. Their faces were vacant and staring, some contorted into masks of pain, others blank with surprise, and still others were pinched with fear. Many still clutched weapons with an urgency belied by the stillness of their bodies. Carrion birds circled ahead, attracted by idea of a feast.

She took it all in without emotion. She felt cold inside, numb. She knew she should be wailing with the widows and orphans over the bodies of loved ones, but the small flame of hope in her belly kept her from succumbing to the tide of sorrow she could feel building in her throat and eyes. She had yet to come across the bodies of her parents. They had both been skilled fighters. If anyone could have survived the massacre of Osilon it would have been them.

As she made it farther and farther through the city without seeing them, she dared to hope, dared to believe that they may yet be alive. She should have known otherwise. All of the survivors had gathered in the center square, and her parents had not been among them. It should have been obvious then that they had fallen, that they lay broken and cold with the others, never to smile, never to laugh or breathe in the sweet perfume of the forest again.

Eventually, she found them. They were both surrounded by a dozen human bodies. Heroes. That’s what they’d been. Or at least, that’s what the elders and the few who survived told her. As if such words meant anything to her. They were still dead. She would rather have had them be alive and cowardly, than dead and heroic. However, everyone failed to understand that need. Her sorrow overwhelmed her, and all she could focus on was that they were the cause. Those humans. Those monsters. The king who called himself ruler of the Broddring kingdom was responsible. That leader of a barbaric race who deserved to be annihilated just like her parents and the rest of those who fought bravely to defend Osilon had been. A fire kindled in her heart, and spurred her to the Spine in search of humans. Her parents would be avenged.

“Are you ready? Do you want this done slow or fast?” She was suddenly aware of Teiris. He crouched down in front of her, his steel colored eyes… concerned? Was that concern for her? Surprise engulfed her for a moment, but soon her mind was drawn back into her memories of the day her parents were murdered at the hands of the Broddring kingdom. Broddring… Those people were after him as well. Was there no end to their cruelty? Did they have no consciences, no souls? Did they live only for death and destruction? Monsters. She could feel that same rage rising in her again. It was a wildfire, consuming everything in its path, devouring her sanity, her reason. It needed an outlet. It burned beneath her skin and begged to be released. Her eyes fell on a piece of chair laying within her reach. Without any conscious thought, she snatched it up and hurled it at the fire with all of her strength. It struck the stone around the hearth and splintered spectacularly into thousands of pieces. As the pieces of wood scattered across the floor, she clutched her head and slammed her body back into the frame of the door. “Damn them! Damn Broddring!” She screamed.

The anger fled as suddenly as it had come, leaving the deep ache of sorrow in its wake. She clenched her eyes shut against the tears she could feel welling in them, and slumped back down against the wall. Her back was one giant ache, and the wound in her should had begun to bleed more profusely. Her chest heaved as she fought to catch her breath, suddenly exhausted. For a moment, the only noise in the room was her breathing. She stared unseeingly up at the ceiling through the a cloud of tears, and suddenly she was ashamed. She felt Teiris’ gaze on her and did not want to see the judgment in his eyes and on his face. It had been so long ago, and he had only mentioned the name… She sighed, carefully untangling her fingers from where they were buried in her hair. It seemed the pain of their deaths would never leave her. Or maybe, it was the fact that she blamed herself for their deaths that prevented the sadness from dulling. If I had only stayed, I could have helped. I could have saved them. And then… She had thought these things many times over the years, but never had she been affected as strongly as she had at Teiris’ mention of the kingdom. What would he think of her after witnessing such a meltdown? She had acted like a little kid having a temper tantrum, or maybe someone whose hold on sanity was not as strong as it should have been. The shame burned through her, searing away all traces of the rage that had plagued her.

She could feel his stare on her, but she continued to stare resolutely at the ceiling. “You must think I’m crazy.” She said after a long moment of silence. I certainly would. “I’ve put you through a lot, and it sounds like you’d been through even more prior to coming here.” She paused for a moment, to gauge his reaction. When he remained silent, she continued. “I would still like to hear that tale, if you’re willing. That name… it just caught me by surprise. It will not happen again.”She promised resolutely, feeling the tears drain from her eyes. “Just know, that if anyone affiliated with them comes to this forest, I will kill them. You have my word. It does not matter to me what you may have done to earn their enmity.” It seemed the answer to her questions had come to her after all. She would save reevaluating her opinions of the human race for another day.

“And fast… would be good.” She said, recalling his query.

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OOC: Heh, and Araseth's officially hopped into the loony bin, no? xD

[Angmor]

He tried to look on the bright side. After tonight, between all the skyward launches and slow descents of his heart-rate since he had woken up, he had to have one plucky little organ pumping his blood for the duration of his earthly stay. For however long that’s going to be…
At this latest unwarned eruption, Teiris found himself falling into what he was starting to consider the standard procedure for such things: freezing in place, holding his breath, and wait to see exactly what she would do. In the meantime, what had he done? What had he said to set her off… Just then, it finally sank through them exactly what she had said. For some reason, the realization caused a strange weight to settle over him.
Broddring.
Somehow, some way, The forest spirit had her own score with the kingdom, a score that drove her to violence at the very mention of its name. Violence, and more. Teiris had thought he had seen her rage before. Her scream of elemental fury still echoed through his memories, they way it had slid across his skin like a blade and filled him with a fear that he could not even begin to describe. But this was something entirely different. This anger was hers, and hers alone.
Anger, and anguish.
Kneeling directly in front of her, Teiris was given the front-row seat for the storm of emotions that had swept over her. He could watch as her rage melted away, leaving her drained. All of her usual taut, coiled-spring qualities were completely gone, leaving only a slumped husk of the predator he had first met in the forest. Even as he watched, her body fell back against the wall, her teeth clenched, her face screwed up pain.
It took Teiris a moment to realize that she was crying.

