Anteni
08-25-06, 07:26 PM
Just a short, solo story that I wrote up in some free time. I preferred to finish the whole thing before I posted even a piece, since sometimes I’ll really get into a story, and then it just dies on me. I could have made it longer, but I'm anxious to get the ball rolling with my character, and I'm eager for feedback. I hope it’s enjoyable.
The scene could not have been more cliché: the rays of the sun snuck through a maze of branches and illuminated the trodden dirt of a forest path. Birds chirped from within the depths of the wood, clouds rolled gently across the sky, and bushes and leaves painted a brilliant green environment. As he drank from a water canteen, a lone traveler sat upon a boulder on the wayside of the path. Peering about himself with admiration for the immense nature, the young man was clothed in dark colored fabrics and leathered armor. Cliché to some, perhaps, but for him, the Concordia Forest was always a refreshing sight.
He was not alone, though: two eyes were gazing upon his person. They watched from above; in the foliage they were disguised. Long minutes passed, and neither the spectator nor the traveler desired to move; the former felt an instinct to inspect, the latter a desire to rest. Curiosity burned behind the orbs of sight that rested upon this person; a warrior apparently, a young human at that, a thirsty soul. He was unsuspecting, clueless that he was being watched. In a swift, silent maneuver, the eyes moved closer; now mere feet from the young man, they sized him up as the head bearing the eyes cocked to the side.
Anteni glanced at the small bird, sitting upon a low branch. “Aye, Y’edda, I see you. Just passing through, no worries.” He popped the cap back upon the canteen and tied the leather strap to his belt before removing himself from the boulder.
Yesterday, Anteni had witnessed, beside the Firewine, the blazing structure of his lifelong home, ignited by his own hand out of reverence; last night, he had stayed at a hospitable family’s house, on the edge of the Concordia Forest; he hoped to reach Underwood by night’s embrace, but the trek was long and would probably require more time than allowed by one day’s light. Perhaps if he simply continued after nightfall: Concordia was reputed to be a safe place—though the tales of vampire coves and haunted marshlands unsettled him. Still, he was on a trodden path; a shortcut to the South Road, from the road that ran beside the Firewine river.
Anteni discarded his thoughts of the journey and began to ponder that more important Journey, that one we call life and that comprises our ambitions, our dreams, our nightmares.
Where‘m I goin’? The question had been bugging him the moment his father had died, over a year ago. From that day to the day before, he had gone no where except the recesses of his mind in study and his physical limits in exercise. But on the material realm of Althanas, he had not ventured from the Firewine for over a year; this small eastward detour away from the river was something of a symbolic moment for him. He knew he would meet up once again as he traveled north along the South Road, where it and the Firewine crossed, but still—it had taken him close to an hour to part with the river with which he had grown. As long as he was in Concordia, he could feel near to it; but he had no intention of staying in the forest. His destination right now was Underwood, and from there, Radasanth.
But that was not what he meant by his self-inquiring. He could go to glorious Radasanth, ancient Anebrilith, the solemn Black Steppe, the alien Keep of Jya; he could tread upon all sorts of sands and dirts and rocks; he could study every race and language and culture; what does that give him, though, besides an encyclopedia of memories? It does not seem to have a purpose beyond itself, such as the collecting of trinkets or stones; mere fancy, hollow within. No, where was he going with himself? Anteni wanted to learn and to fight—but to what end? Fighting for glory or money would seem to be nothing but a selfish end; the same can be said of learning—to study to best a man with wit or lore serves no purpose besides massaging one’s ego. Where did the heroes get their calling? Their inspiration? What would he have to do to find a niche that gave him purpose in this world?
Dispersing Anteni’s ruminations and halting his step, though, was an echo that slaughtered the peace of the forest: the echo of steel.
