Survival of the Fittest (Aki)

[Angmor]

Its was difficult for Teiris to quantify his feelings. He felt... lighter, as if his words had expelled a great weight from inside him. While his limbs and body felt more old and tired than ever, inside, he felt like a bird freed from a trap, blinking in the light. For what seemed like the first time since his escape, he could breathe freely, and think with clarity that he had not known he missed. He was free of the constant, paranoid reminders that he was always one step ahead of those trying to kill him, not conscious of the nearest exit and not constantly conceiving and revising contingencies for if this happened or that happened. It was like blinders had been removed from the edges of his vision, and he was finally looking up to notice the world around him, not restricted by his focus on only the dangers of the moment. He could take a step back from himself, to consider his situation with a wider perspective. He could think about the past, and think about the future. His dark, petty brooding had finally been laid to rest, and his mind was at last clear.
For several moments, he simply reveled in the feeling. He could see now that he had been scrambling in the dark for too long, afraid of his pursuers, afraid of himself, afraid of what would happen if he ever looked back. Running from himself just as much as the Hand. No longer. He was at last able to take a deep, long look at his own motivations. He was free to discover exactly what he wanted.

So caught up in his own revelation, the thought of his captive audience was almost driven completely from his mind. The rustle of cloth from above him brought it all rushing back to the fore of his mind. Araseth, her injuries, her silence in the face of him baring his soul before her. Looking up, he saw her laboriously hauling herself out of the chair, her only expression a slight grimace as her legs took her weight. Steadying herself, she started making her way slowly across the room. Even after her injuries, her leather-clad feet made no noise as they glided past him. She was lost to sight behind his back, and Teiris did not feel equal to the effort of turning his head to look. He noticed dully that he did not even plan for her slitting his throat from behind. Suddenly, he was ambushed by the thought that she knew him now. This homicidal, possibly insane spirit of the forest now knew more about him than any other living soul in the world. He wasn’t entirely sure if that was a sign of his own pathetic nature, or of achievement. He supposed he might have been a bit self-conscious about that, but he wasn't. She had listened to him when he’d needed it, and never once said a word. Her care or her scorn was merely a detail.

He found himself gazing distractedly at the dwelling, seeing it with new eyes as the dim light of the young day flowed in through the western window. His gaze was lost amongst the trappings of the Araseth’s existence. Pelts in all descriptions of spots, stripes, and colors drew his eyes this way and that. He was reasonably sure he had never even seen most of the animals that they belonged to, and thought that he rather wanted to. Suddenly, his eyes fell across an image, like an island amid the sea of fur. It instantly captivated him with its beauty. If it was a painting, it was unlike any that he had ever seen. Spread over a grey stone tablet, the image depicted a shining city woven among the trunks of immense trees. He found it hard to believe that such a place even existed, and yet the image was so starkly lifelike, it was like a moment frozen in time, window on the past. As sharp and clear as the images of his memories. He gave up trying to figure out how such a thing could be captured.
Magic. He thought, mentally shaking his head. In all of his education by his uncle, that subject had been missed. One did not deal with magic and its ilk in the world of business. For a time, Teiris had wondered if it actually existed outside of fanciful stories of elves and dragons and shades. In his cloistered world of the Tears, the world seemed too small to have such a thing in it. Since then, he had learned better. Magic was real, and it was terrifying. His blood had fueled it, and his spirit had been defiled by it. The magic he had witnessed had been the single worst thing he could ever imagine. He knew enough now that he could tell Araseth’s home was absolutely bursting with it, like something tingling against the back of his neck. And yet it seemed different somehow. Friendlier, almost homely. As if it was an everyday device, like a stove, or a kettle.
He almost laughed, his eyes roving hungrily over the bridges and buildings of that fantastic, impossible city, drinking in every detail as he marveled just how much bigger the world had grown.

He was vaguely aware of the sounds behind him. There was a rasping crackle of wood against ash, and he guessed that Araseth was adding fuel to the dying flames. The chill had definitely grown since that night. Even as he noticed it, a breeze wafted in from the west, raising goosebumps on his skin. But it wasn’t quite enough of a discomfort to win out against his fatigue and shift him to rise and get the rest of his clothes. A moment later, Araseth reappeared, laden with the now-familiar kettle of water. Lowering herself back to her seat, she dipped perhaps the one piece of linen that had not been used over the course of the past blood-filled night and extended it toward him. He took it, frowning questioningly.
“For your face.” She said.
…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…
Unconsciously, he lifted a hand to his face, his fingers crackling against a dotted crust of dried blood. It seemed that he could not escape it, no matter where he went. No wonder the Oracles had discovered so many uses for it. Blood was paramount to life. With a shuddering sigh, he went to work removing the spatter from his face, the wet fabric coldly refreshing against his skin. Now if only the memories that made it so repulsive could be expunged the same way, he thought to himself.

“I am honored that you would be so honest and open with me about what you have been through.” Araseth said finally, breaking her long silence. “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.”
Teiris paused amid wiping his face, struck by her words even amid being pleased by her admiration. He had never considered that before. In the Cathedral undercroft, he had witnessed dozens of people slide down the subtle scale between man and beast, their minds becoming slowly fragmented. So why hadn’t he? What had kept him sane amid all those months of dark and despair and torture?
“The human race is capable of terrible things,” She went on. “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.”
Having finished wiping the stains of the night’s exertions from his face, he idly folded the cloth into a neat square as he considered her poetic words. He knew immediately that she was right. She had seen the heart of him, something that even he had not been conscious of before; hope. Pure, stubborn, foolish, totally unfounded hope. That is what had steeled his heart on the slave-markets, had kept him on his feet in the frozen streets, until his body was almost consumed. What had kept him sane in the dungeons of the Hand. He remembered now, how he had clung to that belief throughout those dark, hopeless nights. Refusing to give up, knowing that somehow, some way, there would come a chance to escape, and that he would have to be ready to take it. Since then, he’d learned that if the chance never came, he had to make one. He’d learned that if he refused to accept fate, struggled against it, railed against it, threw every ounce of strength and intelligence against it then sometimes, it would relent, and shift in his favor. That, he supposed, was the true nature of luck. Making the other fellow give up first.

Araseth hadn’t looked at him. She merely gazed into the water of the kettle, as if hoping for a divination from it. Finally, she looked up with a sharp breath, the suddenness of the movement almost making him jump. The blood patterns she had painted on her face were almost completely rubbed away by now, leaving her expression of mild puzzlement clear on her sculpted features. Teiris found it odd. She almost looked like any other young woman, albeit an exceptionally beautiful one. It was almost as if they were conducting an incongruously normal conversation. The thought made him frown.
“For a reason I don’t yet understand,” She said. “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 gave a lopsided shrug, showing, Teiris thought, a surprising openness of her own. Casting back through his mental archive of the past few hours, it was almost hard to reconcile the woman before him with the raging, elemental power that he had met the evening before. But then, she had worn many faces since then. And for some reason he couldn’t consciously place, he thought that he was only now seeing the true one.
“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 stopped, and Teiris held his breath, holding as still as he could. There had been a glimmering of something there, like the first glint of treasure in a dark cave. He waited, for what he didn’t know exactly, hanging on her next words. At last, her eyes refocused as she leaned forward slightly in her seat, tone becoming earnest and questioning.
“Would you like to hear my story, Teiris? It is much older than yours, but perhaps not so different. We both have a reason to hate your race. The difference is, I can abhor them without hating myself.”

Despite a muted sense of anticipation, Teiris hesitated before answering. Her words were an invitation, but also a challenge. Even in a simple statement, they encapsulated a titanic gap between their views of the world. He was finally consciously aware of the difference between them, catching up to what his subconscious had picked up since their very first meeting. After all he had been through, he had not emerged on the other side with a hatred for humanity, just for the parts of it that had wronged him. He needed to be wary of people, but only out of necessity. He did not hate all, just certain individuals. But after whatever the Broddring kingdom had done, Araseth had come through with much the same sentiments, except removed to a global level. Humans had wronged her, and therefore all humans were to blame. To Teiris, it seemed folly. But who was he to say? He didn’t know what had happened to her. And most of the humans that he had met were exactly what she said of them, or worse. And yet, there were good people in the world, represented in his life by men like Rygier Tahn, and women like Myrei. He realized now that it was a belief that he clung to in desperation, a guiding star to see him through his darkest moments. And he wasn’t sure if he wanted that belief to be challenged, even if it was wrong.
And yet, he couldn’t say no, not after she had opened herself vulnerably to him. He was being offered a glimpse into a place that he suspected no one had been allowed before, and a place that he realized he ached to understand. Was it petty curiosity? Perhaps, he admitted to himself. Perhaps his motivations for wanting to know were not as pure as ‘sympathy’ or ‘kindness.’ But he still wanted to know. He still wanted to know the why behind Araseth, the Forest Spirit.

She was still watching him intently, her usually expression tinged just slightly for discomfort. He could see that this was all new territory for a solitary mind, to allow another access. He realized that it made him nervous, too. In the back of his mind, there was still the lurking memories of the vengeful Araseth, the one that had snarled threats and thrown blades at him, and had reverted to the gentle, soft-spoken woman that sat before him now with no real transition. What if that meant she could revert back just as easily? But it was just his paranoia talking, and he banished it from his mind. The woman whose wound she had just tended was not insane. Disturbed perhaps, but obviously not insane. Her behavior had merely been a product of her experiences. Experiences that she was offering to relate.
At last decided, he nodded fractionally, raising his eyes back to hers. The bones of his neck clicked, and he was aware of just how stiff and numb he was after sitting for so many hours, but he ignored it easily. Living in a cage for a year had given him that. “I would like to hear it, if you’re truly willing.” He said. “I can’t promise that I’ll relate, or even understand it. But I think that there is a connection between us. And I would like to know. I would hear of Broddring Kingdom, and the Blue Divide, and so many things that I’ve never learned about.”
Never turn down knowledge, boy. Intruded the posthumous voice of his uncle. Knowledge is the root of power.
Stop it. He told himself. It’s not about that. It’s never about that. He didn’t want to hear her story out of a desire for power over her. How could he have even thought it? It was a petty, selfish, narrow-minded thought.
It was a very human thought.
He tried to push it away, and the idea retreated. But not entirely. Part of it lingered, like a darkness at the edge of his mind.
“After all, you were gracious enough to listen to my prattle.” He picked up, he hoped without any visible sign of hesitation. “I can at least return the favor. Sometimes it’s good just to tell someone. And I think,” He looked into her eyes, trying to read her, “That you’ve been swallowing it back for far too long.”

[/blockquote]

[Akilinia]

Araseth
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“Would you like to hear my story, Teiris? It is much older than yours, but perhaps not so different. We both have a reason to hate your race. The difference is, I can abhor them without hating myself.”

Her words hung in the air over them. She could feel them like a phantom limb; something she once had control over that was now gone. The longer the silence between them stretched, the more she wished she’d maintained that control, kept the offer to herself. Only after speaking them did she realize how vulnerable she’d made herself to this man, this human man. What was I thinking? She thought, realizing all at once how much of an advantage knowing her history would give him. But, hadn’t he taken the same risk in telling her of his past? She recalled shape of the syllables as her tongue as it formed them. They’d hung like drops of lead from the tip of her tongue, difficult to speak, yet hard to withhold. The need to say them, to offer them to Teiris, had been overwhelming, but she did not understand why. Perhaps it was, as she had told him, that she trusted him for some undetermined reason, or maybe it was an unconscious yearning to feel the relief she’d seen building in Teiris’ face as he revealed his story. He’d looked as if a burden he hadn’t even realized he carried had been lifted from his shoulders. He appeared calmer than he’d been since entering her forest, some of the hard lines that marked his face had smoothed, and the haunted look that lurked in the depths of his eyes and in the way he carried himself had all but disappeared.

Immediately, she discarded that last idea. Araseth preferred keeping to herself. It had been that way since she was a small child. Even as a child, it had been painfully obvious that she and her parents saw the world in completely different lights. You could have told Didor. A small voice whispered in her mind. Could have told her what? That her heart was being eaten away by a hatred of the human race that she was hopeless to contain? She almost laughed aloud at the idea. Didor would only have called her an idiot in every language she knew and then proceeded to ignore any further mention of such foolishness. A wry smile turned up the corner of her lips at the memory of her grandmother’s intolerance for anything she viewed as illogical or stupid. Maybe speaking to Didor would have been good for her. She’d still been relatively young when she’d set her feet on the path of revenge, would such an encounter with her grandmother have changed her views on humanity?

It hardly matters now She thought bitterly, smoothing her scratched hands over her lap. The hide of her pants felt smooth and familiar beneath her fingertips. She took a deep breath to ground herself. It was beyond her control now. She was here, and she’d already made Teiris the offer. There was nothing more that could be done. She knew immediately that if he asked to hear her story, she’d tell it. Furthermore, if, against all reason, he decided to turn down her offer, she would just as easily leave it unspoken. However, even before he opened his mouth to answer, she knew he would not turn down such an offer. From what he’d told her and from what she knew of him, he was not the kind of person to turn down the opportunity for knowledge. Especially when it was about something he knew nothing about. In fact, that very quality was one of the things that allowed him to survive as long as he had. Ignorance led to stupidity, which in turn, often resulted in death. Without the desire to learn, nothing would ever be accomplished. Teiris Vorthain was not a stupid man.

With her acute hearing, she heard the bones in his neck crack as he nodded and tilted his head to look up at her. She met his emotionless grey gaze with one of her own, waiting for him to speak. After a moment, he complied. “I would like to hear it, if you’re truly willing.” He answered. His voice was hesitant, as if he was uncertain of whether or not he wanted to hear what she had to tell him. She did not blame him. Just as his story had an impact on her beliefs, her story of might affect his. She knew from experience that it was difficult to listen with complete objectivity when the storyteller told the tale with a bias like she would. “I can’t promise that I’ll relate, or even understand it. But I think that there is a connected between us. And I would like to know. I would hear of Broddring Kingdom, and the Blue Divide, and so many things that I’ve never learned about.” He paused for a moment, as if he was struggling with some internal voice. She wondered if it was his uncle’s. She recalled how he described his uncle’s voice as an influential presence in his mind. He’d even admitted that an earlier part of their conversation had been his uncle’s words rather than his own. How much of an impact do his uncle’s teachings have on him? She wondered, suddenly struck with an immense curiosity.

Having never known his parents, Teiris’ uncle would have been the father figure in his life. Such a role would have given the man the ability to directly impact that man Teiris became. Parents and the people children grew up around were influential in a person’s development. Without his uncle, Teiris would have lived a completely different life. His uncle was the one who first cultivated the killer instinct present in every creature, the one who made him capable of escaping from the Hand and the one who made him able to prevent them from recapturing him. Regardless of the cost. That mentality required a measure of brutality and violence that Araseth suspected had not been Teiris’ natural inclination. Killing was natural. It was a necessary component of survival. It was instinctual. However, that ability to contemplate and plan a kill that was not necessary for survival was something very few creatures, if any, were born with. Circumstance and experience were responsible for those who were capable of such atrocities. Something in Teiris’ life allowed him to murder, and Araseth was of the opinion that it started with his uncle.

