The half-orc agreed to come right away, for reasons both noble and selfish. I had expected as much, and honestly, if there was any single person of the three I'd have picked, it was him. Blame bias, but out of the men whose path I'd crossed, he seemed the most grounded. The big guy was probably stronger and sturdier, but he was twitchy. And between my experiences with Mutt and Erirag, I felt safer with an orc at my back.
I lifted my hand to motion him forward when the little fox spoke words that froze me in mid stride and sent uncomfortable prickles racing up my limbs and spine. They were callbacks to the single action that would forever define me in the eyes of anyone who heard my name throughout history. Whatever else I'd done, whatever else I would do, all of it paled in the light of this one title: Pode-slayer. It was also the last title I wanted to claim at that moment.
Very slowly, almost woodenly, I turned around. My green glare lanced through the redheaded boy. My skin tingled, and I was sure my usually grayish-tan skin had mottled into darker and lighter variants. "Do you ask every blond elf if he is Findelfin ap Fingolfin? No? Do you ask every Alerian male if he is Izvilvin Kazzizrym? Or every brown-bearded human bastard if he is Letho Ravenheart? Do you? No."
The muscles in my chest tightened, making my breath come harder and shallower. "Then why in Haide would you ask the first random elven hybrid you met if she is Illara Alfheim? Let me tell you something, little fox. And make sure you listen well, because if I have to clean your ears, I will do it with an arrow. People like me are very, very rare. That's because if Raiaeran and Alerian elves produce a baby, nine hundred ninety-nine times out of a thousand those children are war crimes, just in their existence. If we make it alive out of the womb, the lucky ones don't see our second breath. No matter which side of the border we were born on."
I stalked forward, crunching dead leaves and green grass beneath my boots. "Only a handful of us survive long enough to get out, and when we do, we find that the world isn't any kinder to us than our homelands. Surviving is hard, forget thriving. If we're lucky, we eek out a meager existence on the margins, slinking in the shadows, keeping our heads down, trying to not draw attention to ourselves so that we can survive one more day. The gods do not guard or guide us, Raiaerans and Alerians despise us, and humans take advantage of us because they know we have so few options."
I stopped a stride away from the fox. "If Illara Alfheim is smart, she is in Raiaera, soaking up every last drop of adulation and goodwill her actions have brought her. But she has ruined the lives of everyone like me, because all of a sudden we're noticed. We're scrutinized. And if it was hard to make a living before that, it's damn near impossible now. So do not insult me by confusing me with her."
I closed my eyes, feeling the contacts - purely there to show the green and hide the tell-tale silver - itch against the lids. I let myself take a couple of breaths, releasing the rage. "The only name I claim is Mongrel. I don't care if you call me Dog or Kon," I nodded to Casimir; if he spoke orcish, that was the word for dog. "If you fall behind, turn around, because I am not waiting for you. If you're coming, then come."
Blood still boiling, I turned sharply back to the west and started walking into the dense woods. With a newly acquired party, fifteen miles would be a long distance to cover, indeed.
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