The thumping of feet followed suit; the young Coronian ducked off the path, behind a tree. Peering through foliage and flora, he could see the bend in the path, from which came the noise. A moment later, a figure emerged as the source of the thudding boots. It was an older man, with balding gray hair but of a formidable stature. The stranger turned momentarily and viciously struck with his axe at the air behind him; the glint of another steel weapon rose to protect its wielder, and another clang resounded through the woods. Ceasing his flight, the older man began to step backward as he waved his axe to and fro in defense. The aggressor slowly came into view with each step forward—a younger fellow, with dark long hair and a bright long sword. With each few steps, the defender would throw a glance to his left and right, as if searching for a new path. The question pronounced itself loudly in Anteni’s mind: Do I help? This was not his business… but the older man was retreating, he had no where to go, Anteni may be his only chance; the young guy looked calculated and patient, ready to continue his pressing for as long as was necessary to dispatch his target.
As they continued to grow closer, Anteni realized that if he did not decide soon, he would be forced into the situation—the older man did not cease his searching, and within moments Anteni would be spotted by the desperate individual. He could not live with himself if he just high-tailed it out of there: to leave an old man to his doom was despicable. But what if he provoked the onslaught…? Anteni could never know if he simply fled. Therefore, as they neared, the ambitious warrior drew his sword, gripped his shield, and began to reposition himself in the brush to intervene of his own accord. When they were close enough, he could lunge forth… with the next clang of steel, the Coronian burst out of the woods and took both men by surprise. With quick and savage swings, he put the aggressor on the defensive, and with a blow from his wooden shield, sent the young man sprawling on the path. “Run old man!” he shouted between strikes. “Flee already!” When the brigand was knocked to his ass, Anteni threw a quick glance behind him to see what had happened to the man he sought to protect. Fortunately for him, he had the curiosity to look back—if he had not, that “poor old man’s” axe would have been lodged within his very skull.
Anteni dived to the edge of the path; the sound of a steel axe slicing the air rung in his ears. That could have been his flesh and bone. He could almost picture it as he stood up and repositioned himself. The two men sneered at Anteni, taken aback. What had he gotten himself into? A trap! In the evasive lunge, the warrior had lost his shield, but he still had a firm grip on his sword, held carefully toward to the brigands. They both advanced slowly, moving to flank the well-intentioned young man. Behind him was the vast expanse of the Concordia forest; before him, the menacing gestures of two conniving tricksters. Which was he to brave? He did not know how to survive the wilderness; he did know how to fight.
Anteni took a few cautious steps backward, giving a sense of retreat and fear, as he waited for the right moment. With each step forward, the men felt a small rush of confidence, a sense that this prey was ensnared and already defeated. They continued to separate, to advance, more eagerly, more brazenly. The younger man, to Anteni’s right, began to proceed forward more quickly; the Coronian was quick to capitalize.
As his retreating foot touched the earth, he bent his knees and sprung toward the man on his right. He stabbed at his abdomen, but was parried by the surprised, yet collected, rogue. Anteni allowed the momentum of his attack to carry him past both men and he swiftly positioned himself toward them; the older man was already rushing. With a duck from the man’s axe, the Coronian was given the chance to strike—an accurate or effective stab would have been difficult, given his current posture, so as Anteni straightened himself out from the crouch, he landed his elbow on the chin of his foe. Already, however, he was beset by the younger rogue. He attempted to parry his blade to the side, but the highwayman was too quick: the hot sting of steel, managing to get beneath the leather pad, cut a line across Anteni’s thigh. The awkward strike, however, made possible a vicious counterattack; in flight and aimed at the brigand’s groin, Anteni’s knee planted directly on target. Though he dropped quickly and was entirely vulnerable, the young thief was helped as the older fellow pushed the Coronian back with a threatening sweep of his axe. He stood by his partner in crime protectively.
“Get up, Leran.”
“Uhha… dirty, son, of, a, whore…”
The axe-wielder grinned malevolently. He spoke calmly and clearly, “Y’know, fella, there’s that path behind you that you can flee to. No worries, though. We’ve got a scout on his way, hmm hm. We’ve been waitin’ for you for a while now, it isn’t goin’ to be easy to slip by us now. I’d wager that no matter where you run, you’ll only find an arrow in your heart or my axe in your back.” He paused for a moment, his smirk ceaseless. “Nothin’ to say, hm?”
