Fialla had never seen a Dark Elf, but her family had talked about them.


    Her father had told her that they were the arms and legs of the High Elves, doing whatever they bid.


    They were a villainous people, and had enslaved the Wild Elves at the command of the High Elves, tortured and killed them in vast numbers.


    Fialla, young and curious, had asked her father,


    “How many, Father?”


    To which he replied, “More than all the Wild Elves in the Redstone today.”


    Her own uncle, her father’s older brother, had been the victim of the depredations the Dark Elves had visited on her people.


    A swell of anger bloomed in her breast; before she could think, she’d reached to the dragontooth knife on her belt, flipped it up so she gripped it by the point, and hurled it with all of her strength.


    He spun quickly, as if expecting the knife, swinging his waterbag in an arc that knocked her blade to the side, and bolted for the depths of the forest.


    She rose up, adjusted her grip on her spear and hurled it at his legs as she chased him. His legs tangled in the shaft of her spear as she dashed towards him, scooping up her knife.


    He hit the ground and bounced back up to his feet adroitly; she hurled her knife at him again and that time caught him in the thigh.


    He squealed and tried to roll away, but she was on him then, yanking her spear out of the ground and slamming into him.


    They crashed to the soft, rich ground of the forest together. They struggled together, trading blows. He was an accomplished fighter, Fialla realized, but he was no Clansman, did not know how to truly fight with hands and fists and feet. She grabbed him and rolled, pinning him underneath her, slamming the length of her spear against his throat. He let out a rattling croak.


    His hands reached for her, she batted them away and slammed her fist into his nose, spraying blood.


    “What are you doing here?” She demanded, hitting him again. He croaked at her, and she hit him again.


    He grabbed her arm and it instantly went numb; she glanced at the useless limb and saw a long needle buried in it. She grit her teeth and used her spear as a lever to press down on his neck as she tore the needle out with her teeth.


    “You... You can’t-” He blurted in a strangled voice, so she hit him again with her off hand. It wasn’t as strong a blow as her dominant arm, but his head bounced off the soft dirt of the forest floor anyway.


    Her whole arm was numb now, traveling up her shoulder. She slammed her head into his, and he went limp.


    She was supposed to be blessed by the Dragon, immune to poisons and disease. Was it not working? She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and reached for the power she carried within her. Fire bloomed within her breast, searing through her veins.


    Her useless arm prickled and needled as if it had fallen asleep and cramped up, she let out a moan that wanted to be a scream and grabbed her useless arm with her other, biting her lip to stifle the scream that wanted to rip its way out of her.


    The heat faded from her arm and relaxed the muscles; she gasped in relief as tears ran from her eyes.


    The fire faded from her breast, replaced by a horrible, gnawing hunger that roared from her guts.


    She struggled off of him and wolfed some of her rations, the trail mix that everyone carried with them, a mix of vegetables, grains, and meat. The dragon within her resisted, demanding the raw, bloody meat of her prey.


    She grimly chewed and swallowed, refusing the savage urge to tear into the Dark Elf with her teeth and rend his flesh, swallow it in great gulps.


    Eventually the urge to cannibalize her victim faded to a dull ache; the blood that leaked from his leg whet her appetite every time she saw it.


    She stripped him of his clothes, as black as he was, discovering a similar sort of ration on his belt and eating that, too.


    There was a coil of rope wrapped around his waist; she used that to bind his arms and legs.


    She retrieved her waterbags and his, filled them at the pool, and then began dragging him towards the camp she shared with Sheilah. Sheilah would know what to do with him.


    She paused only for a moment as a thought occurred to her; the memory of Sheilah eating a raw lizard with great relish right in front of her.


    “Is that why she did it?” Fialla wondered, but started walking again.


    *****


    Artrus woke to find himself in a humiliating position; stripped naked, hands and feet bound with his own rope, being dragged through the forest. His leg was bleeding and nearly useless.


    He struggled to recall what had happened, to figure out how he’d gotten into such a position.


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    “Hey-” He croaked, tried to wet his lips and tried again. “Hey-” he called, trying to look around himself.


    All he could see was the water pool he’d been using to refill his skins receding. He’d been using it while he waited for the patrol he was shadowing to catch up.


    Something had slammed into him, all black and gray and glowing coals, something monstrous and terrifying-


    Some sort of monster, some predator was taking him back to its den to devour-


    But why- how- would a monster tie him up?


    “Can we talk?” He croaked, trying diplomacy again.


    “No.” the one who was dragging replied simply.


    “Listen: I have connections. High connections. I can get you anything you want.” He offered.


    He couldn’t figure out what happened for a moment. The world whirled around him; he slammed into the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of his lungs.


