hey everybody. I was supposed to post on Monday, but it slipped my mind. but there’s this now. enjoy!

Aiclath Werlick sat motionless in a tree. The Forest of a Thousand Curses could easily kill somebody if one stood still too long. Monsters, bandits, territorial tree-dwarves…all these and more would finish an elf and send him to Atropus without a second thought. Many more civilized would not worry about killing a Byssa. Dark elves were even punishable by death for the simple act of hunting in Imperial lands. The third act anyway.

He had lost four fingers as a result of hunting, but he did it anyway. It was the only way to feed himself, his mother, and his sister.

Aiclath swung down from the tree and piled some sticks into a small pyramid. Looking around carefully, he rubbed his fingers together and whispered some words in a language that was old when the moon was young. Fire leapt from his fingers onto the wood, blazing up merrily. He warmed three cuts of wild boar over the flames before slinging his bow off his back and silently creeping away.

After about two hours, he glanced up nervously. The sun was coming up, and you could easily count on someone from the village to get firewood in the morning. After about fifteen minutes, he stiffened. A young deer was stepping through the trees. Aiclath sighted, and then released the arrow. It whistled through the air, landing itself straight through the buck’s eye. It turned to run and then collapsed.

Aiclath approached the deer. It had plenty of fat on it. He decided to bury it. The winter snow would keep it fresh for tomorrow.

Drawing a steel dagger, he stabbed at the buck, cutting off small pieces of flesh and laying them on the ground. Once he had about sixteen small strips, he buried the body of the deer, making sure to spread all the bloodstained snow around. He stood, turned, and froze.

A young human was standing there.

He couldn’t have been more than eighteen. His short blond hair hugged his scalp. His gray eyes showed hatred and fear of the dark elf chopping up a deer. His clothes, lined with fox fur, were pulled tight.

The human turned and fled, heading toward the village. Aiclath’s hands shot to his bow. He notched an arrow, pulled the string back, and stopped.

Could he do this? Could he kill another being like him? It would be simple, really. No more effort than killing a boar or deer. But something stopped him. Pity. He didn’t want to do this.

The thought of himself dying flashed through Aiclath’s mind. He would be burnt at the stake. The human would condemn him to this without a second thought.

Aiclath pulled back the arrow and released.

It was quicker than he had expected. The arrow shrieked and with a wet thunk buried itself in the man’s back. Red blood splashed onto the snow, and he cried out before tripping and falling into a snowdrift.

Aiclath ran forward, staring at the blood. It was so red! The blood of elves was a silvery blue, and the blood of orcs black, and that of dwarves deep purple. Humans were the only creatures with blood of such a stunning color. Aiclath wiped it up.

He would have to bury the man quickly, or he would be caught. Aiclath moaned in despair. The ground was frozen solid. Unless he found deep snow like the stuff he had buried the deer in, he would be burned. He looked around, and started. He knew a place where no one would ever find the body.

Moving quickly, Aiclath unhooked a rope from his belt and tied it around the man’s waist. Then he knotted the other end around his body twelve times, and began climbing a tall tree, dragging the corpse up after him. At the top of the tree, Aiclath bound the body to the top bit, leaving him face up. Aiclath opened his lids so that the man could stare up into the realm of the Sky Titans. Hopefully, the man was there now, and not one of the undead in Atropus. Aiclath climbed back down and returned to the village, thinking of the man the whole way.