Anteni remained silent, though his mind was deafened by thoughts and impulses and heartbeats. Was he to run? Was the tale of a scout just a bluff? He didn’t have many cards to play, so he didn’t want to gamble on his slim chances. To cripple these two men may discourage the scout; or rather, at least, it would be two less to fight off. He would have to try—that he may actually die just a day after leaving home was a thought that attempted to find a crook in his jumbled mind, but it could not, and it was likely best that it did not.
Having considered his options, and doing his best to ignore his stinging abdomen, Anteni charged with a surge of strength, bolstered by the knowledge that he had little else to do or to lose; back to the fight he went, right at the cringing Leran and the sneering brigand. The latter didn’t seem to expect the movement, and disappointment and anger lined his expression; still, the man appeared to embrace his anger with that smirk, that macabre sense of humor.
Instead of continuing head on, however, Anteni feinted to the right—then rolled to the left. The axe came down and caught nothing but air and earth; meanwhile, the Coronian had positioned Leran between him and the other rogue. He could have killed the man right then; a quick chop to the throat would have ended his young life, albeit slowly. But the thought didn’t even register—to kill a man, even one that was bent on ending Anteni’s own life, seemed to be just damned impossible. So, he simply went about incapacitating Leran even more: a boot to the ribs and a fist to the jaw sent the groaning rogue to the forest floor. The old highwayman, now belatedly realizing that his opponent had some training and skill, and had the opportunity to kill his ally, began swinging erratically—but defensively—to move Anteni away from Leran. The two combatants faced off now, slowly stepping to the left and right and making quick, premature feints and advances. As they peered into each other’s body language, they both got the same message: Now. They collided heavily; the jarring impact of the steel tools of death reverberated to each soul. Adrenaline soared and teeth gritted; a test of stamina was in play.
Leran struggled to get up, but only managed to spill more blood from his mouth. He could hear the grunting of the two men—one his partner in the hunt, one his prey—but could hardly stand, nevermind intervene. Meanwhile, Anteni remained locked up with the old brigand. Both had their feet planted firmly upon the ground and their hands gripped tightly upon their weapons; they could make no movements save for pushing against each other. Neither wanted to let up, nor saw an opportunity to strike. No words were spoken, but tales were told through their eyes. The brigand could only see the still-awe-struck gaze of a young, naïve target; he felt a slight bit of remorse at ending this boy’s life, but if not for the well-intentioned fools to rob, his own life would have ended long ago. Tragic, yes, but worth survival. Anteni, on the other hand, could see a life of misery beneath the man’s cold stare and evil grin—a life of living between the hard law of the streets and the unbreakable injustice of society; a life run by the rules of the jungle; cynical, barbaric, inhuman. Yet, before Anteni stood a human, and in no other situation would that have been so apparent. They were the molten steel, as of now, and the quiet of the forest beat upon them like a smith’s hammer, stripping them to the core to that which they were: lost human beings.
Then a whisper broke the stalemate of silence. Both could identify it: an arrow seeking blood. That disgusting grin upon the old man’s face returned; It was not a bluff! screamed Anteni’s mind. A sickening thud of metal and flesh announced the arrow’s arrival, but the Coronian was too numb with revelation to feel the pain. His shock was increased exponentially, of course, when he felt the old man’s resistance give way, when he saw the life dissipate from those callous eyes. An arrow in his back, the brigand collapsed to the earth; witnessing it all, Leran found the strength of a titan—or a coward—and began to scramble through the foliage into the green abyss of the forest.
“No need to worry, young one.” The voice rung like a crisp bell in Anteni’s hollowed mind. “He’ll be caught. Either the forest will get him, or we will.”