For several moments, he didn’t know what to make of it. All through his interactions with her, she had always been hard and stern, a rock against which he was continuously bashing himself. He had taken it to be her nature, something decreed by the laws of her station as an avatar of the forest. He had honestly believed that she was the Forest Spirit that the villagers had described, enigmatic, yet unwavering. Now, he felt his perspective towards her changing. Now, sobbing brokenly on the floor in front of him, her hand clutching her hair in the image of grief that he had seen so often in the slums and alleyways of the tears, she was a woman. She had a past, and an uncertain future. She had her own joys, and her own sorrows, and her own reasons for what she did. While she wasn’t human, he was sure of that, she was at least a person.
She was like him.
As the new paradigm settled over him, Teiris found that a little more of the tension he had been feeling was bleeding out of him. It was oddly comforting to him to see that there was someone else out there who was vulnerable to fear and tragedy, and who occasionally crumbled under the weight of a past too terrible to bear. He thought back to the time just before they had met, when he lay bleeding in the snow, weeping as she was now. Perhaps she too had something that needed the release that only tears could bring. Strangely, he found himself with the urge to lay a hand on her shoulder, to show his support for her pain. He did actually feel sorry for her, after all she had done to rebuff him. He resisted the urge. She had already made it clear that she did not want his pity or his support. But she would not prevent him honoring her grief with his silence.

Finally, her anguish seemed to burn itself down. The cadence of her breathing grew more centered, her tear-streaked face more relaxed. “You must think I’m crazy.” She said, her fist unclenching from her hair. Despite where her words were directed, her attention remained riveted to the ceiling, as if it would fall if she let it out of her sight.
Or afraid to look at me. He thought with a pang of pity. He knew that if he had spent that much time cultivating an image of invincibility, he could imagine the feeling of shame when it all finally came crashing down around his ears. “I’ve put you through a lot, and it sounds like you’d been through even more prior to coming here.” For the first time in what seemed a very long time, Teiris felt the stirrings of a laugh.
Aye. He thought, fighting the upward progress at the corners of his lips. You could say that.

“I would still like to hear that tale, if you’re willing. That name… it just caught me by surprise. It will not happen again.” So, lancing the boil with the mention of the Kingdom hadn’t put her off her curiosity. She still wanted to hear. And he still wasn’t sure how much he wanted to tell her.
From the proximity, he actually watched as the traces of the sadness fled from her face, her usual gruff set returning as if it had never left. By the time her gaze finally rose to meet his, she was again a predator. “Just know, that if anyone affiliated with them comes to this forest,” She said, her voice finally losing the last of its quavering. “I will kill them. You have my word. It does not matter to me what you may have done to earn their enmity.”
Teiris found he wasn’t sure how to take that. Hopefully, it meant that killing him was no longer in the cards, at least for now. Still, after skating thin ice around her for so long, it would be difficult to break a cautious habit. Even if he wanted to.

“And fast…” She seemed to add as an afterthought. “Would be good.” He frowned. What? Finally, it all came rushing back to him.
…His target was clearing defined, confined to the doorway as he had hoped. The distance separating them was barely a dozen yards. As he had reflected before, he just couldn't miss, and this thought was born out when the arrow connected with a satisfying wet thwack.
He swore quietly as the memory rushed back through him. He hadn’t thought about it since Araseth’s outburst had distracted his attention. Damn, how much blood has she lost?
With a new urgency, he examined the wound, hoping that they weren’t too late. If she passed out and died, he knew, he would be in a very bad position. Alone, in the middle of the Spine without a clue where he was or how to get back, how to fend for himself in this strange place. Even more, she hadn’t explained her hatred of the Broddring kingdom, and by extension, her hatred for the human race. That alone would probably drive him insane. However, his luck seemed to have changed. While the clotting had again been broken, the blood was pouring grotesquely from the wound, which meant there was still blood in there to pour. At least, he hoped that was what it meant.
Better get this done quick, either way.
Which meant he just had to do it. Suddenly, he found he didn’t want to.
“Right.” He said out loud, more to himself than anything, his hands reaching for the arrow. “Just have to…”
An unexpected twinge of nausea fell over him, causing his hands to shy away. Stop that. He told himself firmly. After all, he had seen much worse. Hell, he had pulled an arrow out of his own thigh not hours before. But there was just something about pushing it through perfectly good muscle that sent his stomach looking for an escape route. That smacked of torture, and he had seen far too much of that.
But it has to be done. Just… just think about something else. But else was there to think about?
“I would still like to hear that tale, if you’re willing…”
“Right.” He said again, drawing in a slow deep breath. “Ok. The complicated truth. I guess I should start with the basics. Er… Well, I’m nineteen years old, born and raised in the Tears of Leona. Nice town, if you’re born on the right side of it. I was.” It was strange. The talking helped him steel himself, and yet he found the reluctance to speak hadn’t left him. Still, he forged ahead. “I never really knew who my father was. Only the servants ever whispered of him as the Errant Brother. My guess is an affair, or something. In the end, I was taken in by my uncle, Tierce.”
With the stern face of his protector firmly in mind, he finally raised his hands, wrapping his fingers carefully around the wooden shaft. The skin at the base of his neck prickled…
“The Vorthain house used to be really big and important among us humans,” He kept on, heading off his revulsion. “We owned a shipping empire, one of the biggest in the land. Since the war though, we were left with a fraction of it. That never sat well with my uncle, even though we had enough to live very comfortably. That wasn’t enough for him, I guess. He missed the power. He wanted to rebuild the empire, and I guess the only reason he took me in was so that the power would outlive him…” Deliberately before he could stop himself, he placed his left hand on the back of Araseth’s shoulder, took a firm hold of the shaft with his right, and pushed. It wasn’t nearly as hard as he had expected. The sensation felt exactly like tearing a sturdy cloth with his hand. For her part, Araseth only hissed through her teeth at what had to be an inferno of pain as the arrowhead finally pierced the back of her appendage. Even if she was trying to save face after her breakdown, it reinforced just how tough she was, dealing that that even after spending minutes with an arrow buried in her shoulder.
An arrow that was still buried in her shoulder…
No no, don’t think, focus on the story…
“He ignored me for my first eight years or so. Didn’t really have any friends, either, except for my constant companions, my books. I’ve read more books than I can count.” He could, actually, but there was no point in saying so. “Finally, he sent for me, and my education really began. He started training me to take his place one day, telling me how to run a business, and more. Basically, how to demolish anything that stood in my way.”
Trying to be as delicate as he could, he gripped the top of the shaft with this thumb and forefinger, doing his very best not to jostle the arrow and cause even more pain as he gripped the steel head with his other hand. He twisted, but the shaft stubbornly refused to break. Fighting his rising gorge, he tried his best to immerse himself in the remembered sensations of his uncle’s study. The pleasant musk of books, the creaking of wood under his feet, the warmth of the sun filtering through the round window, the dust motes dancing in its rays…
He tried again, harder.
Snap. Finally, the arrowhead separated, very nearly throwing him off balance as one of the barbed ends pierced his palm. Ok, fast. Do it fast… Bypassing gentleness, Teiris seized the feathered end of the shaft and pulled it from the wound with a sickening wet sound. A warm spatter of blood caught him across the face as he did, sending a shudder through him. He knew that feeling far too well.
“That’s how I spent my early years, right up to my teens.” He went on, setting aside the mangled remains of the quarrel, his hands sticky with warm blood. "It's rather hard to describe what he taught me, although you've seen it. That little logic tussle we had earlier today was all him. His words, my mouth. He taught me how to think, and how that thinking could give me an edge over my opponents. A good thing, too." Remembering her instructions, Teiris took one of the clean linens and soaked it in the steaming water. The warmth travel soothingly up his arm, suddenly making him aware of the chill blowing in from the gaping doorway behind Araseth. I should put my shirt back on. He thought fleetingly as he removed the cloth from the water, using it as gently to sponge away the excess blood. There was a lot of it. Still, it was easier now that the arrow was out. Didn't remind him so unpleasantly of the Oracles' favorite toys.
"A little after I turned thirteen, Broddring arrested Tierce, and pretty much everyone else connected with the Vorthain house. His efforts to rebuild the shipping company were a bit less than legal, I guess. I don't even know why, I just know that they executed him, and sold me into slavery. I don't know if you've ever seen a slave market before, but know this; it's about the worst thing that a human ever instituted on another. I can't even describe what its like, except that it was terrible."
He paused for a moment, having finished flushing the wound as much as he could. Taking a long strip of linen, he began wrapping it around her arm and shoulder as tightly as he dared. "I got lucky, though. The man who bought me was an old mercenary who needed some household help. He was good to me. Him and his two sons. They trained, and I worked. It was as good a situation as I could hope for, really. The Vorthain house was gone, and I was still a slave. There was nowhere else to go, and I found I was fine with that. But of course, they were mercenaries. Their lot was always uncertain. One day, they went out on a job, and didn't come back."