“After all, you were gracious enough to listen to my prattle.” He continued, unaware of her mental ruminations. “I can at least return the favor. Sometimes it’s good to just tell someone. And I think,” He met her eyes firmly as he said this, visibly trying to lift her thoughts from her mind through the medium of her eyes. “That you’ve been swallowing it back for far too long.” He finished, settling himself more comfortably on the floor.

Silence filled the room once more as he finished speaking, and she found herself oddly reluctant to fill it. Regardless of the fact that she offered to tell him about her past, habits were hard to break. She’d always been a private person, and it was proving extremely difficult to reveal information about herself that she had never told to anyone. She found herself wondering where and how to begin. How did one condense a story of more than two centuries into one conversation? Did she even want to tell him all of it? She’d offered to tell him her story, but that didn’t means he had to reveal all her secrets. Some things should be kept from the human race. How much did they even know about elves? She was willing to bet that the only things humans knew about her race were the things they learned on the battle field. Where else would they come into contact with each other? They had very little in common. Their values, their beliefs, their morals. They were all radically different. There was no common ground for the two races to meet in peace on. Was it her right to tell a human as attentive as Teiris about her race; she, who had never even really been part of the elven race? But, how would he emerge from this encounter with an accurate image of her people and her encounters with his people if he did not hear the whole story? He had been honest with her, she felt bound to reciprocate that trust.

Suddenly, she knew where to begin.

“I am one hundred and thirty-six years old. Still young by the standards of my race, but ancient in the measure of most of the creatures on this earth. I was born in the small city of Osilon in the forest of Du Weldenvarden a little less than a century before the Blue Divide, and a decade or two before humans arrived in Alagaesia.” She paused to measure his reaction to the span of time her life encompassed. His nineteen years was infinitesimal in comparison. And yet, he had seen a lot more of the world in that amount of time than any elven children did before their twentieth year. Perhaps the faster pace of his life was a result of his shorter life span, or maybe his experience was unique. She put the thought aside for later and focused on his face. The only hint of emotion she could detect was a spark of curiosity in his steely eye, and when he continued to meet her gaze steadily, she went on with her narrative.

“Osilon was beautiful. I can still recall the presence of the trees, so calm and reassuring in their age.” She closed her eyes, remembering the walks she used to take through the forest outside of the city when she was still discovering her gift. She could almost picture the vast canopies that spread overhead like a blanket. Only the strongest sunlight pierced the heavy boughs of the old trees around the city. There were few marked paths through the forest. Mostly, she’d followed deer paths. After a few years, she could navigate the forest as easily as her own home. She could still recall the smell the heady perfume of the wisteria that grew in thick white and purple flowered vines up the side of her house, and the musty scent of rich black earth. “There was a feeling of contentment and harmony there that is absent even here where I have kept humans at bay for several decades. My people and nature have lived together for as long as our elders can remember. It is our legacy.” She paused a moment, considering how to proceed. She decided to follow his example. “I was fortunate enough to know my parents, even though our relationship was far from perfect. Different values, I guess. They were called Altorno and Bamorien. They were exceptionally gifted with weapons of all kinds, but my father favored the bow and arrow, and my mother blades of all kinds. My father was the one who taught me how to shoot a bow.” She remembered spending hours down at the practice range with him, her arm covered with mean red welts from the bite of the bowstring. She rubbed the underside of her forearm unconsciously. She remembered him saying, ”the only way you’ll learn to shoot correctly is through feeling the pain of doing it incorrectly.” “He was a ruthless task master.” She told Teiris, opening her eyes to stare at the ceiling. “He made me work and work and work with my bow until I couldn’t feel my fingers. I became one of the best, but I hated it.”

She smiled wryly at the memory, wishing she’d known how soon she’d lose him, and how much she’d miss his stern nature. She wondered if she would have tried harder to work through their differences if she'd known. "In my youth, I was a very different person. I never contemplated violence as a method for solving disputes, and it never occurred to me to resist my father. I was passive, and avoided confrontation at all costs. I preferred the company of plants and animals over my own kind. It seemed easier to me to suffer the unpleasantness of learning to wield knives and the bow so that I might retreat to the forest without any objection from my parents. They were very close-minded people, and looked on my venture into the forest with poorly veiled distaste. If I'd refused my combat lessons, then it is probable that they would have prevented me from 'squandering' my time in the forest in retaliation."

“It was around that time that I began to hear the voices. It started off slowly. I heard and saw small strings of nonsense when I walked with my parents in the forest, or while I was making chains of flowers for my hair. It was a foreign language to me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t make sense of it, and that frightened me.” She remembered the feelings of helplessness and fear that had flooded through her, and she remembered wondering if she was going insane. Even among a magical race, hearing voices and seeing images was an unusual occurrence. She decided she couldn’t risk telling anyone until she understood what she as hearing. "I was afraid to tell my parents. I feared that they would think I was insane. The only reason I remained confident in my own sanity was because of my oldest friend, Vomira. We'd been companions for our entire lives. Our parents were friends, and we spent a lot of time together. She was my other half, my opposite in every way. Where I was passive and calm, she was fiery and fierce. She preferred to solve disagreements with fighting rather than words. The only thing we ever shared was a love for nature, but it was enough to bind us together." Her eyes began to burn. It still hurt to think of Vomira. Araseth felt her absence like a fierce ache in her heart, like a part of her was missing. Nothing seemed to fill the void.

“Soon I began to hear and see more, and I realized that I’d been trying to build puzzles with only half the pieces.” She told him, ignoring the tightness in her throat. “I remember the day when I finally understood what it was I was hearing and seeing were the conversations of the plants and animals around me. It felt like I’d been blind to the world for my entire life, like I had another sense I’d never used. It was glorious. Like seeing the sun for the first time.” Araseth paused, searching for words that could convey the amazement and wonder she’d felt that day. “I don’t even know how to explain it to you.” She admitted after a moment, looking down from the ceiling to meet his stare. “Animals and plants are so different from elves and humans, but they’re also easier to understand, in a way. They’re simple, ruled by instinct and the desire to survive. They don’t have ambitions, and they never take more than they need. It’s… refreshing.” She offered him another shrug, unable to express anything beyond that. It was something that was automatically understood or something completely incomprehensible. She discovered that there really was no in between.

“Like any happy child, I turned to my parents with my discovery.” She could not prevent the bitterness that tinged her words at the memory of their reaction to her news. “They weren’t happy.” An understatement. “My father was always a very stubborn man, and he was the variety that preferred to pretend things that bothered him did not exist. I became one of those things. My mother followed his example as she did in everything.” The bitterness spiked, coating her tongue with a taste reminiscent of bile. It was like a slap in the face. She’d been devastated by their cold indifference to her childish excitement and pride. It was as if her parents had suddenly become different people, and afterwards, her relationship with them was never the same. "Without Vomira, I do not know how I would have managed. She consoled me, and pushed me to continue exploring my abilities. She made the pain of my parents' rejection more bearable. She was driven inexorably by her own fire, and never needed anyone's approval." The knot in her throat convulsed, robbing her of her voice for a moment.

“I learned later that he was jealous of my abilities. You see, after elven children reach the age of twenty-five, they’re required to go to Ilirea to train their magic. Like everything else, Vomira and I went to the city of the Riders together. We excelled at different things, but never grew apart. It was there, in the extensive library of the Riders, that I learned of the existence of House Norreplith. They were an old line of nobility that lived in a small, isolated village in Du Weldenvarden called Nadindel. They were famed for their ability to sing trees into homes, weapons, and art of unrivaled beauty. It seemed too much of a coincidence for an elven House to have similar abilities to mine as well as the same name, and after my training was complete, I left Ilirea to visit Nadindel. It was tough to leave Vomira, but we promised to meet again in Osilon. She planned to return there to continue training with her parents. They were cut from the same cloth as my parents, and spent all their time on the practice courts.” Hope, joy, anticipation at the prospect of meeting someone else like her who could teach her, who would understand. The trip to Nadindel seemed excruciatingly long in the face of her excitement.

“There, I met my grandmother Didor. She taught me how to control my magic and, perhaps far more important, about my family history. About my father’s history. Altorno of House Norreplith grew up in Nadindel, the son of one of the most accomplished tree singers Du Weldenvarden. Everyone expected great things from him as the heir to his mother’s legacy. No one was more disappointed than Didor when he turned out to have a passion for violence rather than nature and healing. He preferred to spend his days training than learning the family magic, something he never excelled at. In an attempt to force him to take up the family mantle, she made him choose between his weapons and his family. He chose to leave Nadindel and move to Osilon, leaving his family behind. Needless to say, Didor was overjoyed when I showed up.” The decades she’d spent with Didor had been the best of her life. They were constantly exploring, pushing the limits of her talents in attempts to discover the limits of her magic and what she could do with it. Araseth often wondered if her entire life would have been peaceful like that if her father had made the decision to stay in Nadindel. “I was everything my father was not. I could do everything she could and more.” She indicated the table that was formed seamlessly out of the wall next to her. “Creating that is one of my talents. It’s called singing. I can sing anything I want out of wood without harming the plant in any way. I can also speak to animals and plants, as I said earlier. I can even heal them. We have a bond, something more intimate than any normal relationship. I understand them in a way I’ve never been able to understand humans or elves. Even Vomira.”

Araseth inhaled deeply, preparing herself for the next part of her story. No one, not even Didor knew what transpired after she’d returned to Osilon. “After a few decades with my grandmother, I left Nadindel to return to Osilon. I foolishly hoped that I could somehow change my father’s mind. I wanted to make him accept my magic and his heritage. I also wanted to see Vomira again. I wanted to know if she’d achieved her desire of becoming a master at the art of combat like out parents.” She closed her eyes, picturing that day. The images and emotions flowed through her mind as fresh and crystalline as the day she’d experienced them. “She had. She was a hardened warrior by the time I returned. Our paths had separated. We were very different people, but the bond between us remained unchanged. I imagined our meeting to be a joyous reunion, sweetened by the long years we’d been apart. Instead, I was greeted with a swift hello and then brushed aside. Osilon was preparing for war. I did not know it then, but the relationship between my race and yours had become worse over the years, and the humans were planning to invade Du Weldenvarden. Years before, Palancar had requested that humans be included in the ancient pact between elves and dragons. He essentially wanted humans to become Dragon Riders. Our queen, Dellanir, rejected his proposal immediately, and Palancar began to hate and fear my race for its power. He coveted the wisdom and strength; the gifts age had given my race. Convinced that Broddring’s military strength and their superior numbers could best the elves, Palancar planned an invasion. Osilon was to be one of the first targets. My parents and Vomira planned to fight for our home.”

“I begged them not to, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. They considered it their duty to protect Osilon from the humans. Vomira asked me to stay and fight with them, but I fled like the coward I was, heedless of the terrible sense of foreboding that lingered in the back of my mind. I hid in the forest just outside of the city until the first sounds of fighting reached my ears. Suddenly, I could not bear to sit idle while my dearest friend and my family fought. I raced back to the city just in time…” Her voice failed her, and she lifted her legs from the floor to hug her knees. She felt like a child again, frightened of the dark, but she couldn’t force herself to care what Teiris thought of her. “Just in time to see my mother slain.” She finally said, staring sightlessly through her broken doorway and into the blue light of the forest at dawn. “It took seven human soldiers to bring her down. I saw the blood running down her fair skin as they sliced cut after cut into her skin. Each strike was closer to being fatal.” She remembered her mother’s fierce look of concentration as she dodged the human’s blades, taking blows that would have been her death with her arms even as she pirouetted gracefully to deliver a killing blow whichever of the seven got too near. “I was… too slow. Even as I shot them from the edge of the forest, one of them pierced her side. She bled to death before I could get there.” Wide-staring hazel eyes, glazed and lifeless in a pale face devoid of blood. “My father died shortly after. He put himself between me and one of their archers. The arrow hit him in the throat.” The wet gurgle of his throat as he tried to breath, and the streak of blood he left on her when he stroked her cheek. The muted thud of his body hitting the ground next to her mother. The image of their intertwined hands was branded into her mind. “He held her hand as he died.” She told Teiris.

Tears were streaming freely down her face, and her voice rose a few pitches as she struggled to speak around the pinched feeling in her throat. “I killed the men who killed my mother and shot the archer who killed my father.” She spoke without inflection, but pangs of self-loathing and hatred for the Empire coursed through her in waves. “It’s my fault that my father died. If I had stayed in the forest, he wouldn’t have died to save me. And yet, maybe if I’d stayed to fight in the beginning I could have saved my mother, or Vomira.” The choked feeling in her throat increased. “Soon after my parents were killed, the humans fled. Not many of my people were left standing. Bodies littered the ground. It was stained red. I can still remember the horrible stench that permeated the air. Blood, feces, fear, desperation, hopelessness. I can’t forget it. I dream about it every night.” She told him, looking down at her knees. She didn’t want to see the look of revulsion on his face. She didn’t want to hear his voice in her head telling her that she could have saved them.

“It took me a week to realize that Vomira’s body wasn’t there. I couldn’t stop the surge of hope that flared within me at the chance that she might still be alive. I left Osilon immediately, following the rather conspicuous trail the human soldiers left through my forest. It took me a month to catch them. It turned out that they had a cavalry unit stationed with extra horses just outside Du Weldenvarden, but I can run for days without rest. When they stopped to sleep at night, I kept going. I finally spotted them just outside the human city of Carvala. They’d taken about a dozen elves prisoner. I don’t know what they planned to do with them. The only good thing that came out of the situation was that they never got them to the city.” She grimaced at the memory, but forced herself to continue. I’ve told Teiris this much. I might as well finish. She thought. “There were a hundred humans soldiers. I knew I couldn’t take them all. I decided to reduce their number one at a time. I stationed myself just outside their camp and picked off all the scouts and guards they sent out to keep watch. It was a very slow process, but it was working. At least, it was at first. I underestimated their organization. After the first night they knew something was wrong, but it took them a few more days to figure out why I was killing them. Then the captain of the group,” Bastard. She raged, clenching her hands into fists. “ordered all of the prisoners to be killed.”

“I tried to save her. When I saw what was happening I tried to get to her, but again I was too slow. Vomira was one of the first ones they killed. She was bruised all over. One of her eyes was swollen shut, and her lips were split. Her clothing was torn and all of her weapons had been stripped from her. They had been beating her. She was one of the only ones that showed signs of abuse. Many of their prisoners were children and elders. They weren’t able to resist like Vomira. I guess they thought abusing her would make her more manageable. It didn’t I could see the strength in her even as the soldiers came end her life.” The tears began to flow more heavily as her words failed her. She didn’t know how to convey what she’d felt when she realized that she would be unable to save her dearest friend, the sister of her soul. There had been fierce sadness, but also pride in her friend for being so strong. “I tried so hard to save her, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t save any of them. I wasn’t strong enough. I barely escaped that camp with my life.

“I think that was when I began to change. I embraced the hatred I could feel in my soul, and slaughtered every man the captain sent after me and left them hanging from the tree at the front of their camp for all of the men to see. After a few days, the captain decided it wasn’t worth losing men to capture me.” They’d retreated like rabbits racing for their hole. She’d followed them all the way to the city gates, picking off men who allowed themselves to fall to the back of the group. The vicious stab of pleasure she felt at the memory steadied her, and gave her the strength to finish her story. “Before then I had never considered killing another creature out of anger or for revenge. I’d never harbored pernicious intentions toward another living creature, either. Losing loved ones can change a person. I’m sure you understand.” She told him, recalling how many people he had lost to Broddring.