Anteni, who had been looking at the arrow, which he had thought was his own death sentence, finally glanced up toward the origin of the harmonious voice. Immediately identifiable as an Elf, a creature of height and grace and posture stood beside him. A dark, forest green cape was draped upon his neck, up to which were leathers and animal hides and quilted fabric that clothed the male. A blade was sheathed at his waist, a quiver slung over his shoulder, and a bow held in his hand. On the left side of his chest, an insignia of medium size was quite visible: crossed were a rifle and a sword. A Ranger!? thought Anteni. Or so he believed.
The Elf looked at him curiously upon hearing the exclamation, but he smiled as well. “Yes, a Ranger! So this is your first time seeing one of my duty?” He did not wait for an answer, but instead turned his attention back to the direction in which Leran had run. “Hopefully it will be your last. We only exist where trouble does.”
“He said somethin’ ‘bout a scout…”
“Yes, there was a third one. I have been watching them since this morning; their tracker has been detained and is with my comrades. The way forth to the South Road is watched and safe for you; an inn to rest is not too far after. Travel in peace. Though…” He looked pointedly at the blood upon the Coronian’s pants.
As he was so caught up in thought, Anteni took a few long moments before realizing what the Elf was getting at. “Nothin’ I can’t wrap up myself...” Anteni did not know what to say. He was fortunate, and angry, and confused, and elated. “I… I thought I was helpin’ someone,” he ventured after some quiet moments. The Ranger looked down sympathetically upon the young man trying to articulate himself. “Is that what happens? D’good intentions always get manipulated?”
The elf wasn’t sure how to respond, initially. It had been so long since he had some sort of life discussion with a young fellow. This boy was a child, essentially, and yet he wasn’t. “No… I am what happens to good intentions. You and I are much different, young human, but we are still brothers, in a distant sense. There will always be ones to help you. You could be the anonymous corpse bleeding onto the roots of this ancient forest. But you are not. Don’t forget that.”
The Coronian met the gaze of the elf, and they simply looked at each other for long moments; the human’s thanks was evident enough; Anteni put out his hand, as did the elf, and they clasped in brotherhood. The Ranger turned, then, hoisted the corpse upon his shoulder, and disappeared into the forest with long strides.
The scene could not have been more cliché: the rays of the sun snuck through a maze of branches and illuminated the trodden dirt of a forest path. Birds chirped from within the depths of the wood, clouds rolled gently across the sky, and bushes and leaves painted a brilliant green environment. As he drank from a water canteen, a lone traveler sat upon a boulder on the wayside of the path. Peering about himself with admiration for the immense nature, the young man was clothed in dark colored fabrics and leathered armor. Cliché to some, perhaps, but for him, the Concordia Forest was always a refreshing sight.
He was not alone, though: two eyes were gazing upon his person. They watched from above; in the foliage they were disguised. Long minutes passed, and neither the spectator nor the traveler desired to move; the former felt an instinct to inspect, the latter a desire to rest. Curiosity burned behind the orbs of sight that rested upon this person; a warrior apparently, a young human at that, a thirsty soul. He was unsuspecting, clueless that he was being watched. In a swift, silent maneuver, the eyes moved closer; now mere feet from the young man, they sized him up as the head bearing the eyes cocked to the side.
Anteni glanced at the small bird, sitting upon a low branch. “Aye, Y’edda, I see you. Just passing through, no worries.” He popped the cap back upon the canteen and tied the leather strap to his belt before removing himself from the boulder.
Yesterday, Anteni had witnessed, beside the Firewine, the blazing structure of his lifelong home, ignited by his own hand out of reverence; last night, he had stayed at a hospitable family’s house, on the edge of the Concordia Forest; he hoped to reach Underwood by night’s embrace, but the trek was long and would probably require more time than allowed by one day’s light. Perhaps if he simply continued after nightfall: Concordia was reputed to be a safe place—though the tales of vampire coves and haunted marshlands unsettled him. Still, he was on a trodden path; a shortcut to the South Road, from the road that ran beside the Firewine river.
