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Jeron narrowed his eyes to the laugh, knowing when he was being mocked when he heard it, numb to the way this woman’s gesture aimed to hurt the way skin forms callouses over consistently damaged areas. He had heard such a laugh before, usually while captive and pleading his innocence over things that had transpired while he was never around. Did she think she could discourage him with that barbed laugh and those harsh words? He had heard worse, endured worse, though he had to admit that this was the very first time anyone had mocked him before learning what sort of creature he was.
Usually, he made great pains to avoid talking to anyone at all costs.
A charred rope cut into her scorched skin as her corpse hung from a tree, and he knew he would never hear poisonous words pour from her mouth again.
Empty blue eyes like glass marbles gazed at him, unblinking, as a shock of dark blood stained the white snow beneath her, and he knew he would never hear kind words from her or anyone else again.
Each lash of the whip marked his failure to save his mother, his failure to save his only friend, his failure in life, as his pain-filled cries rang out desperate pleas to kill the greater pain that consumed his heart. All the while, the mocking jeers nibbled away at what little of his humanity remained.
He needed to try harder to keep from interacting with strangers.
Once Jeron realized that this woman was not going to help him, he ignored her entirely, her presence suddenly insignificant. As she turned to leave, he turned as well, dashing her from his thoughts as he moved in the opposite direction.
~~
It was odd how quiet this forest was. No bird prattled its business in the treetops above. No lizard or squirrel scurried about in the thin, mossy undergrowth. Bears did not lumber and snort through the shadows, wolves did not slink about around him. It was as though the forest knew what he was and had chosen to shun him like every other living creature; ruefully, he almost thought it a wonder that the grass beneath him did not wither and die beneath his feet and that the trees did not fall every time he touched them.
For all that this forest was, it had a strangely calming effect on him. He could feel energy, magical energy run through this place like life-giving blood veins delivering nourishment to flesh and bone. It was something he never sensed before; he could not say from experience that he felt in tune to the enchantment around him, yet somehow he knew, like how one knows he is hot or cold when he feels it. Jeron began to wonder if he needed to find this rumored magical beast at all or if he could just simply live in this forest for a time, somehow absorb its magical energy, and use it to carry out his plans.
Thought of killing the beast made Jeron suddenly aware of how late it was, the last breath of twilight threading through the thick trees. Suddenly feeling uneasy, Jeron shifted his focus to prepare for nightfall survival. He ate moss, the only thing familiar in these strange woods, and hoped such instinct would not prove to be his folly in the consumption of it. He prepared a makeshift lance with a long stick simply by breaking off the end in such a way that it formed an uneven edge, like a point. He wished he had his carving knife, or most of his other things. He used another stick as a torch, channeling the only magical spell he knew within it—fire—a chill running along his body each time the top of the stick ignited with flame. With nothing flammable to keep the torchlight going on its own, Jeron used his light sparingly, knowing that if he didn’t, he would freeze to death in the middle of this summer before sunrise.
Hungry and woefully unprepared for survival in a magical forest let alone for hunting an enchanted beast, Jeron climbed up a tree for the night, settling within its sturdy branches. For reasons he could not fathom, the moon did not shine in this place, making it difficult for him to see in the darkness despite his somewhat enhanced night vision, an unintended gift from his father. Yet the forest seemed to come alive. Jeron smelled the blood-tinged breath, heard the frenzied snorts, and felt the trembling weight of some sort of creature moving about below him—no, several of them. He dared not make light to see and could only make out indiscernible shapes below, but the creatures did not sound docile. Could this be what he was looking for? As eager and desperate as he was to finally consume dragon’s blood, to obtain untold power, and to finally hold an upper hand in a world bent on snuffing him out, he did not attack what he could not see, what he could not anticipate. He realized, woefully, how foolish he had been to come here. He should have tried harder to look for his sword when he had escaped the humans that would lurk for him outside the forest walls. He should have not gotten himself caught in the first place—again.
So he sat there, clinging to the tree, waited for the sounds of hungry beasts to subside, and eventually succumbed to exhaustion.
”You can’t hide forever,” Maura intoned, swinging her legs from the tree limb she sat on as she bit into a pear.