“I followed them to the city, and searched until I found their base. It was immediately apparent that I had no chance. The numbers housed in the barracks were unimaginable. There were thousands of them. I was forced to retreat. In any case, I could not have stayed in the city for any longer. The human capital is built on a foundation of slaughtered plants. Animals around the city pleaded with me to end the hunting and the destruction of their homes. Most of the houses and buildings were made from the carcasses of trees. All that slaughter was needless and it made me sick to be around all of that pain. Even though I could not manage it that day, I made a promise that I would return to get revenge for my parents and Vomira. One day I’ll return to kill the man that led the attack on Osilon.” Suddenly, the strength her anger had given her fled, and she hugged her knees tighter to her chest, ignoring the flare of pain in her shoulder. She glanced up to meet Teiris’ stony eyes. His features were blurred by the tears that filled her eyes and poured down her face. “I can still see his face. No matter what I do, I cannot seem to forget it. But maybe that’s a good thing.” She admitted, clenching her lips against the sob that threatened to escape her.

She sat in silence for a moment, trying to steady herself. She wiped the tears from her face and dried her eyes, and said, as steadily as she could manage, “Looking back, I can see crossroads at which the course of my life could have been altered, but there is no point in looking back. I cannot change what I have become. But that's my story, and that's why I regard your race with such absolute hatred.”

[Angmor]

Teiris had read many stories in his life. While his uncle’s library had been sparse with fiction, he would occasionally spend money on the occasional good novel or epic. Such stories were usually filled with mystical lands, strange creatures, and the tremendous exploits of immortal beings. If Teiris shut his eyes and disconnected himself from the current situation, he could easily believe that he was hearing another one of such stories, related by a professional storyteller on some street corner. And yet, even a story so amazing was made even more fantastic by the fact that it was all real.
Even her first words astounded him. She was one-hundred and thirty-six years old. One-hundred and thirty-six years old. Before today, that was a number that he would have only equated with shipping manifest, or a cargo weight, or perhaps a monetary value for a small king’s ransom. But never for a person’s age. As she reckoned it, she had been alive before his great grandfather had even arrived on the continent. And still young. Suddenly, Teiris found that he observed her with new eyes. As so many things in the world grew old and turned to dust, she had remained immovable, watching the ages of the world pass her by untouched. Untouched, but certainly not unchanged. And even more, she would still be alive to watch as his own years were spent, and would remain long after he had ceased to be. It was a sobering thought. It suddenly cast his problems in a new light. It made him feel very small.
Even so, he listened hungrily, feeling the stirrings of a curiosity he had forgotten he possessed. He had the sense that he was being granted something very special here. A glimpse into a world that could never be his own.

He listened, aching to understand as she described for him the forest city of Osilon. If not for the picture on the wall, he would have absolutely no basis for his imaginings. He had been a city-dweller all his life, but that seemed to equate to something entirely different in her world. To him, a city meant noise, and dirt, and confined places, and the crowding that came with so much life concentrated in a small area. While he still enjoyed the existence, it was a far cry from the wind and light and peace that Araseth described. Come to think of it, there was also a wide gap between that and what he saw around him now. For all its happy start, this story could not continue to go so well.
"I was fortunate enough to know my parents, even though our relationship was far from perfect." Araseth continued, still with a sort of neutral hesitation. Her tone was clinical and detached, as if she was speaking of someone else. Perhaps she was. "Different values, I guess. They were called Altorno and Bamorien. They were exceptionally gifted with weapons of all kinds, but my father favored the bow and arrow, and my mother blades of all kinds. My father was the one who taught me to shoot a bow."
Teiris noted the movement to her arm, making him think of the scrape on his own wrist that still sent out little pulses of pain. It was his first, and considering the results of that shot, it would surprise anyone. How many times had Araseth experienced that pain? Hundreds, if not more. From what he had seen in the forest that day, her father hadn't just taught her to shoot. He had taught her to place a small wedge of metal wherever the hell she thought one should be, whenever she thought it should be there. The cost for such a skill had to be enormous.
"He was a ruthless task master." She confirmed an instant later. "He made me work and work and work with my bow until I couldn't feel my fingers. I became one of the best, and I hated it."
Teiris pondered as she told him of her childhood, of her early differences with her parents, and her solitary retreats into the forest. He found that despite the fantastic setting, he could relate to her very well on that score. As he had grown into his early teens, he had been absorbed into a small company of noble children around his age, but he had never particularly enjoyed their fellowship. When he left the house, one or more of them was usually there, instigating the youthful mischief expected at that age. It had been valuable time by the world's reckoning, but he preferred privacy with his own thoughts to their constant chatter about parties and clothes and expensively bred horses. His uncle had also provided no guidance. He did not care what his nephew did, so long as he showed improvement in the prescribed areas. Tierce had been a slavedriver in his own right, but the major difference was that Teiris had greatly enjoyed their daily drills. In hindsight, he supposed it was because they had been the only challenge he had in those days. Though if he had ever considered resisting, his uncle and Araseth's father probably would have reacted about the same way.

"It was about that time that I began to hear the voices." Araseth continued, pulling his full attention back to the story. "It started off slowly. I heard and saw small strings of nonsense when I walked with my parents in the forest, or while I was making chains of flowers for my hair. It was a foreign language to me. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't make sense of it, and that frightened me."
Teiris couldn't imagine. As a child, suddenly finding that she had something that no one else did...
"I was afraid to tell my parents. I feared that they would think I was instant. The only reason I remained confident in my own sanity was because of my oldest friend, Vomira We'd been companions for our entire lives. Our parents were friends, and we spent a lot of time together. She was my other half, my opposite in every way. Where I was passive and calm, she was fiery and fierce. She preferred to solve disagreements with fighting rather than words The only thing we ever shared was a love for nature, but that was enough to bind us together."
She paused for a second, her eyes filled with a half-concealed pain. Strangely, Teiris found himself analyzing the story as if it was a book, guessing at later events by the hints dropped by the author. However important a character was this Vomira, he guessed that her eventual fate had not been happy. It was also interesting to him that, if not for the different name attached, he would have thought Araseth had not been describing her best friend, but herself.
"Soon I began to hear and see more, and I realized that I'd been trying to build puzzles with only half the pieces. I remember the day when I finally understood what I was hearing and seeing were the conversations of plants and animals around me. It felt like I'd been blind to the world for my entire lifelike I had another sense I'd never used. It was glorious. Like seeing the sun for the first time."
Teiris placed a mental confirmation on a note he'd made earlier that night. So, he had been right. There was an odd kind of awareness there.
------
For the first time, Araseth was able to look at him. For a second, he thought he caught a glimpse of what the old Araseth must have looked like. An immortal child with sudden understanding of an ability that made her special. There was even a hint of a smile on her lips as she finally braved his gaze.
"I don't even know how to explain it to you." She said almost apologetically. "Animals and plants are so different from elves and humans, but they're also easier to understand, in a way. They're simple, ruled by instinct and the desire to survive. They don't have ambitions, and they never take more than they need. It's... refreshing."
Teiris found himself nodding his head. He didn't fully understand, and he doubted that he ever would. But he knew what it was to suddenly find that he could do something that no one else could. Of course, he had come by it at a late age, and the experience held nothing but terror. But he could imagine what it would have been like as a child. And he had seen enough outward evidence of her gift in that one night alone to believe every word she said. He realized suddenly that he had never thought of a plant or an animal in that way. In his mind, anything in nature was just a thing. Not something that had thoughts and emotions like people did. He knew that a plant was alive, but... Never in that way. To his own surprise, he found himself with a welter of questions. Would a tree care when it was being felled? Did the animals of the forest cry out for a savior with the hounds close behind? He didn't know, and he had never thought to care. Shaking his head slightly, he resolved to think more on the subject as Araseth went on.
"Like any happy child, I turned to my parents with my discovery," She said, the wisp of a smile disappearing like a tendril of mist before the wind. "They were not happy."

She went on to describe her sudden and total rejection by her parents, with all the pain and betrayal such a thing brought with it. Teiris could not even begin to imagine. He had never known his own parents, although he had plenty of evidence that they hadn't wanted him. And while he had respected his uncle, he had never loved him. He had never grown close enough to anyone for a betrayal to truly hurt him, which left him without a precedent of how it had to hurt.
"Without Vomira, I do not know how I would have managed. She consoled me, and pushed me to continue exploring my abilities. She made the pain of my parents' rejection more bearable. She was driven inexorably by her own fire, and never needed anyone's approval." The words caught in her throat then. Teiris waited in respect, unsure of any other way he could comfort her or show support. She probably did not need either, anyway. She needed to face it alone. "I learned later that she was jealous of my abilities." She went on at last. "You see, after elven children reach the age of twenty-five, they are required to go to Ilirea to train their magic."
Teiris fetl as if he had been struck by a small bolt of lighting, shooting upright in his seat.
Ilirea. The City of Riders.
He had not heard the name for a long while, years at the very least. And even then, he had only ever heard it in conjunction with fanciful stories of the Dragon Riders, the great heroes of legend, and perversely, the murders, oathbreakers and despised elf-friends. Cloistered in the Tears, he had wondered sometimes if they truly existed. Now it seemed that he would know better.
She ended up speaking very briefly on the subject, with her only value in the experience the discovery of relatives she had never known about. It seemed that her father had been the black sheep, the relative no one spoke of, the loner, all of the things that he had heard whispered of his father.
Probably would have got on famously, our dads… He thought idly to himself.
“I was everything my father was not. I could do everything she could and more.” She went on, gesturing to the table beside her with her good arm. “Creating that is one of my talents. It’s called singing. I can sing anything I want out of wood without harming the plant in any way.”
That, Teiris thought, would be handy.
“I can also speak to animals and plants, as I said earlier. I can even heal them. We have a bond, something more intimate than any normal relationship. I understand them in a way I’ve never been able to understand humans or elves. Even Vomira.”
He considered such a thing. At first, he thought it a bit sad, that she felt a greater kinship with inanimate objects than she did with real, breathing people. And yet, how could he talk? He had never enjoyed such a relationship with anyone, except…
Except Myrei. And she’s gone.
He forcefully wrenched his thoughts away, tracking back to Araseth’s story. So. The setup was complete. From everything that she had said so far, she could have led an idyllic life in Nadindel, hugging her trees, never harming a soul. Something had to happen to bring her here, to this terrible foregone conclusion that he saw before him. And he wasn’t sure now that he wanted to hear it. It could only be another nightmare to add to his ever-growing collection. And yet, he had to listen. He had to.

“After a few decades with my grandmother, I left Nadindel to return to Osilon. I foolishly hoped that I could somehow change my father’s mind. I wanted to make him accept my magic and his heritage. I also wanted to see Vomira again. I wanted to know if she’d achieved her desire of becoming a master at the art of combat like our parents.” Araseth shut her eyes, her breath hissing through a tight throat. “She had. She was a hardened warrior by the time I returned. Our paths had separated. We were very different people, but the bond between us remained unchanged. I imagined our meeting to be a joyous reunion, sweetened by the long years we’d been apart. Instead, I was greeted with a swift hello and then brushed aside. Osilon was preparing for war. I did not know it then, but the relationship between my race and yours had become worse over the years, and the humans were planning to invade Du Weldenvarden. Years before, Palancar had requested that humans be included in the ancient pact between elves and dragons. He essentially wanted humans to become Dragon Riders. Our queen, Dellanir, rejected his proposal immediately, and Palancar began to hate and fear my race for its power. He coveted the wisdom and strength; the gifts age had given my race. Convinced that Broddring’s military strength and their superior numbers could best the elves, Palancar planned an invasion. Osilon was to be one of the first targets. My parents and Vomira planned to fight for our home.”
Teiris felt his heart beat a bit faster. There it was at last. The story that he had never before heard. Palancar’s Slaughter. The Blue Divide. The war that had shattered the country and sat like a bloodstained boulder dropped into the river history, diverting the course of so many fortunes.
Including, it seemed, the life of Araseth.
“I begged them not to, but my pleas fell on deaf ears. They considered it their duty to protect Osilon from the humans. Vomira asked me to stay and fight with them, but I fled like the coward I was, heedless of the terrible sense of foreboding that lingered in the back of my mind. I hid in the forest just outside of the city until the first sounds of fighting reached my ears. Suddenly, I could not bear to sit idle while my dearest friend and my family fought. I raced back to the city just in time…” Her voice stopped working for a moment. Suddenly, she was no longer strong, powerful, or detached. She curled into a tight ball, rocking slightly back and forth. Teiris had done the same thing in his youth, alone in his room during thunderstorms. He now felt that same sense of foreboding he had felt in those days, the terrible anticipation of the next crack and rumble to shake him to the bone. But the next words were not a peal of thunder. The next words were a whisper.
“Just in time to see my mother slain.”

“It took seven human soldiers to bring her down. I saw the blood running down her fair skin as they sliced cut after cut into her skin. Each strike was closer to being fatal.” Her eyes were open, staring sightlessly into the void. Teiris knew that she was seeing that day behind her eyes, undimmed through the ages. Some things didn’t need perfect memory in order to be relived.
“I was… too slow. Even as I shot them from the edge of the forest, one of them pierced her side. She bled to death before I could get there. My father died shortly after. He put himself between me and one of their archers. The arrow hit him in the throat.”
She looked at him then, her eyes wide and bloodshot, streaming freely with tears.
“He held her hand as he died.”

“I killed the men who killed my mother and shot the archer who killed my father.” She said at last, looking away. Even so, the raw pain in her eyes left an afterimage that would not leave his mind.
“It’s my fault that my father died. If I had stayed in the forest, he wouldn’t have died to save me. And yet, maybe if I’d stayed to fight in the beginning I could have saved my mother, or Vomira.”
And there it was. The core of the whole story. Guilt. The torment of all the maybes and the what-ifs. And the worst part was that as he turned it over in his mind, he could not disprove it. He could not pat her on the shoulder with a there-there and explain to her how her fears were unfounded. Perhaps she could have done something. Perhaps things could have been different. He could now vividly imagine how such thoughts could shred the mind and soul. It was an endless loop, with no resolution.
How horrible. Just… horrible.
“Soon after my parents were killed, the humans fled. Not many of my people were left standing. Bodies littered the ground. It was stained red. I can still remember the horrible stench that permeated the air. Blood, feces, fear, desperation, hopelessness. I can’t forget it. I dream about it every night.”
She curled in a little tighter on herself, looking away from him in seeming shame. Teiris felt only pity in his heart. He knew what it was to be haunted by a terrible past. Had she looked, she would have found his own eyes wet with tears.