Finally, He finished the bandaging. The clean white of the cloth formed a cocoon around her bicep, the pristine field broken only by small twin flecks of red marking the wound. At last, the bleeding had stopped. Teiris felt his shoulders slump. He hadn't known just how tired he was. His leg ached, and he suddenly realized that the wound in his side had reopened by his exertions before clotting. Strangely, his left hand hurt too. Frowning, he glanced at his palm, finding a thin line of red. As he had snapped off the arrowhead, the hungry metal had decided to leave him a parting gift as well. He realized absently that it was the same hand of which he had just washed Araseth's blood. That would certainly have been a fascinating study for the Oracles; an infusion of his human blood with... whatever she was, exactly.
"That's when things got a lot worse." He went on, still absently flexing his fingers before his eyes. "Technically I was free, but there was a reason I had never tried to escape. Where was I to find work, a boy of sixteen, with only some basic household skills? And with food and fuel running out, and winter coming on, I was in trouble."
Finally, the stiffness of his legs was getting to him. He was sure that Araseth wasn't very comfortable either. For the first time since he had began, he looked her in the eye. There was something there that he hadn't seen before, some sentiment that he couldn't fathom. She seemed to startle under his gaze, trying weakly to rise. She made it about halfway before the blood loss caught up and sent her teetering forward. Wordlessly, Teiris caught her, wedging himself under her good arm, he assisted her the rest of the way. Her body felt oddly small so close to him, so fragile. If she wasn't so woozy, he was sure that she probably would have sent him sailing to the other side of the room for even thinking it. As it was, she submitted to his support without complaint, allowing him to assist her to the chair she had formed out of the wall. As gently as he could managed, he settled her into it, making sure to situate her so that the wound stayed elevated above her heart. Another educational point learned in the Oracle's class.

Now that he was no longer trying to distract himself, he knew that he really did not need to go on with his story. At least, not in the same level of detail. And yet, he found that he wanted to. It felt... good somehow to disclose the story of his life to someone. It stirred emotions within him that he had locked away, secured by a steel band around his heart. He had gotten used to that pressure, but the pain was there. Now the band loosened with every word he spoke. He hadn't known just how much he had wanted its release. How much he had needed the release. Before he knew what he was doing, he had set himself cross-legged on the floor before Araseth's chair, the fire spreading comforting warmth across his bare back. And then he spoke. He accounted his time on the streets of the Tears, begging and looking for work, the loss of the house of his master. The winter that had nearly killed, him, and the strange twist of fate that had saved him. More and more, his self-imposed reserve lifted. By the time he accounted his time with Myrei, he was weeping uncontrollably. As he described his time as a prisoner of the Hand, he had intended to go through it clinically, detached. As it was, he found the words pouring from him in an uncontrolled flood. He explained the origin of a few of his scars, accounting what he knew of the Oracles and their blood magic, relieving the utter despair and hopelessness with the images that played unchecked behind his eyes. It was terrible, and wonderful. Finally, he reached the fateful night where he had received so much; His hook-shaped scar, his 'gift', and his means to escape. The flight through the cathedral. The killing of the guard. His terror-filled night outside the city. Finally, he even disclosed what he had sworn to himself he would not reveal; the exact nature of his eidetic memory.