“I know,” Jeron replied with a sigh, gazing at the moon that rose into the darkened sky like a friend come to greet him. He found its cold light warm, soothing. “But the others aren’t like you. Mother says—“
“Forget what she says. She beats you and curses you every day. She poisons you with her words of blame and hate.” Young Maura grasped Jeron’s dark hand, her own skin like ivory in the moonlight, and cast him a pleading gaze, her expression not any less clear in the dark. “But she is wrong about you. You are kind and thoughtful; a good friend. I see the good in you, the humanity in you, and I know that if I just introduce you to the village, they’ll love you as much as I do.”
She had seen the humanity in those that sought to kill what they did not understand.
Jeron, fast asleep unable to secure himself on the tree, slid off it and plummeted to the ground hard. He awoke to the jarring impact, the gnashing of teeth, the loud and eager snarling, and of something sharp lashing through his clothes and skin. He returned to the waking state screaming, at first thinking that he was being tortured by an angry mob of humans. Instead, he realized in disoriented panic that he had fallen from the tree and was being torn apart by the creatures below.
Somehow, he managed to stagger to his feet, casting fire in an arch in front of him, not caring how the act plunged his body in a cold shock. In that brief burst of light, he could see the creatures surround him, but the flames moved harmlessly through them as though he was attacking shadows. But somehow they were not mere shadows as he felt something intangible very tangibly bite into his arm in an attempt to drag him down. He swung his stick at it, not hitting anything, but the act of doing so seemed to be enough for the shadow creature to let go. So he continued this assault, whirling around and swinging his stick, flinging fire everywhere, screaming in fear and ferocity. But still they came, lashing at his clothes, tearing open his flesh, until Jeron could barely stand, swinging his stick listlessly…
Sunlight pierced through the darkness, heralding a new day, and the shadow creatures vanished as though they had never been.
Jeron, his clothes in tatters, his face exposed, silver hair spilling around his shoulders, gasped for breath, in so much pain that his other senses were numb save for the intense chill from using too much fire. He collapsed on the ground and did not bother to rise, this slender creature with ash-grey skin, pointed ears, and silver hair. This elven creature, who looked very much like a dark elf, appeared to be part of a race of beings that were perceived to be more frightening than anything this forest could produce.
Usually, he made great pains to avoid talking to anyone at all costs.
A charred rope cut into her scorched skin as her corpse hung from a tree, and he knew he would never hear poisonous words pour from her mouth again.
Empty blue eyes like glass marbles gazed at him, unblinking, as a shock of dark blood stained the white snow beneath her, and he knew he would never hear kind words from her or anyone else again.
Each lash of the whip marked his failure to save his mother, his failure to save his only friend, his failure in life, as his pain-filled cries rang out desperate pleas to kill the greater pain that consumed his heart. All the while, the mocking jeers nibbled away at what little of his humanity remained.
He needed to try harder to keep from interacting with strangers.
Once Jeron realized that this woman was not going to help him, he ignored her entirely, her presence suddenly insignificant. As she turned to leave, he turned as well, dashing her from his thoughts as he moved in the opposite direction.
~~
It was odd how quiet this forest was. No bird prattled its business in the treetops above. No lizard or squirrel scurried about in the thin, mossy undergrowth. Bears did not lumber and snort through the shadows, wolves did not slink about around him. It was as though the forest knew what he was and had chosen to shun him like every other living creature; ruefully, he almost thought it a wonder that the grass beneath him did not wither and die beneath his feet and that the trees did not fall every time he touched them.
For all that this forest was, it had a strangely calming effect on him. He could feel energy, magical energy run through this place like life-giving blood veins delivering nourishment to flesh and bone. It was something he never sensed before; he could not say from experience that he felt in tune to the enchantment around him, yet somehow he knew, like how one knows he is hot or cold when he feels it. Jeron began to wonder if he needed to find this rumored magical beast at all or if he could just simply live in this forest for a time, somehow absorb its magical energy, and use it to carry out his plans.