He listened breathlessly as she went on, her last desperate hope that another could be saved. His heart beat rapidly as she recounted her harrowing chase of the company of the Broddring military, as she waged her own silent war upon them. Now he could see it. He could see her becoming the woman she had seen in the forest the previous evening, the one that had quickly and efficiently killed the men hunting him. But despite her skill, she could not save her friend. More weight to her guilt as all her courses seemed to run ill. The cold anger of her rampage as she hounded them all the way to the gates of Carvalla, and even into the very city itself. And finally, her new calling into the beleaguered forests of the Spine.
“One day I’ll return to kill the man that led the attack on Osilon.” She said at last, her anger and pain subsiding like a well run dry. “I can still see his face. No matter what I do, I cannot seem to forget it. But maybe that’s a good thing.”
Finally, there was silence. She hugged herself tighter, the only sound the tiny creaking of her clothing as she trembled slightly. She looked up at him, her tears glistening like jewels in the light of the sun.
Teiris just waited, his own feelings churning through his mind in a confused array. There was just… So much to take in. He felt as if he was trying to pluck pieces of a puzzle out of a whirlwind and trying to divine meaning from it. How could he even begin to judge what he had heard based on an hour of listening?
He could only wait in respect as Araseth gathered herself, wiping her eyes and smearing the last of the blood pattern on her face. For once, he looked just like any other woman facing incredible sorrow, her eyes puffy and red with grief, her face smeared with tears. Teiris felt closer to her than he ever had before, and the thought gave him a perverse sort of comfort.
“Looking back, I can see crossroads at which the course of my life could have been altered, but there is no point in looking back.” She said at last, her voice still a bit shaky. “I cannot change what I have become. But that's my story, and that's why I regard your race with such absolute hatred.”
The story was at last over.

Teiris stirred, almost feeling awakened from a trance as he blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. He was suddenly aware of everything around him that had been eclipsed by his focus. The fire had burned low, but hot, the logs forming into coals that radiated warmth over his skin. The sun had fully risen as well, pouring through the windows in an unbroken stream that filled the room with light. Motes of dust danced lazily in the illumination, their hypnotizing pattern disturbed here and there by a cool breeze from the north. Teiris shivered slightly. As he looked around him, he found it all looked a bit different to him now. It was like a spoiled act of a performing magician. He knew the secret now. There was no real mystery behind it anymore. Everything he saw before him now had a reason for being here, and a reason that even his tiny mind could grasp. Gone was the Forest Spirit. He knew the true Araseth.

Finally, he set aside his confused thoughts and brought his attention back to her. Her trembling had receded somewhat, and her eyes had become clearer, a bit more collected, a bit more calm. And she was waiting for him to say something. He blew out another careful breath, selecting his words carefully. “That… was quite the story.” He winced inwardly. A bit lame. He tried again. “I… As you said, I thank you for being so honest with me. If I’m not mistaken, there are things you shared here that even your aunt does not know. I’m grateful for that. You’ve made me the wiser on so many things, which will help me to widen my focus in the days to come. And… I hope it was a help to you, as well.”
He looked away, shaking his head. “I can only imagine what you went through. And I can understand why you hate the humans so much, at least a little. I never knew just how close I came to death out there. Again, I thank you.” He hesitated, a thought occurring to him. Should he really be asking this? Would it harm him? Would it suddenly make her decide that she had made the wrong choice and decide to slit his throat? Probably not, but he did not feel like taking the chance. He could wait. Instead, he moved to rise, slowly and carefully levering himself upward with his good leg. After sitting for so long, it felt as if every single joint clicked loudly back into place, and every muscle protested stiffly with their treatment. Except for his buttocks, which had long ago gone numb. Careful not to disturb the wound in his side, he stretched his arms above his head, unable to suppress a yawn. Even by his new standards, this had been a very long night.

“So, what happens now?” He asked Araseth. “Now, after you just about killed me, and after I very nearly shot you. And now that you know me better than anyone, and after I’ve heard your own extensive history, both of which are dark and tragic? How can either of us go on from that?”

[/blockquote]

[Akilinia]

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

Now that she was done speaking, Araseth felt exhausted and heavy. Her limbs felt weak; they trembled when she tried to move them, and her eyes ached from crying. It was the crying that bothered her the most. She could not recall the last time she had shed tears. When her parents were killed and when she failed to save Vomira, there had only been anger and a bone chilling numbness. It was like she had hidden from that pain, that grief, for thirty years, and only the telling of the tale was allowing it to surface now. She felt rubbed raw, like she’d exposed something of herself that had not seen the light for a long time. However, she also felt clean, and there was a feeling calmness in her heart that she had only experienced in Nadindel with Didor before the Blue Divide. It was almost as if the tears began the process of washing away the guilt and anger that had plagued her since the attack on Osilon. And even though it hurt to remember the pain of losing her loved ones and her home, somehow she knew it was necessary. Just as venom needed to be sucked from a snake bite, and stingers needed to be removed from bee stings in order for the injuries to heal, facing her memories and her feelings would help her begin the process of recovering from her past. At least, that was what she hoped.

On the floor in front of her, Teiris shifted his weight, apparently deep in thought. He had yet to say anything. But, perhaps there was not anything to say. What was the correct way to respond when someone revealed their life story, their secrets, and their pain to another person? Words were insufficient. They were simply exhalations of breath through vocal chords; sounds that lingered in the air for mere moments before dissipating in the breeze. They could not convey feelings of sympathy, pity, admiration or their shared pain. Things like that were beyond words. She had discovered that when Teiris was done with his story. The only way to respond to something like what she’d just told him was to match it with a similar experience. Anything else would feel empty, transparent. Of course, he’d already shared most of his experiences. She was not naïve enough to believe that he had exposed all of his secrets to her, but if he had not told her the first time around, he would not tell her now. After all, Araseth had not revealed the finer details of her powers or those of her race. The latter were not her secrets to tell, and the former would take too long to explain.

“That… was quite the story.” He finally said, finally breaking the quiet that had settled around them. No doubt he had come across the very dilemma she had just been considering. He paused for a moment, hesitating, and then forged on. “I… as you said, I thank you for being so honest with me. If I’m not mistaken, there are things you shared here that even your aunt does not know. I’m grateful for that. You’ve made me the wiser on so many things, which will help me to widen my focus in the days to come. And… I hope it was a help to you, as well.” For a moment he seemed to be at a loss for words. He looked down and shook his head. “I can only imagine what you went through. And I can understand why you hate the humans so much, at least a little. I never knew just how close I came to death out there. Again, I thank you.”

She found that, as she imagined, his words sounded empty to her. She was glad that her mistakes would not be his, but his understanding, surprisingly, did not satisfy her. It was as unnecessary as his condolences and the sympathy he showed her for the sorrows she had been forced to endure. It was only at that moment that she realized that she had been trying to convince him of the terrible nature of his race. She had not been content with being aware of the atrocities they were capable of, some part of her had desired for him to share her pain. She had wanted him to view his race the way she did; as monsters. She had tried to turn him against his own people, and she had attempted to tear his tenuous hold on the idea that there were still good people out there. Was it not enough that she was unable to view humans without hatred? Was her desire for revenge so strong that she would attempt to corrupt a young human? She had no right trying to force him to abhor his own people. She knew from experience, that the path of anger and retribution was a lonely one. It was unfair of her to attempt to lead him down it in an attempt to alleviate her own loneliness. She lived the life she did out of choice. The only thing that kept her in the Spine was her inability to let the man responsible for killing everyone she loved live without knowing the pain she felt.

The blood poured in thick ebony torrents over Araseth’s hands, which she held tightly to the wound in her mother’s side in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. She could feel her mother turning cold in her arms as body heat fled her body. Some distant part of her knew it was too late to do anything, too late to save her, but another part of her, one that sounded remarkably childish, refused to accept that Bamorien was gone. Her mother, who had always been as strong and unyielding as the steel of the blades she wielded, could not be dead. It wasn’t possible. Elves were supposed to live for thousands of years. Her mother had not even celebrated her first millennia. Yet, even as she refused to believe it, her mother’s blank, staring eyes, deathly pale skin, and the pool of blood spreading across the ground in a demented mimicry of the fresh water puddles that formed after summer rain storms provided evidence that was difficult to ignore. More than anything, Araseth wished she could heal people instead of animals. For the first time since she’d come to understand the nature of her gift, she resented it. She balled up her hands into fists and slammed them savagely on the ground, hoping, wishing. Dreams. She thought angrily, stroking her mother’s frozen, familiar face. I cannot heal her, and even if I could, it’s too late now. She’s gone. They killed her.

A loud cry of triumph split the air, wrenching her attention from Bamorien. Araseth looked up to see a human archer with an arrow trained on her. She knew she should feel afraid, but the only emotion she felt was rage. White-hot rage that burned through her veins melting the numbness that had settled over her at the sight of her mother’s body. But even with that rage, she still felt like she was moving in slow motion. She slid out from under her mother’s body, and had just risen to her feet when the human creature fired. She saw the arrow slicing through the air. She could see its metal head glinting in the sun. The tail feathers rippled with the speed of its passage. It was heading straight towards her. The human had been too close when he released the arrow. There was nothing she could do. I’m going to die. She thought. Surprisingly, the thought did not bother her. Soon she would be with her mother, and she would avoid the pain that was certain to follow after the anger and numbness filtered out of her system.

But fate was against her. At the last possible moment, her father appeared out of nowhere and shielded her from the arrow… with his own body. The arrow pierced his throat with a wet thwack, knocking him back into her arms. Blinded by anger, she whipped one of her father’s throwing knives from its sheath and threw it at the human. It pierced him through the heart and pinned him to the tree behind him. The black surge of satisfaction that swelled within her at the sight was foreign to her. She felt sickened. She did not revel in the kill. She never had. What was happening to her?

She realized she was staring at the hilt of her father’s knife, which still quivered slightly where it was embedded in the creature’s chest, and jerked her gaze down to Altorno.

His breathing with labored and she heard a wet splutter every time he inhaled. “Father…” She said, at a loss for words. In that moment all of the years of resentment that had built between them seemed pointless; a waste of time that could have been spent together. Suddenly, she wished that she had tried harder in her archery lessons, and that she had never left Osilon. Where had all their time gone? One minute she was a twenty-five year old child leaving for the white city of Ilirea, and the next she hadn’t seen or spoken with her parents for eighty years. As if he understood what she was thinking, Altorno raised one trembling hand to tuck her hair behind her ear. “My little deer.” He wheezed around the arrow in his throat. With the other hand, he reached out to take Bamorien’s cold fingers in his. For a moment, it felt like they were a family again. But then the light died from his eyes and his hand fell from her cheek to lie, unmoving, on the ground.

A ragged scream of rage, sorrow and anger tore from her lips. It was audible even above the noise of the battle raging around them. Humans and elves alike hesitated, their swords pausing in mid-swing as they tried to locate the source of the noise. Driven by the burning desire for revenge, Araseth laid her father next to her mother, careful not to dislodge their interlaced hands, and stood to peer around the ruined city that had been her home. The shock of her scream had worn off, and the battle continued. Coldly, she pulled her bow off her shoulder and drew an arrow from her quiver. Like her father taught her, she knocked the arrow, drew the string back to her ear, sighted along the wooden shaft, and released. A human fell with the arrow lodged in his throat.

She stood there and shot down any humans she saw until they began to retreat. Araseth missed the signal, but after she dropped her fifth or sixth human, the monsters disengaged the elves they were battling with and raced off into the trees. She turned to watch them run, and saw him. The man sat calmly on a large chestnut stallion at the edge of the clearing. A bright orange sword rested across his lap. It’s blade was stained red with blood. Most remarkably perhaps, and the thing that made her remember him so clearly, was that there was a cruel smile on his bloodstained face as he stared around at the devastation his troops had brought to her home.

She jerked her mind away from the memory, focusing instead on the bright wash of sunlight that filtered through the broken doorway and onto her wooden floor. She did not want to remember anymore. She had stopped seeing her parents’ deaths a long time ago. It had been years since they plagued her dreams, and longer since she’d seen them while she was awake. She could never seem to break the chain. It was always the same. When she did remember, the dreams always started with her holding her mother, and they ended with that man’s face smiling down at her. I’ll kill him. She promised herself again. She’d lost count of how many times she had said it, but she did remember the first time she’d said it out loud. It was when she realized the futility of attacking the human troops while they were in their fortress.

The wall of the barracks was rough beneath her fingers. The rough-hewn wood cut into her skin and threatened to give her splinters if she wasn’t careful. However, Araseth paid it little mind. She was intent on drinking in the features of a man standing just outside of a large wood building. He towered over the men around him, and the tone of his voice suggested that he was ridiculing them for some mistake they’d made. They cowered before him like beaten dogs, making him appear even taller. His heavily scarred hands were balled into fists, and she could see one of the smaller men eying them nervously as if he was waiting to be struck. The man’s uniform was starched and tidy. Not a stitch was loose, and all of the medals and buttons on it gleamed even in the muted sunlight that filtered through the murky clouds that hovered above the human city of Carvala. She could see the flash of his white teeth through his neatly trimmed brown beard, and his hard green eyes stared heavily down at the men around him.

To anyone else, the man might have been handsome, but Araseth had seen the monster that hid beneath his skin. She was not fooled by his easy dimpled smile, the golden hue of his skin, or the streaks of chestnut and blond that were visible in his wavy brown locks. Above all, she remained unimpressed by the beautiful sword that hung around his hips, or the scar that traced a track down his left cheek and the left side of his neck to disappear under his collar. She recognized the orange blade he carried as one of the rider’s swords. She remembered learning that all of the riders had swords that matched their dragon’s scaless made from a special ore by the famed elven smith Rhunon. The weapon was undeniably of elven craft, and she suspected the clean slice that marred his otherwise pleasant visage was caused by the keen edge of the blade when he tried to liberate it from its rightful owner. However, Araseth couldn’t bring herself to care about the dragon and rider who must have perished trying to kill the man. Her mind focused only on one thing; revenge.

She dropped off the barracks wall, and stared up at the sign above it for a while, engraving it into her memory. “I will kill you, Captain Aitan. No matter how long I have to wait.”

She shuddered, firmly repressing the memories. I have indeed released a flood. She thought grimly, forcing herself to focus on Teiris.

He rose off the ground very slowly and stiffly, and stretched his arms above his head. She could see the bandaged she’d wrapped around his mid-rift stretching and could only imagine that the stitches beneath were doing the same thing. Frowning in disapproval, she bit her tongue as he yawned. It’s his own fault if he tears them. She thought sourly, massaging her shoulder with her good hand. The muscles around the wound were beginning to throb painfully as they tightened up. I won’t be fixing them, though. However, she knew that if the poor man did manage to rip them out, that she would sew him up again. Unfortunately, she was becoming fond of Teiris Vorthain. Somehow, he had managed to endear himself to her as no other person had done since Vomira. She was not fond of forming attachments to others, especially when they were human. From experience, she knew losing people she had come to love was painful. That pain wasn’t worth it, especially when it was inevitable that this particular human would be leaving her as soon as his wounds healed.

“So, what happens now?” Teiris asked, breaking into her thoughts again. “Now, after you just about killed me, and after I very nearly shot you. And now that you know me better than anyone, and after I’ve heard your own extensive history, both of which are dark and tragic? How can either of us go on from that?”