    He opened his eyes and met a pair of silvery-gray eyes glaring back at him. Her skin was a warm, light brown, her ears were long and pointed like his; her hair was glossy black, and in her hands was a long spear; the head was some creamy, milky material with an orange heart. The blade looked very sharp.


    “You look familiar.” He managed to say after he got his wind back. The blade immediately touched his throat. Adrenaline splashed into his veins; he was certain that if he swallowed, his throat would be cut.


    “The only thing I want, Dark Elf, is your head on a stick.” She spat at him.


    He blinked at this barely-restrained savagery. He looked in her burning eyes and all he saw was immediate, brutal violence. All he saw was his death.


    “Wait.” He whispered. It would be prudent for him to whisper, so he did. He needed to calm her down.


    “What.” Her voice was slick and smooth, like the feeling of silk sliding across fingertips. Her accent was strange, her cadence and pitch all wrong, but he was certain.


    “You’re a Wildling, right?” He asked in that tiny voice. “A Wild Elf.”


    She didn’t say anything, so he pressed further. “What are you doing here, in these lands?”


    “Living.” She whispered back, her lovely lips curving in a predatory grin. “Living free of you.”


    “Please-” he began, and relaxed as the spear was removed from his throat.


    “I’ve changed my mind.” Fialla decided. “I was going to take you back to camp and let my older sister decide what to do with you.” She sat down next to him and smiled a lovely, dangerous smile. “But I remembered some things my father told me about Dark Elves; things that they did to my people. Things they did to my family, before I was even born. Things the Dark Elves did in the name of the High Elves.”


    She showed him her knife, the blade carved from that same strange creamy material.


    *****


    Sheilah was up on the boulder again, bow in her lap, arrow nocked, when Fialla returned, using her spear as a walking stick.


    “Run into any problems?” Sheilah asked.


    “This... forest... is very different from the Redstone.” Fialla replied.


    Sheilah nodded. “I don’t think I’ll get used to it.” She agreed.


    “Are we going to stay here long?” Fialla asked. “We’ll need to build a shelter.”


    Sheilah shook her head. “I was- Davian told me that some people would be along to ... pick me up... and take me to Stormheim.” She replied.


    “You’ve been here for some time.” Fialla observed, and Sheilah nodded.


    The half-elf sat herself next to Sheilah after dropping her waterskins.


    “You seem to have a new waterskin?” Sheilah questioned, but Fialla shook her head at the question.


    “Do you think...” Fialla began, and then adjusted her position on the large boulder. “Do you think that you’ll make your family proud, even separated from them like this?”


    Sheilah nodded. “I know it.” She replied simply, and tugged on her armor with a finger.


    Fialla nodded at that.


    “How did you get that armor, by the way?” Fialla asked.


    “How did you get blood on yours?” Sheilah fired back.


    “Ah.” Fialla blurted. She took a breath. “I’ll tell you if you tell me.”


    Sheilah let out a breath. “It was a gift.”


    Fialla twisted her face up. “You can’t just do that. It’s not something you do. It’s practically a part of you. It’s something that you’re buried with, along with your necklace.” She argued. “You can’t just be gifted dragon armor.”


    Sheilah waited for Fialla to wind down from her completely correct tirade before revealing the answer. “Adlan gave it to me.”


    Fialla immediately shut up at that. She reached out and touched it with her fingertip. “Is it his?” She whispered.


    Sheilah shook her head. “He didn’t explain it to me... but it was made for me.”


    Fialla eyed it carefully. “This pattern definitely looks like it was taken from the Tyrant Dragon you killed, but how did he..?” She wondered. “That hide was thick, Sheilah. There was no way we could have made it into leather.”


    Sheilah shrugged. “Ask nothing of the spirits.” She replied, and then bumped her shoulder against Fialla’s. “The blood?”


    “I ran into a Dark Elf.” She replied, her hands curling into fists. “My father told me about them. What they did to my people. Why they did it. How they enjoyed it.” Her face twisted into bitter anger. “That thing recognized me.” She looked up at Sheilah. “They tortured us, Sheilah. They did it and laughed. My father told me all about what they did. He looked down on me. Even with my spear at his throat, he was looking down on me.”


    She shook her head, letting her hair swing. “I could not let that stand.” Tears gathered in her eyes. “I want to go home and tell my father what I did so that he can hold me and tell me that I did good.”


    “It’s a long trip, but you could go see him, Fialla.” Sheilah offered as she held the wiry elf.


    The girl shook her head. “I’m staying with you. Where you go, I go.”


    “Well then, I guess I’ll have to tell you that I’m proud of you in his place.” Sheilah whispered and held her close.