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The farther west they travelled, the more the trees thinned, and the land became steep and flat, and steep again. They had reached the western hills, which meant that they would soon be coming to the end of the forest. The farther they travelled, the more hills appeared, and soon they were surrounded by jagged cliffs. At twilight they stopped at another cave, bigger than the last, and took turns gathering firewood. By sundown, through the trees above, great black clouds had formed in the sky. A rumble of thunder clapped in the air. Then the rain started – a huge torrent of water fell from the heavens, soaking the forest around them, muffling any other sounds of the wood with its roaring downpour. Villid gathered firewood and leaves in a pile and tried to start a fire. After two or three minutes of frustrated cursing and failed attempts at producing any sort of spark, he glanced outside. He spotted something off in the distance, and for a moment he clutched his weapons. But then he realised. “Look,” he pointed, his heart lifting. “There’s a deer,”
An elegant, antlered animal was grazing not far off, half-hidden by a tree. The deer was much smaller than any beast they hunted in Xentar, but it was a beast nonetheless. Villid’s stomach rumbled; the herbs, dry leaves and rare fruits they had found in the forest had not nearly satisfied him.
Villid was still wearing his steel armour; he had been reluctant to discard it in case it was found by any scouting Tyrans. It felt heavy on his body, and the weight of it strained his muscles. He took it off, sighing in relief and letting it clang as it hit the cave floor. He placed his axe, his sword and his belt of daggers in rows on the ground and stretched. It was a relief to get rid of the weight.
Aya had been watching his futile attempts to light the fire, and edged towards the firewood. She whispered something. Bright orange sparks suddenly burst from her fingertips, and instantly there was a merry, crackling fire. Warmth washed over her and she sighed with relief, hunching herself to it and watching the flames flicker and crackle as the rain roared outside. She felt oddly safe in the storm, as if the rain was a protective barrier from anyone or anything that would try to hurt them. She knew it was silly, but she held onto the feeling.
Villid glanced momentarily at the fire, and then picked up two daggers and his sword. He edged slowly out of the cave and into the heavy rain, where he gasped; despite the humidity, the droplets that suddenly hammered his skin were ice-cold.
A ripple of thunder growled in the sky as he eased out of his dirty, blood-stained tunic and hung it on a nearby log for the rain to clean. Without it, he wore nothing but his heavy boots and dark slacks. He crouched low to the ground, grasping his sword tightly, edging round a tree
towards where the deer grazed, the roaring rain muffling the sound of his footsteps on the ground.
Aya knelt by the cave’s entrance, and watched him as he went. The rain lashed at his muscles and ran down his dark, scar-battered skin. An unfamiliar sensation ran up her spine. There was something about him she hadn’t noticed before. He looked so... strong, far different from any
Elf man she had seen. His long legs and large, muscular arms flexed as he crouched, no sign of weakness anywhere on his body. He was a work of art… perfection.
She found herself gazing at him as he hunted. He had come to a tree, where he reached for a dagger at his belt. As he turned to glance round to the deer, she noticed how his chest and neck muscles tightened, rain dripping from his face and down his chest. She felt surprised at the new sensations she could feel rippling through her body, and yet, in some way she didn’t understand, she liked it. Her breathing had quickened, her heart was beating faster, and there was new warmth inside her that had nothing to do with the fire.
Then, quick as lightning, a dagger whipped through the air and pierced the deer deep into its neck. It gave an inaudible cry and fell flat, motionless, its death quick and painless. Villid rose upright and turned to Aya, his hands curved to fists. He gave her a small nod, the rain sliding down his skin, his eyes burning into hers as if they were penetrating her very heart.

“I’ve never had deer before,” said Aya, as she chewed on the large piece of roasted venison. She was trying hard not to look at Villid, who hadn’t put his tunic back on.
Villid didn’t know what to say in response. This
E
lf woman confused him slightly. All his life he had been taught that he should hate his enemies, hate everything and anything different to the bloodthirsty Tyrans he knew so well. But somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to hate this
Elf – Aya. She seemed too fragile, too innocent to deserve to be hated. He knew how she’d watched him as he had hunted the deer. But he couldn’t talk to her about it – how could he?
“Thank you,” said Aya, wiping her lips carefully with her fingers. Villid jumped slightly and his piece of meat slid out of his fingers and onto the cave floor. Feeling foolish, he scooped it back up and stared at it.
“You’re welcome,” he said eventually.
There was a silence, where Aya nervously edged closer to the fire to warm her hands. The storm outside roared, and an early darkness was starting to fall. It felt strange that only a few days ago, she was walking along the field of wheat with Neecrid.