By the time he was done, the night had almost given way to the morning.The pink of the rising peaked between the trees outside, spreading over the glittering snow and caressing the delicate frosting on the tips of the trees before flowing through the windows of Araseth's dwelling. Teiris watched the dim light fall across the palms of his hands.
"...And so I remember... everything." He said, looking back to his attentive listener, the movement disturbing the damp tracks of the tears down his face. "It's all there, perfectly clear. I can close my eyes, and just see it. Whatever I want, and whatever I don't want. My gift, and my curse. I don't think that was what the Oracle intended, or they wouldn't have let me get away. And so I ran away. I went to Belatona first, trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do. I started seeing the Wanted posters a few days later. 'Escaped slave. Murder.' One-hundred gold crowns for my capture. And the bounty goes up every month. I was hiding out in the village when the bounty-hunters came in. And... Finally, here I am." His voice was a bit steadier now, he found. Inside, he felt as if his heart had been put through a laundry wringer, his emotions almost spent, leaving a gnawing ache in his chest. And yet, it was the best he had ever felt since that night.
I really did need this. I've been sitting on this story for too long. For her part, Araseth had not once interrupted. She had simply watched and listened, allowing his sentiments to run wild without criticism or judgment. As he described his ability however, the interest did manage to show on her face. Having finally finished, Teiris sat up straight, wiping the remaining tears from his face. No point, probably. There wasn't much dignity left to save in her eyes. He discovered, oddly, that he didn't care. In the end, the story hadn't been for her.
"So that's why Broddring wants me. That's why I'm running, and that's why I kill. My lot. I'll let you decide for yourself if I did anything to deserve it. And, I suppose it doesn't do much good saying so," He looked up, staring directly into her inscrutable doe-brown eyes, putting as much sentiment into his voice as he could. "But every word is true."
And that was all there was to say. With a deep sigh, he allowed his gaze to fall, watching the growing sunlight fill the palms of his hands as he waited for her to speak.

[/blockquote]

Wow, that was some of the greatest fun I've ever had writing. It's not as good as my very best post... but it's pretty dang close. =D

[Akilinia]

Araseth

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While Teiris struggled to keep up with her mercurial mood shifts, Araseth allowed her eyes to drift shut. A headache was beginning to form in her temples and it throbbed in rhythm with her heartbeat, which was slightly elevated as a result of rage. She could hear the rush of air passing through her nose to expand her lungs as she inhaled, and she could feel the compression of her chest and ribs as the muscles around them relaxed in order to expel the used oxygen. She knew that with every breath blood was being pumped through her veins to all of the muscles in her body. She imagined that each inhale and exhale released more and more of the precious crimson liquid from the torn tissues in her shoulder, allowing her life to leech slowly from her like dew drops rising in a cloud of mist towards the sun as it was heated by the warm golden rays. She wondered what it would be like if Teiris did not bandage the wound. Would her death be as beautiful and calm as the rising mist? Or would it more resemble the waters of the ocean, agitated by an impending storm? She marveled at the morbid nature of her thoughts, but could not help wondering what her parents must have felt as they lay dying on the ground, surrounded by enemies with no hope to survive.

She would like to imagine that they fought death’s black embrace until the last bit of air left their bodies, but was it possible that they’d given up when they realized that the battle was lost? Perhaps they’d relinquished their hold on life without a fight, accepting the end of their lives without protest. They’d both lived long lives. It was possible they’d achieved a sense of fulfillment that allowed them to leave this world peacefully. She could not fathom how it would feel to reach the point where her life failed to matter to her. She, who prized life above all else, was unable to envision such a scenario. She tried to imagine allowing the numbness she could feel at the tips of her fingers to spread throughout her body, stealing away the heat in her limbs until there was nothing left to keep her lungs breathing, her heart beating, or her eyes blinking. What event could possibly lead to such an easy acceptance of the loss of her life? To never feel the golden glow of the sun on her face, to never feel the frosted grass crunch under her feet, or never be able to run her palms over the rough bark of a tree, rejoicing in the bright life evident all around her, was incomprehensible. She could not bear the loss of all of those things. How could anyone?

Regardless of her personal feelings on the matter, she began to wonder what her parents thought of when they died. Surely their deaths had not been instantaneous. She’d seen the injuries. She could still picture the gaping flesh on her mother’s side, horribly red against the soft brown hue of her leather armor. The horrific wound on her father’s neck had been worse. She remembered it all too clearly. She could still see the pools of crimson blood pouring from the wound to pool at his side, and the shattered pieces of his spine where his enemies weapon had cut deep. The ivory color had been startlingly bright against the dark blood, and she recalled staring at the shards of bone for a long time as her mind struggled to comprehend what she was seeing. However, it wasn’t the bright ivory of the shattered bone or the iron stench of blood that came to the fore of her mind every time she allowed herself to think of that day, it was their hands. They’d been intertwined, fingers laced together on the red ground. Both hands had dirty fingernails and were rusted with blood, but the degree of emotion in the gesture was so great that it hurt Araseth to imagine what they’d gone through in those final moments. Whatever it’d been, fear, a desire for comfort, or intense love, they’d both forsaken their weapons in order to have it for their last few breaths.

