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There’s no place in society for me. I don’t fit in anywhere other than a dark elf’s clutches or dying in destitution.
A stillness overtakes me. I can feel the world moving in slow motion.
I can feel the wind’s every breath on my naked skin.
The trees are swaying in a cool breeze.
The bugs and beasts of the forest are still.
I stop running. I don’t understand why I’m stopping. My brain is screaming at me to keep running, no matter what.
I turn around once more, expecting to see four elves scowling at me, ready to use and discard me.
But I see nothing. In the dark woods, where sunlight peeks lightly through the canopy, I am alone.
I take a deep breath.
Is this real?
Am I safe?
My imagination races. How am I safe?
Then I double over as four ear-piercing screams ring out from somewhere in the forest. I try to cover my ears, to minimize the pain.
The cries stop, and I pick myself up from my knees, standing briefly at attention.
“What the fuck is going on?”
4
ZEPHIRO
Ican feel my blood pulsing in my veins. I am silent in a world of chaos. I pride myself on making no sound as I place each foot stealthily on the forest floor. Their scent is strong in my nostrils. I know exactly where they are, and I know they are scared. The smell of their fear excites me.
There is a crash and a curse. But I don’t need the cacophony of noise they are making to know where the filthy bastards are. How dare they trespass on my territory?
I hear them grunting orders at one another in their foul tongue. They want to scatter and regroup later. Perfect. I can hunt them down one by one. I love this sport.
I estimate the closest one's trajectory and slip silently into position. He will not see me coming.
I drop down from my perch on the branch above his head and stand in his path, reveling in the look of terror in his eyes as realizes his mistake.
Before he can make a sound, I have my hand around his throat, applying pressure and watching with grim satisfaction as his eyes bulge and he scrabbles ineffectually at my grasp.
A noise to my left alerts me of another, and so I increase my grip, feeling sinew and tendon tear beneath my hands. There is a gush of hot blood and the filthy orc crumples at my feet.
I discard the carcass and stealthily follow the next one deeper into the thick forest. He is furtive, often stealing glances behind him. Good, he might give me a bit more of a challenge.
He is startled by the ruckus that a comrade is making close by in his haste to escape. He stares in the direction of his cursing friend as if unsure of which way to run. I take my opportunity, swiftly twisting his head and glorying in the snapping crack it makes as the vertebrae in his neck break. He falls, suddenly boneless, to the ground.
I go after his hapless comrade next. This one is easy. He is making such a racket in his dire need to escape that I could simply follow him with my ears.
But then a new scent reaches my flaring nostrils. It is the scent of dark elves. But there is something tantalizing there, too. A scent of something else, something I desire.
The noisy orc blunders into me and then staggers backward as he realizes his mistake. But I am no longer interested in hunting orcs. I casually slash him across the stomach with my claws, leaving him screaming on the ground as he attempts to hold his own intestines inside him.
I follow my nose toward my new adversaries. This is my land, and they will not know I am upon them until it is too late. I must be more careful, however. Elves are not orcs. They are subtle and cunning. I must take care that they do not sense me nearby.
