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My steps fall rhythmically as I walk down the path from the mines toward the village square, the footsteps of the other miners around me creating a strange, drum-like beat, accented by catches of quiet conversation. It isn’t long before the squat little cabins of the village square begin to peek into view from behind the massive tree trunks of the surrounding forest.
People mill about in the loose gravel streets, moving from vendor to vendor after their work day and collecting various supplies and food for the coming week. A handful of dark elf guards lean against the walls of scattered stalls and cabins, watching with thinly veiled boredom as the humans move about. The camp is almost peaceful- at least, as peaceful as any dark elf run settlement can be.
The camp is separated into different quarters, which also helps to keep the peace. The dark elves largely stay in their quarter, situated to the west of the main village square, and the humans stay in their eastern residential quarter. The mines lie to the north, and the road into Camp Horizon sits to the south, along with the warehouse where all of what we mine is stored and cataloged.
I sigh, wiping my soot-covered hands across my face. No, Camp Horizon isn’t the worst place to be, but the work is hard. And I know, deep down in my bones, that I want something more.
A stray, chilly breeze sweeps up the path from the village, carrying with it the decadent scent of fresh nimond bean rolls. The baker in town, Marshall, always seems to be making something with the spices he trades for with the dark elves.
I half-believe he’s managed to stay out of the mines almost solely because of the confections he creates in his little kitchen. I follow my nose to his small shop, the cabin radiating heat from the ovens within and enveloping me in its sweet, yeasty scent as I cross the threshold.
“I already know why you’re here,” Marshall calls teasingly over his shoulder, not even needing to turn around to know it’s me. This is another bit of my routine, although my trips to Marshall’s bakery are far less frequent than I’d like, only happening on a weekly basis.
“Then it’s a wonder you aren’t more prepared,” I rib back, leaning on the counter with a small smile. Marshall clucks at me as he turns around, producing a small box tied with twine and giving me a lopsided grin.
“How could I ever forget my favorite customer?” He teases as he hands me the box. I roll my eyes but give him a warm smile as I accept it, the heat radiating from the bottom of the box soothing my aching hands.
Marshall and I chat about our days as I tuck into the nimond bean roll right there in the shop, Marshall recounting an order from one of the dark elves while I stuff my face between laughs.
This gentle camaraderie is another reason I can’t imagine leaving Camp Horizon- there are so few places where humans are allowed to simply be, to form relationships with one another without being punished or watched constantly.
Wiping the crumbs from my face, I reach into my pocket to produce a ticket, but Marshall is already shaking his head at me.
“No, no,” he says, backing up a step. “You’ve repaid me with conversation, that’s all I need. Save that ticket for your family.”
Ah, shit. My family.
I throw an alarmed look outside the bakery to find that the sky has darkened past twilight and let out a string of curses under my breath, earning a laugh from Marshall.
“At this point, they should expect you to be late,” he jokes as I hurry toward the door. I fling him a crude gesture as I rush outside, the sound of his laughter following me out into the cold night.
I pull my sweater tighter around me as I begin to trudge up the path. I’d move faster if I weren’t already thinking about the way Amara’s eyes will inevitably skate over me, sizing me up and always somehow finding me lacking.
My cousin is perfect, in every way. The golden daughter, strong and smart and capable, and while I know Leandra and Jethro love me just as much as they love Amara, I can’t help but still feel like an intruder sometimes.
My parents brought us to Camp Horizon right after I turned ten. At the time, they told me it was because they wanted to be closer to my father’s brother, saying that it was so rare for humans to have extended family and that we should be more grateful, and find ways to spend more time with them.
Now that I’m older, I understand the real reason they fought so hard for us to get here.
The continents are a dangerous place for humans, especially human women, and even more so for the pretty ones. I’ve never thought of myself as particularly pretty, but I know now that what I think holds little bearing on the way things actually happen.
My parents got us out of Orthani as fast as they could, bringing us here to work the mines and escape the more cruel treatment that runs rampant in the continental cities. For the first few years, everything was perfect.
My aunt and uncle and cousin took us in, and we lived together as a family. The cabin we shared was always warm and full of laughter and conversation, even when Amara pulled my hair or took my favorite doll. I was allowed to work at the tailor’s shop until I was 12, mending clothes until I was big enough and strong enough to work in the mines.
It was only a few days before my thirteenth birthday, when I was supposed to start in the mines, that the collapse happened.
To this day, I don’t know what really happened. It could’ve been something as simple as the wrong stone being taken out, or perhaps the planet shifted deep down and the tunnel in the mountains closed because of it. I don’t know. All I know is that my parents kissed me goodbye that morning before heading into the mines, and then a few hours later, the earth swallowed them up.
The dark elves didn’t even bother trying to unearth the bodies.
I shiver, only partly from the cold, as the eastern edge of the village comes into view. The path winds through the last of the shops and up a small hill, and on the other side, is my home. And the only family I have left.
Despite the fact that it’s late, and knowing that my family is more than likely already worried about me, my footsteps slow to a halt. I do nothing but stare at the crest of the hill, the last stragglers of the villagers pushing past me on their way home.
It’s not that I don’t want to go home, at least not necessarily. My head just feels too full of thoughts to bear Amara’s judgemental gaze or Leandra’s lecturing on finding a husband, however well-intentioned.
Whenever Leandra mentions finding a nice, human man to settle down with, I never seem to be able to find the heart to tell her what I really think. The only thing Amara and I seem to agree on these days is our lack of interest in marrying off any time soon.