Neecrid... it hadn’t yet seemed so apparent, so obvious, that everything Aya had known about life was now gone. Aya’s hand suddenly flew to her mouth as she choked back tears. Everyone she knew was dead. Neecrid, her father, her brother, all the
Elves she ever studied with, worked with,
loved
...
“Aya,” said Villid softly. He couldn’t fight the guilt that welled up inside him as he watched the
E
lf girl. Tears fell down her face from her emerald-green eyes. Sadness tore at him like never before – never had he felt compassion or empathy for a single creature, much less an
Elf woman...
He touched her arm and she flinched, sniffed and turned her face away. Villid felt he must fill the silence, break the barrier that he could almost physically feel between them.
“You... you can do magic?” he asked, gesturing towards the crackling fire that flickered at the cave’s entrance. Aya wiped her cheek with the sleeve of her dress and looked up at him. “You can’t do magic?” she asked.
The response surprised him; he couldn’t think of anything to say so he shook his head. Aya half-smiled and turned to face him properly, her slender legs tucked beneath her. “Really, magic has been forbidden for a long time,” she said. “But some of us learn for survival. Forest
Elves aren’t known for brute strength,” she whispered the last two words, as if they scared her, and glanced at the weapons that lay on the ground, their shadows leaping up the wall in the firelight.
“What about you?” she found herself asking. “Don’t Tyrans know magic?”
Usually, Villid would have found this level of ignorance amusing, but he found nothing funny about this situation. She seemed so interested.
“We rely on physical weapons,” he said. “When we are born into a tribe, our number is branded on our chest to mark our position in war,” he gestured to the place above his heart where the numbers six thousand, one hundred and twenty seven shone white in the firelight. “From the day we learn to walk we are given a weapon and taught how to use it. We are tutored, our skills honed for the perfect attack, the perfect kill.”
His tone made Aya nervous; he spoke with an almost fond caress in his voice, as if killing was a way of entertainment. But her curiosity overwhelmed her fear.
“From childhood,” Villid turned to meet her eyes, “we are taught that killing is glory. Victory is glory, in a fair fight. But there was one Tyran who believed that ambushing the innocent was the easiest and best way for victory. Murdering the helpless, without even giving them a chance,” Villid clenched his fists as he thought of his tribe leader, Shade, and glared into the fire. “Shade abused his power,” he spat. He could see images flashing in the flames – memories, of screaming children, crying
Elf women as the Tyran soldiers, him amongst them, chased them to attack them, slaughter them where they stood... “And now, Shade has blamed me for killing our last Seer. I’m outcast by the tribe, probably forever.”
Aya gazed silently back at Villid’s profile, and she felt a quiet calmness fill her. His face was contorted in pain, in remorse... he really regretted attacking the village. He
wasn’t a monster, after all. Just a man from another world.
She moved closer to him, taking in his features as he looked away from the fire and frowned at the cave wall. Villid thought of the old Seer, how he had helped him through all these years, and how he had been killed so easily, it seemed, and Villid had been helpless to save him. The old man had been like a guardian to him, and now, he was gone, and would never come back. Villid’s chest suddenly tightened inside him, and he was shocked to realise that his cheeks were wet. He turned away from Aya and wiped his face roughly with the back of his hand.
Nervously she placed her hand on his arm. He flinched slightly at the sudden warmth, then sighed, and reached to squeeze her hand. She put her head on his shoulder, comforting him in the only way she knew how, knowing that he wasn’t a soulless beast, but a living, feeling person just like her.
The flames soon died down as the night wore on, but nobody built a second fire.

Aya awoke just before dawn, when the first birds were already chirping. Villid was still sleeping several feet away, his arm tucked beneath his head. The position made him look oddly innocent.
Aya edged out of the cave, letting the damp, cool grass soothe her sore feet.
She felt an aching sadness gna
wing
at her as she thought of her village. She shook her head, and looked above her at the trees, where two birds hopped
along a branch, chirping merrily. She could be strong. She wasn’t alone.
Villid woke an hour later, and pulled on his tunic which had dried in the sun. He pulled his thick gauntlets onto his hands, tied his sword and his axe to his back, and glanced back at his armour, which had been pushed to the back of the cave before they had settled down to sleep.
“Are you taking it?” Aya asked, when Villid tied his belt round his waist and emerged from the cave.
Villid shook his head. “I don’t need it anymore.”
Close to noon, they came across a wide path in the forest. Trees had been chopped down and cleared for carriages and horses to travel through. Now, however, the path was empty, and the overgrowing weeds around the gravelled path suggested it hadn’t been used in a while.
