Usually, we wait up for the rest of the our peers, but I just want to get home early. I can't stand one more minute in this place, with stolen stuff in my side pocket. We both head down the path that leads away from The King’s Glade, and into the forest. I love it here. The tall trees that barely sway in the spring wind, the quiet chirps and whistles of birds and squirads, the sweet, fresh smell of nature.     Cyran and I used to come here when we were little. Just the edge of the woods, though. The older kids poisoned our minds with tales of spindars and giant lizards, the mad croc-genns and shadow walkers. Granted, they were not wrong. But those creatures live on the other side of Quindar, in the forsaken Leftydes. I just wish I had known that years earlier, before the times Cyran and I would bolt from the place at the slightest uncanny sound. I look at him now. He walks with an easy stride, whistling softly and staring ahead. He has the godsight, (something we do our best to keep to ourselves), so I know he's scanning the path yards ahead of us, inspecting the trees, the animals and the guards. he's so gifted, but he doesn't realize it. Or doesn't care. He stopped doing so since the Rebellion. I think he's mad at me. He doesn't need to speak for me to know. I can feel it. But it's been so for a very long while now, so I've gotten used to it. Kind of. We reach the edge of the forest without ado, and the village stretches out ahead of us. Sometimes, I forget what it is, who are we are. In those moments, I make hurried decisions and uncalculated moves. Like snapping at a king’s guard. Getting drunk and neglecting my duties. And/or sneaking out magic plants. I drop down on the couch once We're inside the cottage. It groans and sinks as it always does, but it's never really bothered us. Not if we had the money for a new one. A low growl comes from my right, and I'm staring into our panther’s purple eyes. "Sweet Ima," I say and rub her neck. The great cat purrs and rubs against me, threatening What's left of the cushion’s springs. I chuckle and relax in her thick fur.         I feel his eyes on me before I even see him. "What?" I ask. He shrugs off his coat and loosens his hair before settling into the only other furniture in the living room, the armchair. "What's going on?" he asks quietly. "What?" I repeat. "You're great at lying, I"ll give you that, but I'm better at it. And I've caught you every single time you did..." "Few times," I interrupt. "What’re you hiding?" His face is blank, a rare expression, and definitely my least favorite. I sigh. "I took some." He raises a brow. "Some what?" I shouldn't say anything. At all. But I can't bear lying to him, not after what I did to the farm. I sit up and Ima settles in a corner, opposite Cyran. She doesn't really like him. Not since the day he blasted her halfway across the yard. "Some opine. What do you think, twat?" His blue eyes widen. "You stole peas?" "Yell out loud for all of Quindar to hear," I snap. He purses his lips but lowers his voice as he goes on. "What are you, stupid? Aranon, but that's the most...I don't know, foolish and suicidal thing rolled into one!" "Yeah, well, Aranon and the Six abandoned us. I've got to make ends meet." I stand up and head for the kitchen. Cyran follows. "Sae, we need to get rid of those." He sounds genuinely scared, and I instantly regret telling him. And stealing the peas. "We're gonna be fine. As long as you keep shut, and let me handle my business." I fill my cup with water from the tap and gulp it down in one go. I miss the days when that could be done while sitting on the couch, and not moving a muscle. "Look, Sae, we don't need that. Look, the hunt is three days. If I win, and I will, we'll get enough to bring back the farm and return to our old lives." He notices the expression on my face and adds, "Or what was left of it." I toss my cup into the sink. "I need a drink," I mutter and head out of the house before Cyran can say anything.

  Elwyn Nordinger slips into the stool next to me effortlessly and flashes me a smile. ‘Hello there’, he says in a smooth Sneyan accent, long time no see’. Now there’s no avoiding him.   I've been keeping away from Elwyn for a very long time now. It was easier the last couple of months; he had won the Kings Hunt and went away to Qarax for his reward. Now he’s back. And he’s here, next to me, where he definitely should not be. ‘You ok?’ he asks. I straighten slowly and manage to glance at him.          He looks different, and I expected that. His hair is separated into two long, carefully plaited braids. His skin has taken on a brown tan. He wears a silk crimson coat that smells of olive incense, and the rings on his hand flash with the slightest movement. He looks just like a high lord, and I wonder if it is possible to loathe him any more than I do now. ‘I’m fine. That is, until you came along’, I tell him. In reply, he chuckles dryly and says, ‘Right. Good one there’. Quain returns with two foaming mugs of ale and sets them in front of us. Right on his heels is Foden, the fat, squat proprietor. He stops upon sighting Elwyn and calls out a greeting. God's peace be with you, Elwyn!’ He reaches over and shakes his hand vigorously, like they have been friends for ages. ‘Nice to see you too, Foden. How is business?’ Elwyn asks calmly. ‘Good, good. Do stay a while, though, will you? Only Brin Dalox and Jimmy Casta wished to see you and hear news from Qarax. I’m sure a great many others feel the same way. You haven’t exactly been very conversational of late’, Foden says. ‘Ah yes. Indeed. I’ve been here only three days, Foden. I’ll entertain these noble men with my experiences at the capital, but for now, I wish to speak only to Saelyna’. Foden stares at me, back at Elwyn, then back again. ‘Aye’, he says at last, his beady eyes glinting with some mischievous thought, there must have been a reason for your return’. Before I can say anything to counter his misjudgment, he dons his hat and shrugs off his coat. ‘Well, I’m off to the council meeting. There have been ravens near the west wings. Dead sheep… God's peace be with us. He shudders and then looks up, like he just realised he had been speaking aloud. ‘Apologies…’ ‘Raveners?’ I ask. ‘Indeed, but you need not worry, Saelyn’. To Elwyn, he says, ‘Drinks’ on the house’. Then he takes up his cane and, tipping his hat to us, heads out of the bar. ‘That was strange’. I don’t hear what Elwyn says next, though. Raveners. Flesh rippers and blood suckers The tales surrounding their kind were restricted to the Leftydes and mostly thought of as myths. Of course, I knew they were not myths. I just never imagined they’d come this far south. Elwyn touches my arm, and I jerk out of my reverie. ‘You don’t look good. What’s the matter?’ I pull my arm away. ‘I don’t want to talk to you, Elwyn. Surely, you should have realised that by now’. He nods. ‘Why is that?’ Oh, I don’t know, because you’re a living reminder of how I fucked up last fall. Elwyn, we don’t have anything. Ok? We were just drunk that night and acted on impulses we could not control. It should never have happened. At all’, I say. He bristles at this. ‘Is it about the farm? I could pay back... ‘Elwyn!’ I snap, ‘I don’t want to have anything to do with you, alright? We got drunk, we fucked, then got drunk again, and we did things I don’t even want to remember! That’s all. And that’s it. Ok? Nothing more. Gods, just leave me alone’.            I must have been loud, because half the bar is quiet now. I don’t care, not really. It felt good to get it out. I don’t look at Elwyn as I call Quain and order a bottle of malt wine. Little alcoholic content, but enough to numb the pain a bit. And to help me think. When I step into the street, I see people come down the street in little groups. They are just arriving from the Glade, I realise,and the majority are headed here. I turn and walk towards the village green. It’s a longer route back to the cottage, but I have no interest in running into any other person, desirable or not.

I advance more out of curiosity than anything else. The tracks are hard to follow; they have been here a while, and the owner has been very subtle in their movement. I nocked an arrow again at the sound of a snapping twig. But it’s a squint. ‘Hold your breath. Be free with your fingers. Zero in on the target, and don’t let it smell you’. I draw slowly. As an elf, I could just let the arrow fly and trust it to be precise. That is, if I had my magic. But my father had taught me how to hunt without it, like a human would. It was almost as if he knew this would happen. The squint is moving directly into my line of sight. It’s a big one, almost as tall as a deer, and its horns are already developed. It chews on the nuts sprinkled on the forest floor. I get ready to let the arrow fly. I usually hit the head, even though most frown at it as unprofessional or something. For me, I’m giving it a merciful and quick death. I’m about to let it release itself into its skull when it hits me that the grandaunts are not scattered randomly. They’re in a straight line leading to...           I nearly yelled as a large, bulky mass springs at the squint, taking it down in one flash of claws. The wounded animal squeals in shock and pain, collapsing on the floor, blood spurting from its neck where the wolf had ripped it open. Wolf? No. A wolf is big, but not that big. My fingers are shaking, but I barely realise it as the creature circles back to its victim. It bites down again and again, until the squinard’s neck is a bloody mess of tangled bone and meat. "Go home", my instincts scream, "run.". There is a belief that when you come into contact with a wolf, you run. My father said it was a lie because you had just given the beast a reason to chase you—a race you would not win, no matter how swift-footed you are. Neither he nor the villagers said anything about what to do when faced with a wolfen or wolf-genn, the most abominable of the genns. The wolf is huge, large enough to take down a deer without fuss and rip a man in two just as easily. Its hide falls in thick brown layers, like a bear’s, and its eyes are green and fierce, but they also look human. It is definitely a wolf. I take a step backward, and another. I have to put up enough distance before daring to turn my back. Another step. It doesn't pay attention to me; for all I know, the smell I emit is that of rotten bark and leaves. I thank God that his father still left the spray around. I make a mental note to offer incense tonight at the temple if I survive this ordeal. If I survived. As if to mock my hope, a twig snaps. So loudly that it echoes around me. The wolf is not deaf. And I’m not sitting squintily. I bolt through the woods as fast as an elf can, which is faster than any mortal at all. The beast is close at my heels, close enough that I can hear the thump of its massive paws on the ground and its hungry roars. I turn, I weave, and I zig-zag through the trees. The wolf cannot easily be put off, but I try. I see a faint light ahead. I’m close to the entrance, then. My legs are getting heavier, even with the adrenaline that floods my body. For the hundredth time, I curse the elves and their stupid rebellion that took away the magic that could bloody well save my life right now. The beast emerges in front of me like a ghost, and I’m within inches of its snapping jaws. An arrow is in my grip. I plunge it into the wolf’s eye and crash into the ground with the momentum of my attack. I get a slash at my ribs for my trouble, but its howls of pain are horrifying to hear. It rumbles through the forest and perhaps beyond, loud enough to chill brave souls. I don’t wait. I rush to my feet and hurry out of the forest in a flash. My feet don’t feel like lead anymore as they carry me across the knoll and down into the village, away from the death that had awaited me.