She did not respond immediately, but studied him for a moment. He stared curiously down at her, rubbing at the goose flesh that had risen on his bare arms. What did he expect to happen next? Did all humans feel the need to be constantly doing something? And did they all want to know what the future held? “We survive.” She said at last, pushing a strand of hair reminiscent of rabbit and squirrel fur out of her face. “Just like every other creature in the forest. We will hunt and cook and eat. We will gather fire wood and make clothes. And we will tend to the forest.” She told him, pushing herself up from her chair, ignoring the sharp needle of pain that shot down her arm with the movement. She strode to the door where her wolf cloak had been discarded and slung it over her shoulders, fastening the clasp deftly with one hand. She held her injured arm close to her chest, careful not to jostle it further. If she did not irritate it too much, it would heal in a couple of weeks. Her people were naturally fast healers, and she knew a few good poultice remedies she could apply to it. In the mean time, she could hunt with her knife.

The thought gave her pause, and she turned to regard Teiris with a critical eye. She had never considered teaching another the art of archery, but she would need his help. Winter had a firm hold on the Spine, and another pair of trained eyes was always beneficial. Plus, she owed it to her father to pass on his teachings. Now that he was not around to do it the responsibility fell to her. But, would Teiris hold up? Her eyes fell to the bandages around his legs and chest. He had proven himself to have a high tolerance for pain when the bounty hunters had shot him, but could he manage it without the adrenaline coursing through his veins? Well, the only way to know is to let him try. She decided with a mental shrug. That determined, she made her way to the back room. The bed was still messy from when Teiris had slept in it, but the rest of the room was just as she had left it the past morning. Araseth crossed the small space to a large dresser she’d sung from the wall, and removed another wolf pelt from the top drawer. It was larger than the one she wore, and was a deep brindle in color. The clasp at the top was composed of one of the canine teeth from the wolf the pelt had belonged to and a loop of string sewn into the other side. She folded it over her good arm with difficulty and turned to find Teiris peering curiously in from the doorway.

She threw the pelt to him, and slid past him through the doorway and into the main room. She could feel Teiris’ eyes on her back as she bent over to retrieve the bounty hunter bow he’d discarded after shooting her. It was a lot smaller than her ebony one and not as finely crafted, but it was passable. It appeared to be carved from a maple tree, which would make the staff very limber. The string was well oiled and showed no sign of fraying. It was a solid bow; perfect for Teiris to learn on. She bent to pick up the quiver of arrows, and held that and the bow out for Teiris, who had put the wolf pelt on. “Here. I’m going to teach you how to survive. We’re going to start with learning how to shoot a bow, and then, when you’re ready, you will hunt.”

[Angmor]

"We survive."
The answer was cold, hard, unforgiving, a pair of words that somehow managed to encapsulate a complicated idea. The words were a motto, a way of life for any living being that was resolved to continued existence, a mantra to those who were not slowed by difficulty, a creed for any who did what others would not. It was the first and most prevalent law of nature, and it was represented by Araseth herself. "Just like every other creature of the forest. We will hunt and cook and eat. We will gather firewood and make clothes. And we will tend to the forest." She said, rising from her chair to pierce him with her eyes. Even though he was significantly larger than her slight form, Teiris felt dwarfed by the intensity of her gaze. He thought of how weak she had been, so fragile in his arms as he had helped her to the chair only hours before. Traces of that fragility were still there, but it was reinforced by an intractable strength, like a pillar of stone amid a cloud.
Teiris felt his own back straighten slightly, his mouth settling into a grim line.
Right. Practical matters.
Really, it was the only answer to his question, one that he had known all along but had forgotten. He had learned early on, that even on his own, even having escaped from a hell that he would never have imagined, and even on the run with all of the resources of a powerful puppet government on his trail, life did not just stop. Even in an impossible situation, he still had a set of basic needs that could not be ignored. He still needed to eat, drink, sleep, and be warm, just like any other human being. In that way, the course ahead was simple. It was time to go about the business of survival.

As Araseth turned away, Teiris thought that there was something a little different about her behavior towards him. As she moved to retrieve her cloak from where she had left it, it finally struck him what. She was seemingly at ease around him. Her body carried none of the subtle tension he had noticed in her whenever he was in her presence. It was as if he had finally graduated from the level of cautious houseguest to... what, exactly? Housemate? Neighbor? Friend? The final thought gave him pause. Sure, they now knew things about each other that no one else in the world did, but did that make them friends? He wasn't sure, it had been so very long since he'd had a friend. In Araseth's case, it had been decades. Whatever it was, it was a welcome change from the previous day, where he had been constantly wary of her wrath. Even now, that memory felt distant to him. He could no longer ever imagining Araseth as more than just a troubled woman. Now... he decided now that he would not mind having her for a friend, but he suspected that distinction would not be easily earned or bestowed.

Just then, he noticed Araseth's searching eyes on him. Having finished putting on her same fur cloak, she had turned to him, appearing to decide about something to herself. Teiris remained still, unsure of what she was looking for. After a moment, she swept past him, heading determinedly for the dwelling's second room.
Well, she'll tell you when she's ready. He decided. You had better get dressed too.
Careful to favor his injured leg, he followed Araseth. Using the doorway as a support, he carefully edged his way into a crouch beside the unruly pile of possessions that Araseth had removed the previous night. His tunic was in sorry condition. Of course, it hadn't been anything impressive when he had stolen it from a washline weeks before, but at least then it had been white. Since then, it had faded to a dingy grey color, complete with a large bloodstain where the arrow had pierced his side. In that same area, the material sported a long rent, probably where Araseth had cut through it in her hurry to bandage his wound. Even so, the garment was serviceable.
He slipped it over his head, immediately feeling somewhat human again. He then slipped on his boots, lacing the left one loosely around his bandaged leg, followed by his newly acquired belt and dagger. His coat, however, was in worse condition. Having suffered a similar slash to the right side as the tunic, one of the trailing edges was now hanging awkwardly backwards, enough to tangle his legs as he walked. A pity. He had bought that coat legitimately, and it had served him well since. Its thick leather was even the reason he wasn't killed by the first arrow. Still, he supposed his could sew up the rent, or cut off the lower edges to turn it into a jacket...
It was then that he noticed what Araseth was up to. She found her standing over him, offering him a length of thick grey fur dusted here and there with darker waves of color. Feeling a frown, he took it, finding it to be a pelt from the same animal as the blanket lying rumpled on the bed beside him. Further examination revealed it to be cut in the shape of a cloak, nearly identical to Araseth's own.
Problem solved, he thought, feeling the warmth through his fingers. It was the perfect garment for keeping out the winter chill. Sweeping the pelt of his shoulders, his fingers fumbled with primitive clasp, watching Araseth carefully as she picked through the wreckage of the floor. She straightened up a moment later, her hand grasping of familiar, unwelcome shape; the bounty-hunter's bow. Teiris could not help but recoil slightly as she offered it to him, along with the simple leather quiver. It was the same bow that had buried two arrows in his flesh. The same bow he had then used to wrongly injure her. He found it difficult to think that any good could come from such a weapon.
"Here," Araseth urged, her voice flat, matter-of-fact. "I'm going to teach you how to survive. We're going to start with learning how to shoot a bow, and then, when you're ready, you will hunt."

Teiris was suddenly torn. He recognized immediately that there were two ways he could respond. The first and most preferable would be to shy away, deferring to his injuries, his stress, his fatigue, and his belief in the bow as a bad omen. All were perfectly viable excuses, and he could hardly be blamed for citing them. Any normal person would be incapable of such a strenuous activity after what he had been through, and no one should be expected to. Or he could gut it up, doing what a normal person would not, and become stronger as a result. So long as he was careful not to do anything permanently damaging, he could ignore his pain and learn a valuable skill from an already demonstrated master of the craft, one that would likely serve him well in the coming days. For several seconds, the conflicting choices battled back and forth. Finally, Teiris clenched his teeth in resolution.
We survive.
Nodding once, he took the proffered weapon, slipping the strap of the quiver over his shoulder, so that the tube rested atop the cloak.
"Right." He said, squaring his shoulders experimentally. "I'm grateful for the opportunity to learn from you. I'll try to be as good a student as you were. I'm not up to full strength, but I still offer you my best."
What was his best, he wondered? He supposed that he would shortly find out.

[/blockquote]

[Akilinia]

The bow branched across the distance between them, separating them, dividing them. It signified a measurable difference in their mentalities. While Teiris was undeniably good at surviving, he did not grasp the full meaning of the word. He did not understand how the act of survival differed from the life style. Surviving an ambush, a blizzard, a drought, or passage through the mountains during the heart of winter was a skill just like shooting a bow or learning to hunt. To survive; to keep existing regardless of what destiny cast across ones path; to see nothing but the path that led to life. That was the life style. It was a perpetual state of being that could not be flipped on and off so that one might traverse the mountain or manage to find food despite the heavy whirl of snow that forced all sane creatures to locate shelter. It was something that influenced every thought, every action one had. That difference between Araseth and Teiris was why Teiris hesitated to take up the weapon responsible for the arrow wounds in his flesh, and the one in her arm. He would see it as the source of that pain, that agony, and the weapon of his enemy while she only saw it as a serviceable weapon for him to learn the art of archery on. However, regardless of how one looked at it, the bow was only a maple tree sapling that had been stripped, shaped and made supple with animal fat until it would yield to the bow string.

She could see Teiris warring with himself. His eyes were fixed on the bow, but he stared at it without actually seeing it. It was tough to overcome one’s natural inclination, and humans were a superstitious species who preferred to live in comfort when they had the opportunity. She wondered if he would be able to set aside his human inclinations in order to seize what she was offering him. From what she knew of him, Teiris was one to push past discomfort and pain in his desire for knowledge. And, based on his position in the eyes of the law, he would need the skills he could learn from her. Araseth had had very little contact with human law enforcement, or the Paladins he spoke of, but she had seen Teiris fight. The ability he exhibited when he fought with the bounty hunters and when he shot her was nothing more than pure instinct shaped by Hand’s continued pursuit of him. However, she had seen the potential in him. There had been no hesitation in his movements and no regret afterwards. He was strong. And according to nature, only the strong should survive. She thought, running her thumb over the smooth grain of the bow’s staff.

[/i]It’s the natural order of things. Nature wants her children to be strong. That is why the wolf hunts the deer with the twisted limb, and why the grizzly bear catches the slowest fish; so each new generation is stronger, faster, and smarter than the last.[/i]

However, Araseth knew that strength was not necessarily a trait inherited through blood. It could also be a choice; one that Teiris was struggling to make. What she was asking him to do required him to become a predator when he had spent his whole life being prey to others who were stronger than him. All he had ever done was run. Even when he attacked the bounty hunters that were after him it was not aggression or courage. It was the last desperate strike of an animal that knows it’s cornered and out of options. It had been a hasty, weak attack that managed to catch the hunter off guard. It had been enough to allow him to survive in that situation, but eventually his luck would run out. He would find himself in a predicament that required skills that he did not yet possess, and he would die. The wolf’s teeth would tear into his flesh and shred his muscles and gnaw on his bones. She was offering him the opportunity to learn those skills; to learn how to be a predator, and how to protect himself from others who fancied themselves stronger than him. It was an option that the deer with the twisted leg and the grizzly bear’s dinner did not have; a chance to climb the food chain instead of falling prey to the creatures perched on the top of it. But would he accept it?

Her eyes flickered down to the wound in his side. It was now hidden from view by a protective layering of wolf fur and an tattered old tunic that was more gray than white, but her fingers remembered the jagged edges of the wound and the feel of slick blood pouring over her hands as she washed, stitched and bandaged it. It was the kind of wound that drew the attention of predators looking to make a kill, but it was also the kind of wound that proved the strength of the injured wolf to the rest of his pack. Teiris could allow the injury to hinder him, or he could suffer the pain and emerge from the experience even stronger than he was before being shot: both mentally and physically. The ability to ignore pain and function in spite of it was something that could not be taught. One either had the mental endurance or one crumpled under the weight of the pain. There was no other option. Kill or be killed. That was Nature’s law.

Finally, Teiris seemed to come to a conclusion. The announcement of his choice was heralded by a tensing in his jaw as he gritted his teeth and forced himself to decide. He nodded firmly, and reached out to take the bow from her hand. Without looking at her or examining the weapon too closely, he slung it and the quiver over one shoulder and squared his shoulders. She could not help but feel a stab of satisfaction at his choice. She had not been wrong to spare him earlier in the forest. He is weak now, but he will be strong. No, not weak, but not as strong as he could be. He had a kernel of strength in him that gave him the will power to persevere in the face of his injuries and the fear he had felt of her upon their first meeting. Fear that he feels no longer. She realized as Teiris unclenched his jaw and met her eyes resolutely. Somehow, over the last day, he had gone from fearing for his life to trusting her. But why? Did telling him her story make him believe that she was not capable of hurting him? She stared into his hard, gray eyes, and wondered how he managed to survive as long as he had if his trust was so easily won. Even as she offered to teach him and let him share her hearth, Araseth knew that she would hurt him if he harmed her forest. But, suddenly she knew the reason why she had spared him; she didn’t believe that he would not act perniciously towards her forest or its creatures. When had she become so trusting?

“Right.” He said, “I’m grateful for the opportunity to learn from you. I’ll try to be as good a student as you were. I’m not up to full strength, but I still offer you my best.”

Araseth frowned at him, not knowing how to take what he said. She knew he meant his words to be an endearment and to serve as proof of his resolution, but she could not suppress the irritation that surged within her at his mention of her tutelage under her father. Does he know what he says? She wondered, pushing aside memories of the long days she’d been forced to spend at the practice range. Her training had been painful and she had only learned the art of archery because her father forced her too. She often found herself wondering how her life would have been different if she’d been the daughter her father wanted. Would she have spent more time with her parents? Would she have been there to save them, or would she have died along side of them? Would she have discovered her powers? Would she have met Didor? Such questions plagued her often, but she knew that she would never know the answer to any of them. She had to accept the course her life had taken, because the ability to travel between times was not one of the countless magical talents her race could boast mastery of. And how would she know what to change? One little alteration could result in ramifications she’d never even imagined. The past was something that should be remembered, but not changed. Her focus should be on the present and the future. It was common, especially among races that have long pasts, like the elves, to focus more on things that have happened than on what is happening.

Humans and other short-lived creatures never had the opportunity to focus on their pasts for too long. Their lives were just too short. If they spent much time worrying about their history then their lives would be over before they had a chance to live. I guess the same principle can apply to elves. She mused, absentmindedly strapping one of her ornate throwing knives and a larger dagger to the leather belt around her hips. It just all needs to be kept in proportion. She thought wryly.

Araseth’s attention was drawn back to Teiris as he readjusted the bow slung over his shoulder, and she recalled his promise to provide her with his best effort. She still didn’t know what to say. Surely he hadn’t meant to insinuate that being taught by her was a chore. She turned to stare her broken door frame, running her fingers over the jagged edges of the splintered edges of it. She finally settled on, “Words are only words. Show me your dedication through your actions, and hopefully we will never reach your limit. That will mean more to me that any promises your mouth will make.” She turned to fix him with her gaze, wanting to drive the message home. She had seen too many others be driven by the expectations others set for them. She did not want Teiris to become one of those people. “And, set your own standards. Do not compare yourself to others. I was not the kind of student you should wish to be.” Without waiting for a response, she stepped through her ruined doorway and out into the forest.