She felt like a mouse stuck in a maze, doomed to run in the same path for eternity. No matter how many times she contemplated the choices she made that day, or the death of her parents, she always ended up in the same place. What was beyond death? Was there anything? Some of the humans believed that paradise lay beyond it. A place called heaven where pain and suffering were figments of mortal imagination, and sins were nothing more than a nightmare. They called their God their savior, their deliverer, and were convinced that the trials and tribulations in this world would be insignificant to their immortal souls once they were freed from the confines of their bodies. But that was a religion for humans, mortal creatures who always sought to extend the length of their lives out of fear of what death might bring. Could their God and heaven be nothing more than a dead man’s attempt to resist the sense of finality that comes with death? And if there was some truth to their beliefs, did this God’s mercy apply to a race much more long-lived than the humans? Wouldn’t the reward of paradise after death be reserved for a race who did not have the privilege of living many centuries in this world? Then again, her race had spent a long time striving to achieve that very privilege, in addition with their superior physical bodies and magical talents. Would that perseverance help to earn them a place in humanity’s heaven? Or was there something completely different beyond death? Was there anything at all?

Her head gave a painful throb, jolting her from her thoughts, and she became aware of her surroundings once more. “Right.” Teiris said, examining her wound with a slightly nauseous look. “Just have to…” He reached for the arrow and hesitated for a moment before seeming to get a grip on himself. She glanced down at the gory mess her shoulder had become, and winced in sympathy. Regardless of his actions earlier, he was not yet accustomed to violence and grisly injuries. She frowned at herself, as she realized that she had become accustomed to it, at least to an extent. It was a terrible thing to be unconcerned by such things, but how could she live the way she did and not be that way? She refused to allow herself to cry over every human she killed, but was it right for her to be completely separated either? She shoved the thought aside for later. Focusing on Teiris’ face to distract herself, she saw something harden in his gaze, and a spark of admiration kindled in her chest. “Right.” He repeated, breathing in deeply through tight lips and flared nostrils. “Ok. The complicated truth. I guess I should start with the basics. Er… Well, I’m nineteen years old, born and raised in the Tears of Leona. Nice town, If you’re born on the right side of it. I was.” He seemed reluctant to continue speaking, but after a short pause he continued. “I never knew who my father was. Only the servants ever whispered of him as the Errant Brother. My guess is an affair, or something. In the end, I was taken in my by uncle, Tierce.”

She resisted the urge to flinch as he gently wrapped his hands around the wooden shaft protruding from her shoulder. The resulting jolt of pain was minor, and she was quickly distracted by Teiris’ voice. “The Vorthain house used to be really big and important among us humans.” Araseth watched his face intently as he spoke, wondering if his words were meant as a distraction for her or for himself. Perhaps both. His grey eyes were focused unerringly on the wooden shaft between his fingers, and his jaw was tense as his lips formed the words of his story, but his grip was gentle and caused only small sparks of pain. “We owned a shipping empire, one of the biggest in the land. Since the war though, we were left with a fraction of it. That never sat well with my uncle, even though we had enough to live very comfortably. That wasn’t enough for him, I guess. He missed the power. He wanted to rebuild the empire, and I guess the only reason he took me in was so that the power would outlive him…” The way he paused in his tale was enough warning for her to brace herself against the pain she knew would follow shortly. Teiris used one hand to grasp her shoulder firmly while he pushed with his right hand, hard, against the shaft. She knew it would hurt, but the fire that seared her veins as the rest of the muscles in her arms ripped beneath the steady pressure being applied to the metal head of the arrow was more than she was prepared for. She bit her cheek to quell the cry of agony that almost escaped from her lips, and all that could be heard was a small hiss of pain passing through her clenched teeth. And then it was over. She blinked away the fresh wave of tears the pain brought to her eyes and focused on Teiris’ voice, which remained surprisingly calm.

“He ignored me for my first eight years of so. Didn’t really have any friends, either, except for my constant companions, my books. I’ve read more books than I can count.” His tone left no room for pity over his lonely childhood, and he forged ahead without giving her time to formulate any sort of response. Of course, even as she listened to him, she knew that she would not be able to interrupt his story. She was just as absorbed by the telling as he was. She was finally going to understand what motivated him to act so different from the rest of his race. A stab of excitement rippled through her, alleviating some of the pain from her shoulder. Unaware of her thoughts, Teiris continued to speak. “Finally, he sent for me, and my education really began. He started training me to take his place one day, telling me how to run a business, and more. Basically, how to demolish anything that stood in my way.” He paused and took the opportunity to try to break the shaft. He had some difficulty snapping the wood. She suspected that was resulted from his attempts to be careful of her injury than from a lack of strength. In any case, all she could do was grit her teeth and try not to tense her muscles. She knew that tightening the injured muscles in her arm would only worsen the pain.

Finally, he gave up on delicacy and snapped the arrow shaft in two, almost throwing himself off balance as the wood abruptly gave way. Araseth could not prevent the wince that marred her visage as the arrow tore more of the muscle in her arm. The iron tang of blood grew stronger as he pulled the arrow from the wound, and she felt a liquid warmth on her left side as more of it cascaded from the injury. Her gaze was still riveted to Teiris, and she saw him shudder as some of her blood sprayed his face. Definitely not accustomed… She thought, surprised at the compassion she felt for the young man’s perseverance, even in the face of his discomfort. He does not have to help me. He could have easily made her tend to her own wound. Maybe he feels as if he owes me for caring for his injuries earlier. Maybe now he’s returning the favor.

“That’s how I spent my early years, right up to my teens.” He told her, forcing himself to continue even as she saw the revulsion clearly on his face. He set the broken arrow down on the floor. “It’s rather hard to describe what he taught me, although you’ve seen it. That little logic tussle we had earlier today was all him. His words, my mouth. He taught me how to think, and how that thinking could give me an edge over my opponents. A good thing, too.” He said, picking up one of the clean linens stacked carefully at his side. He dipped it in the steaming kettle and carefully wiped her arm clean of blood. The blood spread over the wet cloth like a disease, staining the white fabric a dull red-brown. He moved carefully, almost gingerly, as if he was afraid to hurt her any further. Or he’s afraid of the blood… She thought, recalling his earlier reaction to the blood that splattered his face. She stared at his face as he bent to get closer to her shoulder. His brow was creased and his eyes were narrowed with concentration. The speckles of blood marred his face in a sick mockery of the freckles some people got across their nose and on their cheeks when the sun kissed their skin.