“We must be out of Elf territory now,” said Aya, as they observed the path. “This was made by humans. We should be careful.”
Aya had never met a human before and didn’t know much about them. As a child, she had learnt that they were fond of fine clothes and jewellery, and that they lived in large tribes scattered around the land. She was unsure how humans would react to an
Elf and a Tyran travelling together on the outskirts of the forest. Such a thing had never been heard of before, surely.
They kept off the path but kept it in sight, staying near the bushes where they could easily hide if they saw anyone.
But the road remained clear for five whole days, save the odd deer or warthog that Villid hunted and roasted.
The rainstorm had caused large sources of water to collect in the forest, but after a few days the puddles dried and Aya didn’t know where there was another river. They drank warthog blood, but it tasted awful and made her sick.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed after she had vomited in a nearby bush for the second time that morning. Villid shook his head. “We’ll find a river,” he reassured her.
“Let me carry you for a while.
”
At first Aya had refused, disliking the idea of showing Villid weakness, but eventually agreed after realising that she slowed them down.
It wasn’t until late one starry night that they met anyone. Villid was woken by the sound of clopping hooves and hushed voices; it sounded like two or three men travelling on a horse and carriage. Villid gently shook Aya awake, and they crouched and listened.
“... shouldn’t be much farther,” said a deep voice over the horse’s hooves. “We’ve seen no one who’s recognised us so far...”
“Isn’t that a good thing?” said a second voice which was almost the opposite to the first; high and wheezy. “Nobody knows about it, it’s better if we don’t see anyone, that means no one can see us.”
“I think I did see someone whilst you were sleeping,” said the first voice. “Elf women. Beautiful creatures.”
“You saw E
lves?” the wheezy voice whispered. “Real
Elves? You’re not serious?”
“Of course I am,” the first voice sounded pleased. “There was one – she must have been a lady or countess for sure – beautiful long hair and silver robes that glittered. I was going to talk to them, but they looked terrified and sped off before I could stop them.”
The second man gave an impressed grunt. The voices sounded dangerously close. The sound of hooves suddenly stopped. There was an eerie silence. Aya and Villid froze for a moment – had they been found?
“Let’s stop here for the night,” said the first voice, and Aya exhaled in relief. Villid edged towards the bushes and peered out of the leaves. Two human men, both crouched and dressed in dark tunics and capes, were edging themselves off a huge brown carriage and opening bedrolls at the side of the road, barely ten feet from where he and Aya knelt.
They watched as the shorter of the two men disappeared into the carriage for a moment, then leapt out, holding dusty-looking bottles over his head in triumph. “Let’s celebrate,” he smiled to his companion, who gave a loud laugh and took a bottle.
“To a successful catch!” said the deep-voiced man.
“To getting away!” said the second.
“To a fine collection of scrolls and gold that will last a lifetime!” said the first.
“Not to mention a fine horse, a beautiful carriage and more liquor than we can hope to ever drink,” said the other.
Liquor, a carriage, gold... they were definitely humans. Aya and Villid waited a while; the men sat with their backs to them and started a large fire, singing old folk songs merrily as they drank through several of the dusty bottles, toasting to everything they could think of, and roaring with laughter at nothing. Villid put a finger to his lips, and when Aya nodded, slowly crept out of the bush behind them.
Neither human had noticed him. He wasn’t planning to kill them – this was no battle, and although it was two-on-two, there was no need for them to die. Instead Villid crept so close to them that they must have felt his breath on the backs of their necks, then suddenly knocked their skulls together with a sickening crack. They both fell to the floor, completely stunned, their eyes lolling to the backs of their heads and their mouths gaping open stupidly.
Aya, desperately thirsty from days without water, sprang from the bush and took one of the bottles in the shorter human’s hand. She was about to take a sip when Villid pulled it from her grasp.
“Wait,” he said, and sniffed it. It smelt strongly of ginger and spices, but seemed safe enough. Aya took it back thankfully and poured it down her throat, not knowing or caring if it harmed her, for her mouth was so dry she felt she could die at any moment.
The spice burned her lips and she coughed, but overall it
was pleasant. Villid looked at the horse that pulled the humans’ carriage – it was no small stable-horse as he had
expected.
It was a magnificent stallion. Its coat was an ash-grey, its legs were long and muscular and its feet and hooves were a speckled black, like its
well-kempt mane and long, thick tail. The
stallion snorted as it stared at the grass a little way away with glassy dark eyes.
Villid untied the buckles that held it to the carriage and the horse clopp
ed to the grass. He
sniffed at it, then munched on it hungrily. Aya watched him with interest.