Thought of killing the beast made Jeron suddenly aware of how late it was, the last breath of twilight threading through the thick trees. Suddenly feeling uneasy, Jeron shifted his focus to prepare for nightfall survival. He ate moss, the only thing familiar in these strange woods, and hoped such instinct would not prove to be his folly in the consumption of it. He prepared a makeshift lance with a long stick simply by breaking off the end in such a way that it formed an uneven edge, like a point. He wished he had his carving knife, or most of his other things. He used another stick as a torch, channeling the only magical spell he knew within it—fire—a chill running along his body each time the top of the stick ignited with flame. With nothing flammable to keep the torchlight going on its own, Jeron used his light sparingly, knowing that if he didn’t, he would freeze to death in the middle of this summer before sunrise.
Hungry and woefully unprepared for survival in a magical forest let alone for hunting an enchanted beast, Jeron climbed up a tree for the night, settling within its sturdy branches. For reasons he could not fathom, the moon did not shine in this place, making it difficult for him to see in the darkness despite his somewhat enhanced night vision, an unintended gift from his father. Yet the forest seemed to come alive. Jeron smelled the blood-tinged breath, heard the frenzied snorts, and felt the trembling weight of some sort of creature moving about below him—no, several of them. He dared not make light to see and could only make out indiscernible shapes below, but the creatures did not sound docile. Could this be what he was looking for? As eager and desperate as he was to finally consume dragon’s blood, to obtain untold power, and to finally hold an upper hand in a world bent on snuffing him out, he did not attack what he could not see, what he could not anticipate. He realized, woefully, how foolish he had been to come here. He should have tried harder to look for his sword when he had escaped the humans that would lurk for him outside the forest walls. He should have not gotten himself caught in the first place—again.
So he sat there, clinging to the tree, waited for the sounds of hungry beasts to subside, and eventually succumbed to exhaustion.
”You can’t hide forever,” Maura intoned, swinging her legs from the tree limb she sat on as she bit into a pear.
“I know,” Jeron replied with a sigh, gazing at the moon that rose into the darkened sky like a friend come to greet him. He found its cold light warm, soothing. “But the others aren’t like you. Mother says—“
“Forget what she says. She beats you and curses you every day. She poisons you with her words of blame and hate.” Young Maura grasped Jeron’s dark hand, her own skin like ivory in the moonlight, and cast him a pleading gaze, her expression not any less clear in the dark. “But she is wrong about you. You are kind and thoughtful; a good friend. I see the good in you, the humanity in you, and I know that if I just introduce you to the village, they’ll love you as much as I do.”
She had seen the humanity in those that sought to kill what they did not understand.
Jeron, fast asleep unable to secure himself on the tree, slid off it and plummeted to the ground hard. He awoke to the jarring impact, the gnashing of teeth, the loud and eager snarling, and of something sharp lashing through his clothes and skin. He returned to the waking state screaming, at first thinking that he was being tortured by an angry mob of humans. Instead, he realized in disoriented panic that he had fallen from the tree and was being torn apart by the creatures below.
Somehow, he managed to stagger to his feet, casting fire in an arch in front of him, not caring how the act plunged his body in a cold shock. In that brief burst of light, he could see the creatures surround him, but the flames moved harmlessly through them as though he was attacking shadows. But somehow they were not mere shadows as he felt something intangible very tangibly bite into his arm in an attempt to drag him down. He swung his stick at it, not hitting anything, but the act of doing so seemed to be enough for the shadow creature to let go. So he continued this assault, whirling around and swinging his stick, flinging fire everywhere, screaming in fear and ferocity. But still they came, lashing at his clothes, tearing open his flesh, until Jeron could barely stand, swinging his stick listlessly…
Sunlight pierced through the darkness, heralding a new day, and the shadow creatures vanished as though they had never been.
Jeron, his clothes in tatters, his face exposed, silver hair spilling around his shoulders, gasped for breath, in so much pain that his other senses were numb save for the intense chill from using too much fire. He collapsed on the ground and did not bother to rise, this slender creature with ash-grey skin, pointed ears, and silver hair. This elven creature, who looked very much like a dark elf, appeared to be part of a race of beings that were perceived to be more frightening than anything this forest could produce.