“A little after I turned thirteen, Broddring arrested Tierce, and pretty much everyone else connected with the Vorthain house. His efforts to rebuild the shipping company were a bit less than legal, I guess. I don’t even know why, I just know that they executed him, and sold me into slavery. I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a slave market before, but know this; it’s about the worst thing that a human instituted on another. I can’t even describe what it’s like, except that it was terrible.” He was right, she hadn’t seen a slave market before, but from what she knew of the human race it was not hard for her to imagine that they were capable of atrocities she’d never even imagined. She bit deeper into her cheek as he used more linen to clean deeper into the wound. She was curious about his tale, but she was also glad that he’d chosen to tell it while he took care of her wound. The pain was beginning to diminish, but his voice gave her something other than that pain to focus on, and for that she was grateful. Again, she questioned whether or not his timing was deliberate or just a happy coincidence. Perhaps he was anxious to get the telling of his story over. It must be hard for him. She thought, recalling how reluctant he’d been to begin his tale. The way he relaxed into the story as he spoke make it obvious to her that it was not something he shared often. Like an infection, horrific memories needed to be purged or else they would sit and fester until they tainted everything around them. It must be a relief for him to finally tell someone. He seemed to be completely absorbed in the story, ignoring her completely except where her arm was concerned.

“I got lucky, though. The man who bought me was an old mercenary who needed some household help. He was good to me. Him and his two sons. They trained, and I worked. It was as good a situation as I could hope for, really. The Vorthain house was gone, and I was still as slave. There was nowhere else to go, and I found I was fine with that. But of course, they were mercenaries. Their lot was always uncertain. One day, they went out on a job, and didn’t come back.” He told her as he calmly wrapped her arm and shoulder in clean, dry linen. Araseth could not help but feel a spark of anger at the thought one human owning another. It was such a revolting concept. Her lip curled. Humans were convinced that they needed to own everything; that they had a right to. They staked out a patch of land and proclaimed ownership over it and everything encompassed within that section: trees, animals, dirt, everything. They had no right. Nature was the mother of all living things, not man. Man was simply another creature, superior to other animals only in their ingenuity, and inferior in many ways. Where did their feeling of supremacy originate? Where did they learn to see themselves as the rightful owners of the earth?

As he finished wrapping her arm, all of the energy seemed to leak from Teiris. It was as if he was a bucket of water riddled with holes. At first the leak was small, but soon water began to pour from the cracks in uncontrollable torrents. Visibly sagging, Teiris glanced down at his palm. A frown creased his face, wrinkling his brow. She leaned forward, curious to see what he was looking at and saw a red cut stretching across the underside of his hand. It was a mirror image of the cuts on her own palms from her carelessness with the arrowhead she removed from his side, linear and clean like a surgical incision. It was ironic that the small lacerations were a mark of inattention on both their parts. He must have received it when he was breaking the shaft so he could pull it from her shoulder.

Teiris stared at the small cut for a long moment, lost in a place where she could not pursue him, before he gathered himself and continued to speak.

“That’s when things got a lot worse.” He told her, staring fixedly at his palm. “Technically I was free, but there was a reason I had never tried to escape. Where was I to find work, a boy of sixteen, with only some basic household skills? And with food and fuel running out, and winter coming on, I was in trouble.” He was still just telling her the facts. She discerned no emotion in his voice or his facial expression. His eyes were shaded by his lashes, but she had yet to see anything in those steel orbs. She suspected they were as emotionless as ever. Why did he not meet her gaze? She wondered absently, staring at the untidy brown strands of hair that layered his head. Was he afraid of what she would think, or what he might see in her eyes? Did he expect ridicule? Mockery? Scorn? Araseth frowned and reigned in her thoughts. This is difficult for him. She reminded herself. And brave. After all, he was all but handing her a weapon to use against him. What was to stop her from turning him over to the authorities if she believed their pursuit of him to be justified? Just my absolute hatred of Broddring and the human race in general… She thought sardonically.

As if he was aware of her thoughts, Teiris’s eyes flickered up to catch her gaze. His stare was intense, as if he could see everything she was thinking just by looking. Suddenly, she felt naked, exposed. Before she could stop herself she’d flinched away. Abruptly she was aware of her surroundings, how close she was to Teiris and how she had nowhere to go. She had the wall to her back and Teiris’s close proximity blocked the rest of the room from her. She was cornered, trapped. Prey. The mouse trapped by the cat, the deer who knows that death by the fangs of the wolf is inevitable. Anger flared to life in the pit of her stomach. She was not prey, and she resented him for making her feel like she was. Unsettled by the unexpected change in their relationship and by the feeling of claustrophobia stealing into her mind like an insidious poison, she hastily tried to stand, barely managing to withhold a noise of surprise as the muscles in her legs cramped painfully and gave beneath the weight of her body. Although she’d failed to notice it while she’d been seated, her limbs were all numb from the drafts of frigid air blowing in through her decimated doorway from the dark forest outside of her fire-warmed home. A wave of dizziness swept over her as her heart feverishly to pump her thinned blood throughout her body. The hearth fire danced before her eyes in a bewildering blur of orange and red and yellow, and suddenly the ground was rushing towards her face.

Abruptly, her fall was arrested. It took her a moment to realize that it was Teiris who had prevented her from sprawling painfully on the hard wood floor of her home. He stood slowly, carefully maneuvering his own limbs so as not to drop her or cause himself excess pain, and slipped an arm around her waist to support her. At such close proximity it was hard not to notice how much larger he was than her. He towered over her, and the breadth of his chest and the length of his limbs made her feel like a small child in comparison. The feeling irritated her, but his arm felt reassuringly strong, and the warmth of his body went far towards alleviating the chill that seemed to have settled into her bones. She reminded herself that all the creatures of Mother Nature were created with a need for physical comfort. Wolves curled together in their dens to share heat during the long winter nights, and baby birds clustered together under the breasts of their mother in nests of grass, mud and feathers. Besides, She reminded herself as another wave of dizziness turned the room into blurs of brown and green, I wouldn’t be able to walk on my own.