Fog wreathed the forest floor like a ghostly blanket of white. It wound between trees and long tendrils stretched toward the rising sun like grasping fingers. Where the sun fell on it, the fog was illuminated different shades of orange and pink. Trunks rose from the mist like pillars, their bark almost black in the shadow and a golden brown where the dappled sunlight made it through the thick canopy of leaves that formed the forest ceiling. Snow still layered the ground in great white sheets, but no more had fallen during the night. Tracks of animals weaved across the forest floor, and she could see the path she made while carrying Teiris from the clearing where she found him to her home. Her footprints were a lot deeper than normal from the weight she had carried across her shoulders, and Teiris’ steps were little more than two strips of bare brown earth where his feet had dragged through the snow, revealing the frozen soil beneath.

She could hear the call of a whippoorwill, echoing through the air and bouncing off the trees. A bright flash of red in the corner of her eye heralded the presence of a robin. She saw a small squirrel burrowing into the ground at the base of a small sapling. Araseth allowed her eyes to study the varying tones of gray and red that layered together to form the small rodent’s winter pelt. She could see its beady black eyes, trained on the spot where it was digging, and the small ears on the back of its head, which flickered in different directions to investigate every small sound that reached them. The oily, earthy scent of acorns and other nuts drifted through its mind. She could almost feel the cold snow beneath her paws and the flush of excitement as her claws ripped into the cold dirt underneath. Her bushy tail twitched and her nose wrinkled against the strong smell of the overturned earth. She would have to clean her paws later, but it would be worth the effort to be able to bring more food home to her pups. Their plaintive cries echoed in her ears as their small noses quested for food which was not there and their stomachs complained loudly. Just a little farther…

Araseth gently slipped out of the mother squirrel’s mind and silently made her way over to the frantic creature. The squirrel froze; her eyes trained on the large predator stalking her, and prepared to make a calculated leap up the base of the nearest tree trunk. Smiling slightly, Araseth projected soothing thoughts and the promise of her harmlessness to the frantic mother and bent slowly down to crouch next to her. The squirrel was more reassured now, having recognized the tenor of Araseth’s thoughts, and offered up pictures of walnuts, acorns, berries, and other food paired with her last memory of her hungry kits. It was a question. In answer, Araseth reached into the large pocket sewn into the inside of her wolf pelt cloak and retrieved a handful of sunflower seeds, cracked walnuts and other small seeds that she kept there for any animals who were having a difficult time locating enough food to last through the winter. The squirrel’s nose twitched as she caught the scent of the nuts and she sat up on her haunches to peer at the hand Araseth held down to her. Her ears flipped back and forth in a mix of confusion and excitement, and then she began to stuff as much of the food as she could into her cheek pouches. When she was finished, Araseth offered the squirrel images of sprouting plants and the feeling of warmth the spring sun would bring; a wordless promise that spring would arrive soon. The squirrel twitched her tail in thanks and dropped back down onto all four paws. As she raced up into the nearest tree and leaped from one of its branches to the branches of the neighboring tree, her thoughts were consumed with getting back to her nest as swiftly as she could with food for her kits.

Araseth watched her travel gracefully through the canopy for a few moments before she deposited the extra seeds and berries into her pocket and straightened up. Suddenly, she was aware of Teiris. He had followed her out of her house and she could feel his eyes on her back, questioning, wondering. She felt exposed once more; like she was telling him about her life all over again. Other humans had come to the Spine before, but they never stayed long. She made sure of that. Teiris was the first one to hear the entirety of her story and the first person since Didor and her family to see her communicate with animals or plants. There was something about allowing him to see her as herself that made her feel like he knew her in a way that no other person did, and suddenly she felt uncomfortable. After working so long to maintain a sense of mystery about herself it felt strange to have no secrets left. Should she feel relieved? Calm? She felt none of that. It was a struggle for her to accept his presence in her home now that fear was not his prominent emotion. It was like a barrier had been removed between them; like he saw everything she did more clearly that he had before. It was strange and a little disconcerting to suddenly have someone be as emotionally close as he was to her, especially when she had spent most of her life pushing people away.

Annoyed with herself and the feelings that were racing through her head, she stalked off through the trees heedless of whether or not he was following. Sensing her mood, the animals she passed hesitated to emerge from their nests to greet her, and the trees lifted their branches out of her way to clear a path. She heard the crack of branches on cloth as the trees allowed their limbs to whip back into place just as Teiris passed. She could feel their pleasure at hindering the way of the human who pursued her. They felt it to be a small revenge against the immense pain his race had caused their brethren. She almost reached out to correct their false assumptions, but a surge of fire in the pit of her stomach reminded her that he was the source of her confusion and frustration. A few little cuts won’t harm him. She thought vindictively, increasing her pace.

However, although her anger was easily sparked, it also burned itself out quickly. She allowed herself a few more minutes of venting and then decided to let Teiris catch up. If he walked with her then he would be spared the trees’ wrath. It took her a few moments to realize that she could no longer hear Teiris following. For a moment she was glad he had decided not to pursue her anymore, but as she thought about it she realized that Teiris was not one to give up so easily. He had told her that he would provide her with his best while he learned the art of the bow from her. A little trip through the Spine, and a few scrapes and bruises from wayward tree branches certainly couldn’t be more than he could handle. No, she knew it was not more than he could handle. He had proved that the first time she had met him. He was resilient, and clung to life with a stubbornness she had never seen in another human.

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.

No, he would not have given up so easily. Araseth frowned and stopped, ears pricked for any slight noises. Something must have happened to him. She slipped her knife out of its sheath and turned around to face the direction from which she had come.
[/color][/size][/blockquote]

[Angmor]

“Words are only words. Show me your dedication through your actions, and hopefully we will never reach your limit. That will mean more to me that any promises your mouth will make.”
Teiris blinked. He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised anymore, but the firmness of her words caught him off guard. Still, he took it as a good reminder of who exactly he was speaking to. Any human would have been satisfied with his statement. Absolute dedication was so rare among his race that even his verbal assurance would have been met with praise. But to Araseth, his words were only so much wasted breath. Only action and results counted for anything. Teiris wondered if it was a unique worldview, or if was a philosophy embraced by all elves. Either way, he would have to master this new way of thinking if he was to learn anything here. He wondered if he could. No matter what he did, he was still human. While the gap could be narrowed, he doubted that it could ever be bridged. If it could, then his people and the elves would not have given their best go at exterminating each other ten years before, and Araseth would not be here biding her time on a mission of revenge. Teiris was just one man, and not a very wise one at that. He could not overcome uncounted generations of human weakness.
As he was pondering this, Araseth paused in the doorway, the outside light casting her face in sharp profile as she fixed him with a hard glance.
“And, set your own standards. Do not compare yourself to others. I was not the kind of student you should wish to be.”
With that, she turned and walked through the door, a solitary figure against the snow. Teiris lingered a moment, considering what her words could mean. Finally, he decided to take them at face value. He was not Araseth, nor was he an elf. He was a human, and he was Teiris Vorthain. All improvement would have to start there.
My best, He thought, squaring his shoulders. Only my best.

Walking from Araseth’s dwelling was like stepping into a work of art. After several months used to waking up and viewing little outside his door by dingy wooden structures and the muddy tracks between them, Teiris was staggered by the array of colors on display before him. The soft white of the mist and snow, the darker shades of wet treebark, the yellow, orange and gold of the sunlight, carrying with it the warm hint of coming spring. Even still, the crisp bite of the air was refreshing as it struck his face, reddening his skin and turning his breath into alternating clouds of mist. Teiris gazed in awe, drinking in the sight. He felt now that he understood Araseth’s mission a little better. He was a child of a large city, born and raised amid confined spaces and stagnant air, an explorer of nooks and crannies tucked between plain stone walls. Because of that, he had never really grasped the concept of beauty in nature beyond a scholar’s vision, words on the page of a book.
Never understood, until now.
As he looked around, Teiris found himself strangely disoriented. He didn’t know how he had gotten here, which was a rare enough occurrence these days. He possessed an eidetic recollection of almost any place he had ever visited, a path in, and a path out. Now the length of the gap between this place and his last clear memory was disturbing to him on a gut level. Shutting his eyes, he summoned a map of Alagaesia from memory, reminding himself where the Spine was situated.
Right. So, the village will be East of here. And East is…
Turning, he tracked the position of the sun… And stopped.

Looking over his shoulder, he found himself looking back at the house. He realized with a pang that he had never seen it from the outside before now.
It was a tree.
It was a house, inside a tree.
Several lingering questions were immediately answered. The architecture, the appearing furniture, the feeling of the walls. Araseth had spoken of her ability to shape and change natural forms to her will, but he had never really understood what she had meant until now. The result reminded him of the strange picture inside, the only difference being the fact that it was on the ground, instead of high in the air. He shook his head in amazement. Humans built homes by cutting down trees, elves built them by asking the tree’s permission. How did humans even become so widespread, when the elves were so advanced? Perhaps that was the reason for the war in the first place. With what he had seen and heard in the past hours, Teiris no longer believed mankind was the most intelligent form of life on Earth, and the thought frightened him. He could only imagine how it would be for the most powerful men in the country.
Shaking himself from his reverie, he resolved to think about all of this later, after Araseth was finished with him. After a moment, he found her a few paces away, crouching amid the mist. At first he thought she had found something interesting on the ground, perhaps the tracks of some rare animal. As he limped closer however, using the bow as a support, he found that while she was attending to a creature, it was not the slightest bit rare. It was a squirrel, as could be found in any stand of trees anywhere in Alagaesia. The same animal that any human child might chase in vain for hours on end. Araseth looked at it in apparent fondness, here brown eyes locked with its beady black ones. Finally, reaching into her cloak, she pulled forth a handful of nuts and seeds, offering it to the creature like one might offer sweets to a child. The squirrel looked confused, but was not wary enough to turn down the gift. Teiris almost laughed as its cheeks seemed to bulge to the bursting point. Finally, with a look that he could easily imagine to be gratitude, it leapt away, scrabbling up the bark of the nearest tree and disappearing through the branches. Teiris watched it go, unable to suppress the smile of wonderment on his face.
She could really speak to animals.
Araseth could speak to animals.

Even more amazing was the change in Araseth. As he turned his attention back to her, he decided that she was the happiest he had ever seen her. Her stance was totally relaxed, and her usual look of hard appraisal replaced by a veiled look of serene contentment. Thinking back on her story, Teiris could finally see how it must have been for her as a young woman, lately together with her aunt as she strove to develop her gift. So, it wasn’t all talk of survival and the harsh cruelty of nature. There had been some simple joys as well, perhaps like he had once found in his books.
But only for a moment.
She seemed to suddenly become aware of his scrutiny, her gaze snapping to him like a predator on the scent. Her expression flickered with something strange, just for a moment, before locking back into her customary hardness. Turning quickly away, she marched determinedly into the forest, leaving him alone.
Feeling his own smile evaporating into the mist, Teiris did his best to follow, his injured leg sending spasms of pain up his leg with each step as he labored forward at an unsteady trot. It was immediately clear it would not be fast enough, as Araseth’s retreating form grew further and further away. Gritting his teeth, he stepped up his pace, carrying himself forward in almost a series of ungainly hops. Hearing the arrows in his quiver rattle ominously with the movement, he reached up and pulled the drawstring closed, sealing them from falling out. What had brought on this sudden change, he wondered? Hadn’t they been on good terms? Perhaps this was normal, he decided. She just wasn’t used to having a follower, and an impaired one at that. He would probably find her in a clearing somewhere ahead, waiting for him with pursed lips as he caught up. No, it was more than that. There had been something in her face, some expression that he hadn’t seen before…

Distracted by the thought, he looked up too late to do anything about the snapping branch before it connected, sending a line of fire across the skin of his neck. Hissing through is teeth, he stopped, glaring at the offending branch. Strange. He was sure it hadn’t been there a moment before. In fact, he was sure that the trees had not been quite so thick up ahead. After all, Araseth had no trouble getting through. Shaking his head, he started forward, brushing one of the limbs aside… And was stopped again as a branch struck him a stinging blow across his thigh, just as his cloak snagged behind him and nearly pulled him off balance. Pulling it free, Teiris took stock, frowning deeply. There was definitely something unusual going on. The way ahead was definitely more overgrown with trees than it had been before, forming a thick screen barren limbs, almost appearing as grasping hands blocking his way. Even if he considered going back, the path that way had become even more impassable. Unsure what to do, Teiris opened his mouth to call for Araseth… then shut it again with a click. No, what if this was already a test? He hardly wanted to fail before they had even begun. No, he had promised his best, and that’s what he would give. Nodding decisively, he stood up, eying the obstacles ahead. In nominal condition, he could scramble through the boughs in a crouched position, making himself as small as possible to fit through the gaps. As it was, he had little choice but to charge headlong in, suffering all the cuts and bruises involved.
Unless I could find some kind of armor...
With his free right hand, he snared the edge of the cloak Araseth had given him, drawing it in front of him like a curtain. Teiris reminded himself of a particular street magician in the Tears, who would draw a dark cape around himself in almost exactly the same way, with only the glint of his eyes peering over the top.
I am the great Seranon, Servant of the Night…
Almost chuckling at the memory, Teiris began again, using the cloak as a shield as he pushed forward. While most of the branches somehow managed to catch his back and sides on the rebound, most of the punishment was absorbed by the thick fur in front of him. The forest around him suddenly came alive with rustling and creaking sounds, as if disturbed by the wind…
Except, Teiris realized with alarm, there was no wind…

He was forcefully separated from the thought when a particularly thick branch dealt him a heavy blow, knocking the wind out of him as he fell flat on his back. Before his second half even touched the ground, something snagged his right leg, pulling him into the air with frightening force. The world blurred crazily, nearly turning Teiris’ stomach with the swift reversal. As his vision cleared, it appeared to Teiris that the forest had turned upside down. Everywhere around him, the tree branches were waving crazily, without a breath of wind to move them. A moment later, Teiris realized groggily that the forest was fine, and he was the one suspended upside down. Doing his best to stay calm, he gathered his scattered wits, taking stock of his situation. Looking down, -or rather, up- he found that his right foot has trapped neatly in a loop of branches, tight enough to hold him secure, but not squeezing him. In fact, he could reach up and free himself, except of course that a motion of that flexibility was guaranteed to aggravate the wound in his side, probably enough to break the stitches and start the bleeding over again. And that was without the eight foot drop beneath him if he succeeded. Blowing out a breath, he allowed himself to collapse back, swinging a bit like a side of meat in a butcher’s window. The blood rushed to his head, imposing darkness around the edge of his vision. Under the circumstances, he supposed he was being rather calm about this. After all, the trees had attacked him. The trees had attacked him. Glancing around the inverted forest around him, he could not deny it. They had tried to block his way, and when that didn’t work, one of them had reached down and scooped him off his feet. He supposed it wasn’t really surprising. After all, Araseth had spoken about this.
“Animals and plants are so different from elves and humans, but they’re also easier to understand, in a way. They’re simple, ruled by instinct and the desire to survive. They don’t have ambitions, and they never take more than they need…”
…And occasionally played pranks on wayward travelers, apparently. A part of him was amazing. He had known that trees were alive before, of course, but this… This was power. At least they seemed to have calmed themselves a bit, the branches ceasing their thrashing movements and slowing to a hypnotic waving motion. He wasn’t sure if he could ever look at them the same way again. At least they hadn’t killed him outright, or were beating him even as he hung here like a soldier’s straw dummy. He supposed if he had been carrying an axe, or a torch, the situation would be very different.