“What a beautiful horse,” she smiled. Villid nodded in agreement. “Too good for a carriage,” he commented. He glanced at Aya. “We should take it with us,” he said.
Aya didn’t respond, but cocked her head to one side.
“We can disguise as humans easily with all this,” said Villid. “If we wear their robes and take the horse – we can get outside the forest much more quickly.”
Aya looked uncomfortable, and glanced at the unconscious humans, still clutching the bottle in her hands.
“You heard them yourselves,” Villid pointed out. “They stole it. They stole everything here. It wouldn’t really be a bad thing if we stole it too.”
“And we can stay with some human tribes, perhaps,” Aya said thoughtfully. “It’ll be easier than hiding.”
Villid wasn’t sure if she was entirely convinced or not, but he smiled at her and grabbed a lamp from the front seat.
He entered the carriage; it was full of boxes and crates, and a faint smell of garlic hung in the air. He dragged some of the boxes outside and onto the grass.
The first was full of old scrolls and what looked like documents. The second was filled with bags and bags of gleaming gold coins. The third, fourth and fifth, to which Aya almost cried with joy, were smaller boxes of herbs, leaves, lumps of warthog and deer meat, corn, bread, rice, wheat and plump, purple berries. The sixth and seventh were full of more coins, and the last few, one of which was half-emptied, were full of countless bottles of ale.
Villid pushed the first crate aside without a second glance, but Aya approached it with interest. “Wow,” she whispered, pulling out thick scrolls and examining them in the firelight. The writing was small and scribbled; human writing, she supposed. Aya couldn’t read anything other than
Elven runes, and felt slightly disappointed. Villid took some bags, packed food and drink inside them and tied them onto the stallion. The horse didn’t respond to the extra weight, but gave an annoyed snort as Villid interrupted his meal of fresh grass.
Aya glanced nervously at the humans again. She was terrified that they may wake up at any moment. She crawled up to them both; they looked completely knocked out.
The humans were smaller than she had expected, they were a little larger than Elves, but were not as big as Tyrans, which was how she had imagined them. They both wore identical black tunics and capes; the first man had a crop of dark hair and a moustache, his mouth hanging open. The second was short and ginger-haired, his beard thick and unkempt.
“They’re thieves,” said Villid as Aya examined the scrolls again. “You heard them – ‘we drink to a catch, more liquor than we could ever drink’... they’ve obviously taken this from one of their tribes and raced east with it,” he smiled slightly as he watched Aya poring over the documents. “What are you looking for?” he asked.
“I’m not really sure,” Aya said, flicking through the scrolls. Some of the paper felt old and withered, as if it had been written a long time ago. She couldn’t understand the writing but the pictures were beautiful; humans on horseback, fields and mountains, palaces and plants. She stopped at one particular picture, which both fascinated and slightly scared her.
“Villid,” she said uncertainly as she examined it. Villid stopped what he was doing and looked over her shoulder at the picture.
“Just human artwork,” he shrugged, and carried on. Aya gazed at it. It made her feel uneasy, as if it was watching her, somehow.
It was a painting, streaked in black and red, painted with a thick brush, yet with a lot of delicate detail. It was a large hall, held by four thick, jagged pillars. In the middle was a
huge furnace with a stone table sat before it. Hundreds of silhouettes of soldiers seemed to be bowing and worshipping a larger figure standing above the furnace. It was tall with a cape, and was holding something above its head. Aya looked closely but she couldn’t tell what it was – a bundle of rags or a bag, perhaps. The longer she stared at the picture, the more uncomfortable she felt.
“Aya?” said Villid, and she jumped. “I’ve packed everything the horse can carry. We’ll set off at dawn tomorrow,”
Villid and Aya dragged the humans into a nearby bush, hidden from sight, and tied them to a tree. “I’ll tie it so that they will be able to escape eventually,” Villid explained, tying a loose rope around the humans. “But if they wake up in the night, we’ll have time to leave before they realised what happened.”
One last crate was in the carriage, full of clothes. Aya and Villid pulled out some tunics and capes similar to those the humans had been wearing.
“We should get out of this forest tomorrow, now we have the horse,” said Aya as they climbed into the ready-made bedrolls. They felt deliciously comfortable after several nights sleeping in caves and woodland.
She thought about what the human had said about E
lves. He must have been talking about Llyliana and her other servants, surely. “We have to find Llyliana,” she muttered to Villid, watching the place where the fire had been
burning; it had now died down to glowing ashes. She heard Villid yawn next to her and felt tiredness wash over her body.
“Goodnight,” said Villid.
“Goodnight,” Aya smiled, and closed her eyes.