The thought brought her mixed feelings of annoyance and gratefulness. She was grateful that Teiris had refrained from commenting on her weakness or her poorly disguised attempt to flee his presence, but being dependent on another creature bothered her. She was unaccustomed to the feeling, and it sat in her stomach like a poorly digested meal; uncomfortable, yet not overly irritating. Ever since she was a small child she’d been on her own. Her parents, upon discovering the nature of her abilities, had left her to her own devices. The only time she’d known companionship was with her grandmother. Didor was a stern woman who was convinced that there was only one way to go through life. She was much like her son in that respect, but their mutual passion for nature had made her grandmother’s intolerance bearable. However, their companionship had not been physical or even overly emotional. Most of their time together had been spent focused on the world around them rather than their own relationship. Uncertainty, an emotion she’d experienced only a handful of times throughout her long life, washed over her.

Suddenly, she wanted to be free of his arm. It was like a weed, apparently harmless, but restrictive all the same. She quelled the emotion, reminding herself firmly that she would be unable to walk without his assistance, and angry with herself for entertaining the idea of running from him for a second time. When had she become a coward? When had she indulged in such instincts? She was a hunter, a predator. She was several times stronger than any human, and should have nothing to fear. But even as she thought it, she knew that at that moment she was not stronger than Teiris. The weakness in her body was a testament to that. She was vulnerable.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, scrutinizing his profile in the firelight. She did not sense or see any malice in him, but hadn’t she spent the entirety of her time around him being constantly surprised by his actions? What was to stop him if he decided to pick up that bounty hunter’s bow in order to finish her off? Could she stop him? Would she be helpless? Yes. She thought immediately, feeling the heaviness of her limbs. Denial followed shortly after. She couldn’t be helpless. There was always a way to emerge victorious from a fight. She just had to use her resources effectively.

Her hand fell to the empty sheath her hunting knife usually resided in before she remembered that she’d thrown one at Teiris right after he’d shot her and left the second one by the door after cutting the leather from around her shoulder wound. Stymied, her eyes flickered around her decimated living room, searching for a weapon of some sort. The only thing in sight was the bounty hunter’s bow. Her own bow was still in its quiver by the front door, but it was useless in her current state. She knew she didn’t have the strength to draw the string, and at such close quarters, she wouldn’t have enough time to shoot him before he was on her. The knife would have been the best option. She thought, her eyes locating and then dismissing various slivers of debris scattered across her floor. A feeling of hopelessness was beginning to rise within her when she remembered the small knife she’d slid into a sheath on her calf on a whim the morning before. Yes, that would work perfectly. It would be swift enough to strike before he could land a blow with his fist or the bounty hunter’s bow, and it was ideal for combat in close quarters. If Teiris decided to use her momentary weakness to his advantage, she would be prepared to defend herself.

Teiris halted in front of the chair she’d created for him earlier. He lowered her gently onto the chair, careful not to jostle her injured arm, and then settled on the floor at her feet. The arrangement was not one of dominance. He willingly placed himself lower than her and in a position that would be difficult for him to defend himself in. She knew then that her worries had been unfounded. He wouldn’t attack her. He’d never even considered it. The arrow in her shoulder was an accident, not a deliberate attempt on her life. She stared at his face, and it was suddenly clear to her how young he was compared to her. Teiris had had his fair share of hardships and trials, but he still saw good in the world. He was not like her. He did not live in darkness, and assume the worst of everyone and everything he didn’t understand. For her the world turned on one simple reality: eat or be eaten; be strong and live, or be weak and perish. Perhaps it was cynical and morbid, but she harbored no false hopes and would never be surprised by betrayal or death. Teiris had not yet reached that point, but he was well on his way. In his world there was still enough light to cast shadows.

After a moment to gather his thoughts, Teiris continued his story. For the next few hours his quiet voice wove a tale of intrigue, violence and betrayal that revealed a whole new layer of humanity’s malevolence. Never, in her wildest dreams had she imagined any creatures of nature capable of such atrocities. Hate for the monsters that’d caused him so much suffering, monster who pushed a young boy to bathe his hands in blood for the first time. Murder was something that stained the soul regardless of the motives or reasoning behind the act. It was a sinful thing that should never be forced upon a person. It caused an irrevocable change in people, in how they saw the world and themselves. She felt a strong desire to take him in her arms; to wipe the tears from his face. Teiris was meant for a simple life of books and libraries. He did not have the mind of a killer, or the ruthlessness to do anything but run from the people after him. If nothing changed, he would run for the rest of his life. Of course, anyone could become ruthless and anyone could learn to be a killer if they spent enough time in an environment where such things were necessary. The fact that Teiris survived this long was proof of that. Even though he might not know how much or in what way, he has been changed by the last few years. Fate has placed her hand upon him and turned him to face a path he would never have chosen to walk. A blade of sorrow pierced her heart. Fate was cruel in that way.

“…And so I remember… everything.” The tear tracks on his face glistened in the orange light of dawn as he looked up from his hands. “It’s all there, perfectly clear. I can close my eyes, and just see it. Whatever I want, and whatever I don’t want. My gift, and my curse. I don’t think that was what the Oracle intended, or they wouldn’t have let me get away. And so I ran away. I went to Belatona first, trying to figure out what the hell I was going to do. I started seeing the Wanted posters a few days later. ‘Escaped slave. Murder.’ One-hundred gold crowns for my capture. And the bounty goes up every month. I was hiding out in the village when the bounty-hunters came in. And… Finally, here I am.” His voice grew steadier as he drew closer to the conclusion of his story, and he sat up straight and wiped the tears from his face. Although it was intended to preserve his dignity, she found the gesture oddly endearing. Regardless of how unsuited he may be for this life, there is a kernel of strength in him. She thought, shifting in her chair to relieve some of the cramps building in her back from being seated so long.