Well… Now what? He wondered. It was, in his mind, an excellent question. After all, he could definitely say he had never been in a situation like this before. He could not free himself without injuring himself further, and he was hesitant still to call Araseth. After all, nothing had really changed. This could easily be a part of the test. Calming his breathing, he decided to wait patiently. If it was a test, he would not fail. He would wait here all day, if he had to. He could bury himself in the memory of a book. After all, he could remember every page, even if simply recalling it was not as satisfying. He might even compose an upside down song…
Just then, the rustling and creaking started up again. As he watched, the branches rose higher in the air, clearing the path through the forest. Araseth suddenly stalked cautiously into view, her hunting-knife clasped in the hand of her uninjured arm. Frowning, she scanned the impression he had made in the snow, right after his footprints had stopped. Remaining silent, Teiris crossed his arms, waiting.
Finally, Araseth looked up. The expression of bewilderment on her face was actually quite gratifying. Finding himself in a rather ridiculous mood, Teiris set himself into a gentle swinging motion, his face blank.
“Friends of yours?” He asked casually. “We’ve been having a lovely chat. In fact, they were just about to make tea. Care to join us?”

[/blockquote]

[Akilinia]

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

Braced as she was for Teiris to have been beset by something terrible, although she knew not what it might have been in hindsight, she was completely startled by the reality of his situation. She’d snuck back into the clearing where he’d last been only to discover that his footsteps disappeared abruptly right in the center of the clearing. Such a feat would not be difficult for any tracker of mediocre experience, but Teiris did not seem to have such talents, he was injured, and the snow on the ground made it impossible to travel without leaving tracks unless one possessed magic or traveled above the ground through the canopies. Both options were impossible for Teiris in his current situation. As far as she knew, his only magic was tied to his enhanced memory, which meant using magic to erase his tracks was impossible, and his injuries and the reluctance of the trees to aid him would have made it highly unlikely that he used the second technique to cover his tracks. Puzzled, she studied the area around his tracks and then looked in the only logical place: up.

The sight that met her eyes was so astonishing that she didn’t know how to react at first. Teiris was being dangled helplessly upside down by a pair of trees, staring grumpily down at her. As if inspired by her befuddlement, Teiris began to rock back and forth on the branch holding him captive. “Friends of yours?” He asked in a lilting voice. “We’ve been having a lovely chat. In fact, they were just about to make tea. Care to join us?”

For a moment all she could do was stare at him, the wolf cloak she’s given him dangling humorously from his shoulders around his face, and then something unusual happened: she laughed. The sound bubbled from her throat like a small spring as it trickled triumphantly through cracks in a dam built to block its path, and echoed throughout the forest like a peal of bells. She could feel the trees holding Teiris creak in puzzlement at her mirth. They did not understand why she should find such a situation amusing. They had captured an intruder, one who had been pursuing her, and she laughed? Their confusion made her laugh harder, head flung back with tears streaming from her eyes. It felt good, like she had been holding something within her that had desperately wanted to be released. She opened her mind and reached out to the trees to share her laughter and the truth behind Teiris’ pursuit of her. Bemused, they slowly lowered the man to the ground, brushing the small cuts and scrapes they had inflicted on him earlier with soft, repentant fingers.

Smiling, Araseth wiped the tears from her eyes, glanced down at the battered Teiris, who was looking highly confused, and said, “They are sorry for what they have done to you. They believed you to harbor ill intent towards me and were only doing their best to protect me.” She sheathed her knife and then offered him her good hand. “Here. Let me help you up.”

Teiris allowed her to lever him to his feet, his eyes glued to the swaying boughs of the trees that towered over them. “Uh, well tell them no hard feelings for me, I guess.” He told her, tearing his eyes from them.

Araseth smiled at the incredulity in his voice and the bemused smile that graced his face. “I shall.” She told him, reaching out with her mind to share Teiris’ forgiveness with the trees. She could feel their confusion and their regret at causing the human needless harm, but upon learning that he bore them no ill will, they were delighted. “It must be strange for you. I mean, the idea that they are capable of speech and thought.” She said to him as the trees subsided and turned their attention to capturing the weak winter sunlight on their bark, her eyes trained upon their straining bare branches. “As far as I know, your race views them as nothing more than lifeless resources that can be used to build homes and furniture.” Of course, her beliefs could very well be invalid. Teiris himself was proof that there were exceptions among the human race.

She lowered her eyes to watch his face, which for once, was not smooth and emotionless. No, he did not think of the trees as a threat now that he had learned what they were capable of. On the contrary, his eyes were wide with wonder. She could imagine what it would be like to look at a forest after learning such a secret about its inhabitants. He must view the whole thing differently now. She thought, gazing around at the towering trunks and ice covered branches that formed a protective canopy above their heads.

The forest was quiet for a moment as the pair of them stood in silence. However, soon Teiris managed to gather himself enough to provide her statement with a response.

“That about sums it up. A few radicals among us claim otherwise, but they are always ignored. But perhaps if more of us had seen something like this…” He trailed off, shaking his head as he turned to look around him at the frosted landscape. “It’s… incredible.” He finally managed, tearing his gaze from a pine that, impatient with the snow layering its branches, had shaken itself in order to dislodge the cold white material so that it could better feel the sun on its needles.

Araseth was stunned. She never would have imagined that a human was capable of viewing the trees as more than a threat once they began to think of the trees as sentient creatures, let alone that one would be able to understand the magnificence of the green race; their gentle majesty and the peaceful nature of their existence. From her experience, humans were only capable of viewing something through the a lens of violence, wondering how much of a threat the thing was, when it would turn on them and how they could destroy it. Humans were radical and violent race, and their perception of the world around them was ruled by those inclinations. She studied his face intently, skeptical about the sincerity of his emotions. After a moment, there was no doubt that his wonder was genuine. He stared at the forest around him with a small smile on his face, his eyes bright with the implications of this newfound knowledge. But would others react like him? She could not repress her doubt.

"Do you actually believe that they would be open to the idea?” She finally asked him, turning to stare out at the white expanse of the forest around them. “Sometimes accepting that something is more than you perceived it to be originally can be difficult. Especially for a prideful race such as yours." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Teiris open his mouth to say something and then think better of it. Would he try to deny it? His smile faded, and she knew that she was correct.

"I suppose. They would not react well.” He finally said. “As building materials, trees are persecuted. As intelligent things capable of defending themselves, they would probably be exterminated... Or enslaved." Teiris paused for a moment to think, and the frown that had been forming on his face deepened. "It's a little disturbing now, thinking about this. Because I know that nature has to be in me, too."

Before meeting him. No, before she had learned of his past, Araseth would have agreed with Teiris immediately. She’d believed that all humans were cut from the same cloth, that they were all barbaric creatures who thought about nothing beyond the spoils from their next battle or of how to perpetuate their weak stance at the top of the food chain. However, she no longer believed that. In one day, her beliefs had been undermined by a single man. He did not fit neatly into what she had categorized as humanity. He lacked a lot of the traits she had come to associate with mankind. He was not violent without cause, he was thoughtful – pausing to consider his words and actions before he committed to them – and he was kind. Above all, the last one unnerved her. Kindness without reason was something that she could not understand, especially when she had done more than enough to earn his resentment and his hatred. When she’d met him it had been she that was blinded by her past pains and the assumptions she’d made about the human race. She, the elf, was supposed to be open-minded, kind, thoughtful and rational. And yet, upon meeting him she had resorted immediately to violence. In fact, she knew now that she had been willing to kill him on sight. It had been his unusual attributes that saved his life. He, the human, had proven himself to be capable of things she associated solely with her own race. He had single-handedly riddled the dividing wall she had placed between their two races with cracks.

She tilted her head to regard him, her eyes following the path of the sunlight on his face as it gilded the planes of his cheeks and the shorn brown locks of his hair. The golden light cast shadows on his face, tracing the lines that darkened his brow and the edges of his mouth. Even as young as he was, he had seen hardship, but there was a softness to his features that had not been present in any of the other humans she had come across. Their faces had been heavily marked by sharp lines and creases that traced perpetual scowls and grimaces across their features. And there had been no laugh lines to crinkle the corners of their eyes. Still, could she deny that he was without those violent urges and primal instincts? Even if they were not prominent, they could still be buried deeply within him.

"Perhaps it is,” She finally said. “but judging from your initial reaction, I would not say it is a prominent part. However, the majority of your people would only see them as threats. They would be unable to understand that the trees are inherently peaceful. You see, trees are incapable of harming other living creatures. It is against their nature. It is my presence here that makes these react in the way you just witnessed. If humans were to realize that trees are actually sentient beings, it would not be an extermination, but slaughter, because the trees would not defend themselves."

He didn’t respond immediately, but Araseth saw the lines around his mouth deepen in sadness at her words before he turned to limp to the nearest tree. He placed his hand gently on its trunk, and dimly Araseth could feel the tree’s surprise at being touched peacefully by a human. Teiris turned to look at her.

"Can you teach me this? Can I speak with them like you can?" He asked her.

Her immediate reaction was to reject the idea. It was against everything she’d ever been taught to pawn elven secrets, her secrets, to humans, even one so odd as Teiris Vorthain. Especially since she had only met him a short time ago. Her eyes flickered to the tree trunk, where his pale hand was splayed against the darkness of the bark. But then again, she had not really considered herself to be a member of her race in a long time. She had travelled far from the path of peace that most of her kin treaded. Did their laws even apply to her? Would it really be detrimental for a human to learn more about the minds of sacred lives his race so often failed to appreciate? He might not even be able to learn the magic. She had never even considered the logistics of teaching a human the secrets of the elves. Was his race even capable of wielding magic? Only one way to find out. She thought, already condensing her consciousness so as not to overwhelm him.

“I don't know if I can teach you,” She admitted, moving closer to where he stood next to the tree, “but I can show you if you trust me. You'll have to open your mind to me.”

"Alright. Is that as mercurial as it sounds?" He asked her, lifting his hand from the tree trunk to face her.

Araseth smiled at his confusion. This might be more difficult than I thought. She realized, searching for a way to explain what she wanted to do. Teaching was new to her. She’d never been put in a role where she was required to verbalize such difficult concepts, and even if she had been, elven children were born from magic. When they reached the point where they needed to understand mind-to-mind communication, it was a natural step for them. From what she remembered, she hadn’t needed much of an explanation at all, which left her at a loss for how to begin trying to articulate the intricacies of the mind to Teiris.

"It's hard to describe if you've never experienced it.” She finally told him. “Just relax and don't resist me."

[Angmor]

"It's... incredible." Teiris struggled for more to say, but quickly decided it was the best he could do. There were simply no words to describe the feeling of discovering something new about the world that would forever change the way he looked at it. Well, it wasn't quite the same thing. He'd had his definition of the world shaken several times throughout his life. Being sold into slavery had done that. Begging on the streets had done that, and of course, Blood Magic had done that. This was merely the first time the revelation was not something horrible beyond imagining.

"Do you actually believe that they would be open to the idea?” Rohiriel asked, drawing his wandering attentions back to her. “Sometimes accepting that something is more than you perceived it to be originally can be difficult. Especially for a prideful race such as yours."
Teiris opened his mouth to protest out of sheer reflex, but his thinking mind caught up before the words could emerge. For him, he could now only see an amazing new creature that had been hiding in plain sight for his entire life. But it was only the very next junction to considering them a hidden new threat. After all, the dull throbbing of his various new scratches were enough reminder to what had happened to him, and his treatment had merely been harassment. There was no doubt in his mind; if the trees had wanted him dead, he would be. And this was done as a single grove. It was only just beginning to sink in just how many trees there were in the world. As for himself, he found that he was not afraid. Humans had been cutting them down for literally thousands of years. If the shrubbery was going to stage a violent uprising, they would have done it by now. That was his thought. But it did not take long for him to conclude it would not be the universal opinion. "I suppose. They would not react well," He said, finally breaking the silence. “As building materials, trees are persecuted. As intelligent things capable of defending themselves, they would probably be exterminated... Or enslaved."
It was a sobering revelation, he realized. If he started recognizing trees as living, then suddenly all of his terminology had to change as well. Trees were not felled, they were murdered. They were not sawn, they were dismembered. And they were not farmed, they were enslaved. And all of this and more had been done by humans like him, generation after generation, unchanging. Thousands of years of humans, either unaware or uncaring. Humans like him.
"It's a little disturbing now, thinking about this," He said. "Because I know that nature has to be in me, too."

Standing beside him, he finally noticed Araseth tilting her head to examine him, like she was seeing him for the first time. For once, the bewilderment and curiosity on her flawless face was easily read. Feeling self-conscious, Teiris looked away, allowed himself to be spellbound by the scene around him. The rays of the rising sun glinted off the snow, turning everything to gold and amber. All around him, the trees and foliage shuddered and swayed without a breath of wind to move them, causing the light and shadow to swirl and dance amid the clouds of snow shaken loose from the branches. The creak and yawn of their movements filled the background, merging together in such a way that it almost sounded like music. He suddenly realized that perhaps it was. Who knew what he was hearing? Perhaps what he had always taken for wind and friction was actually a form of communication. The realization brought a fresh smile to his face, renewing the wonder all over again.
Amazing. Absolutely amazing.
"Perhaps it is,” Araseth said after a moment, a counterpoint to his thoughts. “But judging from your initial reaction, I would not say it is a prominent part. However, the majority of your people would only see them as threats. They would be unable to understand that the trees are inherently peaceful. You see, trees are incapable of harming other living creatures. It is against their nature. It is my presence here that makes these react in the way you just witnessed. If humans were to realize that trees are actually sentient beings, it would not be an extermination, but slaughter, because the trees would not defend themselves."
Teiris nodded to himself, his smile fading. It was more or less what he'd been expecting her to say. After all, Teiris knew that he could not be the only human ever to have discovered this miracle in the history of the human race, but still nothing had ever changed. But to hear it from her was worse. He didn't know why, but it made him sad.

Unsure why at first, he hobbled his way to the nearest tree, supported on the staff of his bow. He realized with a pang that he had no idea what kind of tree it was, beyond its light grey color and smooth, layered bark. Hesitating a second, he laid his free hand against the trunk, just as he had the inside of Araseth's home. He realized what he was looking for even as he discovered it wasn't there. Even as active as the tree was now, swaying and moving with visible energy, there was no heartbeat, no breathing, no pulse. Nothing that, by the definition of the human race, would indicate life. Even with what he had just witnessed, he could not feel any of the things Araseth seemed to feel. Throughout his life, he had been taught to transcend ignorance with study. Everything had an answer, his uncle had said, it was simply a matter of finding it. Now suddenly, he found himself in a position where there was no answer. The only study possible was contingent on an ability he didn't have. There was no way he could transcend his ignorance.
Unless...
"Can you teach me this? Can I speak with them like you can?"

He realized the enormity of what he asked even as he said it. Araseth's story had indicated that her power was a great secret, rare even among the her own people. Seen from her perspective, it would be either folly or suspicious. Turning back to her, he could see immediately that his insight was correct. Her brown eyes had suddenly taken on a guarded look, flicking between him and the tree as if trying to read him and judge the situation at the same time. Teiris examined himself, trying to divine if he was truly asking for the right reasons. He had to question his own nature now, knowing at any moment he might succumb to the urges to be so much less than he could be. He found, however, that he did not. Examining his own motivations, he found that he was not asking out of desire to advantage or personal gain, he simply wanted to understand. But knowing what Araseth had been through, he certainly not fault her for not taking him at his word.