“So that’s why Broddring wants me. That’s why I’m running, and that’s why I kill. My lot. I’ll let you decide for yourself if I did anything to deserve it. And, I suppose it doesn’t do much good saying so,” He paused and met her eyes for a long moment as if to drive his words home. “But every word is true.” She did not doubt the sincerity of his statement for a moment, and she was curious why he thought she would. Teiris did not give her the chance to search his face for the reason. He dropped his gaze to his hands with a heavy sigh, and waited for her reaction in silence.

In the absence of his voice, Araseth could hear the sounds of the forest. Although many of the animals were hibernating or had migrated south to wait out the snow, the forest was far from empty. With the rising of the sun, all of the animals were emerging from their dens to forage for food. She could hear the call of a whippoorwill just outside her home, the pecking of a woodpecker on the bark of a nearby tree. The crunch of snow could be heard as an animal wove between tree trunks with its nose to the ground in search of buried berries or grass. From the tentative nature of each step she could tell it was a deer. From her perch on the chair, she had a good view out of the eastern window. She could see the pink and orange tint on the horizon and the faded blue of the night sky around where the sun would soon rise. The snow and frost on the needled branches of the cedars and pines glittered in the faint light like diamonds, and small icicles hung from the still boughs of the deciduous trees. The absence of even the smallest hint of new growth on their bare branches meant that spring was still a little ways off. However, soon she knew the sun would move closer to the earth, and the snow and frost would melt away under its golden rays.

She inhaled the wet scent of winter and snow, fixing it in her mind, and returned her attention to Teiris, who remained unmoving on the floor before her. Her eyes were drawn to the ruby drops of blood that still speckled his face. The sight of it reminded her of something she’d meant to do.

Slowly, she rose from her perch to make her way to the hearth. Her leg muscles protested the movement, but felt reassuringly firm as she put her weight on them. The distance between the small chair and the hearth felt like miles, but when she reached the small fire, she added more wood to the dying flames and gathered a strip of clean linen in her good arm. On her way back to Teiris, she fetched her small kettle from its spot on the floor near her door. The water in it was clean, and she dipped the length of linen into it after reclaiming her seat. The water was cold on her fingertips and raised bumps on her arms. She handed the wet piece of linen to Teiris, who regarded her with a mix of curiosity and wariness. “For your face.” She said in response to his questioning look.

As he wiped the blood from his face, she considered what to tell him. Plants and animals were not inclined to have lengthy discussions, and so she had never felt the need to be good at conversation. Araseth suffered similarly at the hands of humans, so she could offer him some measure of empathy, but Teiris did not appear to desire compassion or understanding from her. He may have started out telling the story to distract himself from the blood and to answer her curiosity, but in the end the story was for his own benefit. She had been the listening ear he required. What more could she offer him? She was intrigued by the concept of his eidetic memory, but she was hesitant to ask about it. From his tone when he spoke of it, he did not see it as the wonderful magical mystery she did. She wondered if it was as accurate as he said. Did he remember everything? It seemed incredible to her that a person’s blood could open avenues into the depths of the subconscious mind. However, as he said, it would not be pleasant all the time. She could not even imagine having to relive the dark times in her life in more vivid detail than she saw them in already. She suppressed a shudder, and decided to answer his honesty with some of her own.

“I am honored that you would be so honest and open with me about what you have been through.” She told him, watching the clear water at the bottom of the kettle. “I could offer you my sympathy, but it would do you little good. What you’ve been through… Is horrible. In all honesty, I’m surprised you survived long enough to tell me of it all. Most of your kind, and perhaps even some of mine, would have given up long ago. That you have your sanity as well as your life is simply amazing to me.” She wiped her wet fingers on her pants, leaving a dark streak on the leather. “The human race is capable of terrible things: pernicious acts of such violence and horror… I realize now that my experiences only revealed a small part of it. However, I’m starting to believe that there is some good in your race that I never even believed might be there. From your story, it seems to me that you have had some experience with that good. Perhaps that is the difference between us; why you still harbor the hope that your situation will conclude happily, and I only see a path of blood and violence. You may kill, but you’re not a killer. Not like I am, or like others of your race are. You do not deserve what you’ve been put through, but you are a survivor, and whatever doesn’t kill you will strengthen you.”

She drew in a deep breath through her nose, allowing the frosty air to sting her lungs for a moment before she released the breath in a long sigh. “For a reason I don’t yet understand, I find myself trusting you, Teiris Vorthain. Perhaps it is your honesty, your endearing perseverance in the face of the insurmountable odds arrayed against you, or your kindness to me, a creature who threatened more than once to end your life for things I believed you would do just because others of your race have done them. I do not know.” She said honestly, shrugging her good shoulder.

“I have slaughtered your pursuers, but there will likely be more where they came from. What will you do now? Where will you go? I know little of this Cathedral you suffered in, or the Oracles that live there, so I do not know how much assistance I can afford you. Regardless, I am willing help you in any way that I can. I see a kindness in you that will wither in the years to come, and I want to preserve that if possible. I once had something similar to that. I believed that all living things were pure, and Mother Nature would never allow war to plague her land. It never occurred to me that people could be cruel, that they would fight over things as trivial as land and money. The Blue Divide changed all that for me. It opened my eyes in a way I couldn’t ignore, and soured my heart. It turned me into what I am now; it made me a murderer and a monster who is incapable of regret.”

She paused, suddenly and oddly self conscious. She’d never considered telling anyone what she was about to offer to tell him, but she felt as if she owed it to him. “Would you like to hear my story, Teiris? It is much older than your’s, but perhaps not so different. We both have a reason to hate your race. The difference is, I can abhor them without hating myself.”

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OOC: I think I'm done. I don't know how much I like the ending, I might add more to it... Tell me what you think.

Just for fun:

Word Count - 6,357