After a moment, it seemed she would. “I don't know if I can teach you,” She said carefully, moving to stand beside him. “but I can show you if you trust me. You'll have to open your mind to me.”
Teiris blinked, blowing out an amused huff. "Alright. Is that as mercurial as it sounds?"
Opening his mind? How did that even work? His mind was a function all its own, something over which he had no conscious control.
Perhaps while I'm opening my mind, I might slow my heartbeat as well, He thought to himself, Or perhaps suspend digestion. No problem at all.
He forced down his skepticism. That was a trait unbecoming of a student, even in a field of study he had never before considered to even exist. Once again, he had the opportunity to learn from a master of the craft, and would not lose his chance through unwise words.
"It's hard to describe if you've never experienced it.” She said after thinking it over. “Just relax and don't resist me." With that, she bowed her head and closed her eyes, almost as if in the act of prayer. Utterly unsure, Teiris mimicked the gesture, bracing himself for something he couldn't understand.

For what seemed a long time, he felt nothing strange. Just when he was about to open his mouth to ask if he would even be aware of the change, he became aware of an odd sensation. If asked to describe it, he could only equate it to a pressure on his sinuses, like the subliminal sense that told him to blink when something drew too close to his face. As the feeling grew, he suddenly realized that he had in fact experienced it before...
...The prisoners were begging again. In all of the hundreds of cages surrounding his own, every man and woman was pleading for their lives, their screams filling the dark cavern around them. This happened whenever a Paladin came down to collect a prisoner for the experiments, even though the Hand was not human enough to be moved by such appeals to mercy. Even so, Teiris usually joined in. He had learned early on that the ones caught showing defiance were usually chosen first. And many of them didn't come back. This time though, he deemed it more important to listen to what his captors were saying. It was not often that an Oracle came down here personally, and the fact that one had indicated that something big was going on. He strained his ears above the noise, peering through the knitted bars of his cage as the two men grew closer...
"You really needn't be here, your Eminence," The Paladin was saying. "I'm sure I can handle your request. I know the subjects well."
The Oracle, one that Teiris had never seen before, waved a silk-gloved hand. "Yes, yes. And you will find me six subjects, most of which I would reject, causing you to go back and find more that I would reject, and wasting endless time. Understand, I am on the verge of discovering the secret to cognitive enhancement, and this discovery cannot wait! Besides, why have you do something that my powers allows me to do with infinitely more efficiency? Observe..." At that moment, the men stopped a short distance away. Frowning, Teiris strained to see amid the dim light. Oddly, there was not much to see. The Oracle was merely bowing his head, as if suddenly weary...
Just then, Teiris felt a crushing pressure against his head, as if his skull was being clamped in a vice. He thrashed instinctively, trying to throw off his attacker, cutting his skin on the too-small cage. The pressure only intensified, making him cry out in agony. Just when he felt himself blacking out, the attacked ceased, leaving him drained. With a start, he found that the Oracle had moved right up to his cage, staring at him with emotionless eyes. "This one has been educated quite well. A very interesting story behind this one." He smiled, and Teiris felt a chill of fear. "Bring it up to my chamber. We'll try the procedure on it first."

With extreme difficulty, Teiris forced the memory back below the surface of his consciousness, doing his best to clear his mind.
Open. Mind open. Trust, and don't resist.
He found that the tingling sensation had receded somewhat, drawing back. He could only assume that was Araseth's perception, trying to make contact with his own but being repelled by his instinctive defense. Finally, Teiris realized the enormity of what he was doing. He was allowing another person into the very last sanctum he had, the storehouse of all his fears and desires, the empty field for his thoughts. It was, in essence, the ultimate act of trust. Was he ready? Did he trust her so much to allow her in?
After a moment, he found that he did.
"Don't stop," He said aloud, not opening his eyes. "I'm ready now."

[/blockquote]

[Akilinia]

Closing her eyes, Araseth expelled her breath and sank into herself, drawing the peace and quiet of the forest around her like a blanket. She was not adept at this kind of magic, but was still proficient to some degree; it was one of the many talents that her race was born with. One could make the argument that touching the minds of others and communing with plants and animals were different branches from the same tree of magic, but she disagreed. The second was as natural as breathing to her, while the former felt like she was twisting herself and her mind into something unnatural. She felt as if her consciousness was streaming from her own body like tendrils of mist, fingers reaching and stretching even as parts of her dissipated into the vastness of the air around her. It was an unnerving feeling, and she had to make a conscious effort not to instinctually withdraw back into the safe confines of her own mind. Steeling herself, Araseth traversed the rest of the distance to Teiris and touched his mind with tentative fingers, not knowing what to expect.

Although she had only performed the trick a few times, none of her previous experiences had been like this. She knew immediately that he had indeed experienced the feeling of touching minds before. As soon as she made contact with his mind it bucked and shifted beneath the pressure of her consciousness, and she was snared and inexorably dragged into the depths of his mind as if she were an unfortunate fish who’d eaten a worm only to discover that it was twined about a hook. Images, memories, flashed by, too swift for her to make any sense of them; a small, pale hand closing a book, a glimpse of a man’s strict face. There were too many for her to even begin to unravel. Emotions whirled through her, slamming into her chest one after the other as if she were living each blurred scene as it passed by. These were easier to comprehend, but were just as swift. Soon the flashes of grief, anger, sadness, and fear that slammed into her body one after the other began to overwhelm her. She felt nauseous, dizzy and numb all at once. It was as if the world was spinning around her; years were passing her by in seconds and she wasn’t able to capture even the smallest sliver of understanding.

And then, quite abruptly, the tide of emotions and memories stopped and she found herself standing in a peculiar place. Dark smoke layered the ground, swirling around her ankles and rolling in waves across the perfectly flat landscape. Here and there she saw sparks of bright color amidst the shadowed tones of gray, black and brown: greens, blues, and the occasional startling flash of yellow or orange. Fantastical plants grew down from a sky of roiling thunderclouds, parting banks of cirrus and cumulonimbus clouds like rocks splitting waves as the tide comes in. These plants were like nothing she’d ever seen before, even in the depths of Du Weldenvarden. They swirled and twisted delicately in every direction, intertwined across the sky in a net of silvered leaves and blackened branches. Here and there, golden globes of fruit hung suspended. As she watched, one was shaken loose by an undetectable breeze and fell into the turbulent mass of clouds that churned fitfully around the broad trunks of the trees. In the place of fruit, some of the plants trailed vines of a vibrant violet hue with leaves of the purest white color. The vines were the only thing in the strange place that appeared to follow the natural laws of gravity. Even as she watched, a rock broke loose from an invisible source concealed by the dark smoke that had swallowed her feet and rose into the air as if being drawn upward by an invisible string.

Entranced, Araseth stared at the desolate place, at a complete loss as to what she was supposed to do next. What is this place? She thought with wonder, taking a cautious step forward. As soon as her foot made contact with the ground, it began to shake and tremor beneath her. A rift opened in the sky, letting a shaft of bright light through. It pooled in the air in front of her as if, rather than light, it some sort of liquid. Soon, a shimmering mass of iridescent matter shivered in the air before her. And then, just as she’d worked up the courage to reach a hand out to touch it, the shimmering mass began to elongate and straighten until it had formed a smooth pane. She would have called it a mirror, because the surface was undeniably sheer and smooth like one, but the bright white liquid had suddenly shifted to an inky black that seemed to absorb rather than reflect the scant light that brightened the strange gray world even though there was no apparent source. Araseth swiftly withdrew her hand, which had hovered uncertainly in the air since the strange liquid began to take shape. Some instinct told her that it would not be wise for her to touch the thing, but she couldn’t refrain from taking a step closer to peer intently into the pane’s inky depths. What was she supposed to do? It seemed to her as if the peculiar place was holding its breath, waiting expectantly for her to act.

As if sensing her confusion, the black pane formed two inky black arms and then a pair of long three-fingered hands that wavered uncertainly in the air for a moment they shot out towards her to grasp her waist, towing her swiftly into the depths of the strange mirror. She might have struggled or made a small sound of surprise; she couldn’t remember.

Suddenly, she was in a prison. The stench of unwashed human, waste, desperation, fear, and anguish washed over her. She heard the prisoners in adjacent cells moaning and calling out. No, begging. But for what, she didn’t know. ”Their lives.” Said a voice that sounded eerily like Teiris’. ”This happens whenever a Paladin comes down to collect a prisoner for the experiments, even though the Hand is not human enough to be moved by such appeals to mercy.” She started, suddenly aware that she wasn’t alone in the cage, a space that would have been much too small to accommodate two people in reality. Fortunately, in the mind and in memories reality was more flexible. A man crouched at the front of the cage, face pressed to the filthy bars, hands reaching, reaching and straining into the straw strewn aisle beyond his cage. Desperation was written over every line of the man’s starved frame. It traced every rib, every vertebrate on his bony back. She could hear his cracked voice mumbling incoherent pleas as he strained to catch a glimpse of… ”the Oracle.” Teiris’ voice whispered. She suddenly knew that this Oracle’s appearance was very unusual, and that was what had Teiris so curious, and what he was so determined to see.

Oh, no. She thought, overcome with sorrow as she realized that the pitiful specimen stained in his own blood and filth that was in the small space with her was indeed Teiris. Is this a memory, then? She asked herself, recalling Teiris’ mention of the Hand and the cruel experiments done on him during his time with them. She glided forward until she crouched next to Teiris at the bars of the cage.

"You really needn't be here, your Eminence," One of the men said, his voice barely audible above the begging of the other prisoners. "I'm sure I can handle your request. I know the subjects well." She could feel Teiris’ curiosity as if it were her own, and suddenly she was aware of the attentiveness and the bright hope that blazed in his eyes and too thin face. Even in the pits of hell the man managed to stave off despair. It was truly incredible.

Araseth turned to see the Oracle wave one silk-encased hand carelessly. “Yes, yes. And you will find me six subjects, most of which I would reject, causing you to go back and find more that I would reject, and wasting endless time. Understand, I am on the verge of discovering the secret to cognitive enhancement…” The man’s voice made the hairs on the back of Araseth’s neck stand up, and her lip lifted into a silent snarl without her awareness. There was something unnatural at work in the place that made Araseth want to get out of there as swiftly as she could.

Just then, she saw Teiris begin to thrash around as if in a great amount of pain. Concerned, but unable to discern what ailed him, Araseth turned from the bars to kneel beside him, and suddenly, she felt his pain. It was as if her mind was being shredded and churned within her, Teiris’, head. They cried out in agony, and their world was beginning to fade to black around the edges when the pressure on their mind suddenly disappeared. Araseth gasped, throwing herself roughly away from Teiris and the bars, dimly aware that the Oracle was now peering emotionlessly in at Teiris.

“This one has been educated quite well. A very interesting story behind this one.” Araseth felt Teiris’ fear as it shuddered through her. She was aware of a slew of other memories that came before the one she was witnessing. Blood and knives danced through her mind and a shudder of fear that was entirely her own caused her to shiver. With a sharp cry, Araseth struck out with her mind, struggling to free herself from the vice grip Teiris had on her consciousness. The memory froze suddenly as cracks of a blinding white appeared, dividing the scene into tiny mirror-images. She struck out once more, the desperate stroke of an animal who sense that freedom is near, and the memory shattered into a thousand fragments, leaving her floating in a pitch-black void.

Distantly, she was aware of her own body, but more prominently, she could feel Teiris struggling against his instinctual desire to repel her, and then the internal conflict that waged as he seemed to realize the enormity of what he had agreed to. She felt as if she were straddling an ever-expanding crevasse. Too much longer, and she would be forced to pick a side or she would fall into its depths.

She was just about to allow herself to retreat to her own body when she heard, through her own ears and Teiris’, “Don’t stop. I’m ready now.”

Araseth inhaled sharply, struggling for a moment to maintain her hold on her magic. Did she still want to do this? What if she was sucked into another memory like the last? She didn’t know if her soul could harbor anymore sorrow. Carrying another’s pain and memories was not natural, and it was beyond the strength of any spirit to maintain such a thing for an extended period of time. However, she was suddenly filled with a fierce desire to take away all of his pain, all of his fear; if only for a moment. She knew she could do it. She could relieve his burden and show him something wonderful, something he would never be able to experience or even understand without her guidance. She knew she could do that much for him, even if she couldn’t manage her own sorrows and regrets. It was within her power to remove his for a short time…

Taking another deep breath to settle herself, Araseth expanded her mind into a sort of blanket, and then wrapped herself around Teiris’ mind, drawing, as she had earlier, on the peace and quiet of the forest around them as she used her gifts to open his mind’s eye for the briefest instant. She couldn’t have explained exactly what she did, even in her own mind. There was simply no way to describe it. For that moment, she lent him her strength and her magic. She allowed him to see the forest and its creatures as she did. She showed him the delicate webs that connected all living creatures, the bright threads of green and brown that traced trunks and stems and leaves, and the glowing copper hearts that beat out nature’s rhythm in the bodies of the animals. She sang for him in the ancient language, filtering her magic through his mind and into his hands in a rainbow of colors as she formed a tall staff from the trunk of a cherry tree nearby. And lastly, when the connection between them began to grow tenuous as her strength faded, she called a blue jay from the canopy above to show him the creature’s swift intelligence, and then she reached out with a tendril of magic to reveal the ancient wonder that was a tree’s mind: their strength and their worldliness, their peace and their love for their animals that sheltered in their branches and amidst their roots.

Finally, unable to maintain the connection, she withdrew carefully from his mind and settled gratefully back into her own skin. Weary from the extended use of her magic, she seated herself one of the low branches of the yew tree behind her, and regarded Teiris warily.

If she thought that telling him about her past had left her feeling exposed, that was nothing to how she felt now. It felt as if her entire self, body and spirit, had been rubbed raw. She’d revealed to him the entirety of her being and her mind, all of her magic, the special bond between her and the creatures of the Spine. She swallowed, hard, leaning back against the sturdy trunk of the tree. But, she had also seen deeper into Teiris’ mind. She had no doubt that what she had seen had been one of the darkest times of his life. Her limbs still remembered the utter horror she’d felt within him as the Oracle stared at him through the bars of his cage. And yet, she also remember his hope and the strength of his desire to survive; both her a wonder and an enigma to her. She had experienced them with him, and she was still unable to fathom how he’d managed to hold onto both, especially in a place such as the one she’d just witnessed. It was truly incredible. A show of strength and will far beyond anything she’d ever thought capable.

“You are so strong, it amazes me.” She finally said, her voice little louder than a whisper. “I would never have been able to walk out of that place with my mind in one piece, let alone with the desire to live and keep living. It was one thing to hear you tell of your time at the mercy of the Hand, and another thing entirely to witness it through your eyes. That you experienced such a horror and still manage hope and faith is beyond my comprehension…” She paused for a moment, at a loss for words. “I cannot erase your burdens permanently, but for a short time, I was able to shoulder them for you. That is the most I can do for you.”