Anteni discarded his thoughts of the journey and began to ponder that more important Journey, that one we call life and that comprises our ambitions, our dreams, our nightmares.
Where‘m I goin’? The question had been bugging him the moment his father had died, over a year ago. From that day to the day before, he had gone no where except the recesses of his mind in study and his physical limits in exercise. But on the material realm of Althanas, he had not ventured from the Firewine for over a year; this small eastward detour away from the river was something of a symbolic moment for him. He knew he would meet up once again as he traveled north along the South Road, where it and the Firewine crossed, but still—it had taken him close to an hour to part with the river with which he had grown. As long as he was in Concordia, he could feel near to it; but he had no intention of staying in the forest. His destination right now was Underwood, and from there, Radasanth.
But that was not what he meant by his self-inquiring. He could go to glorious Radasanth, ancient Anebrilith, the solemn Black Steppe, the alien Keep of Jya; he could tread upon all sorts of sands and dirts and rocks; he could study every race and language and culture; what does that give him, though, besides an encyclopedia of memories? It does not seem to have a purpose beyond itself, such as the collecting of trinkets or stones; mere fancy, hollow within. No, where was he going with himself? Anteni wanted to learn and to fight—but to what end? Fighting for glory or money would seem to be nothing but a selfish end; the same can be said of learning—to study to best a man with wit or lore serves no purpose besides massaging one’s ego. Where did the heroes get their calling? Their inspiration? What would he have to do to find a niche that gave him purpose in this world?
Dispersing Anteni’s ruminations and halting his step, though, was an echo that slaughtered the peace of the forest: the echo of steel.
The thumping of feet followed suit; the young Coronian ducked off the path, behind a tree. Peering through foliage and flora, he could see the bend in the path, from which came the noise. A moment later, a figure emerged as the source of the thudding boots. It was an older man, with balding gray hair but of a formidable stature. The stranger turned momentarily and viciously struck with his axe at the air behind him; the glint of another steel weapon rose to protect its wielder, and another clang resounded through the woods. Ceasing his flight, the older man began to step backward as he waved his axe to and fro in defense. The aggressor slowly came into view with each step forward—a younger fellow, with dark long hair and a bright long sword. With each few steps, the defender would throw a glance to his left and right, as if searching for a new path. The question pronounced itself loudly in Anteni’s mind: Do I help? This was not his business… but the older man was retreating, he had no where to go, Anteni may be his only chance; the young guy looked calculated and patient, ready to continue his pressing for as long as was necessary to dispatch his target.
As they continued to grow closer, Anteni realized that if he did not decide soon, he would be forced into the situation—the older man did not cease his searching, and within moments Anteni would be spotted by the desperate individual. He could not live with himself if he just high-tailed it out of there: to leave an old man to his doom was despicable. But what if he provoked the onslaught…? Anteni could never know if he simply fled. Therefore, as they neared, the ambitious warrior drew his sword, gripped his shield, and began to reposition himself in the brush to intervene of his own accord. When they were close enough, he could lunge forth… with the next clang of steel, the Coronian burst out of the woods and took both men by surprise. With quick and savage swings, he put the aggressor on the defensive, and with a blow from his wooden shield, sent the young man sprawling on the path. “Run old man!” he shouted between strikes. “Flee already!” When the brigand was knocked to his ass, Anteni threw a quick glance behind him to see what had happened to the man he sought to protect. Fortunately for him, he had the curiosity to look back—if he had not, that “poor old man’s” axe would have been lodged within his very skull.
Anteni dived to the edge of the path; the sound of a steel axe slicing the air rung in his ears. That could have been his flesh and bone. He could almost picture it as he stood up and repositioned himself. The two men sneered at Anteni, taken aback. What had he gotten himself into? A trap! In the evasive lunge, the warrior had lost his shield, but he still had a firm grip on his sword, held carefully toward to the brigands. They both advanced slowly, moving to flank the well-intentioned young man. Behind him was the vast expanse of the Concordia forest; before him, the menacing gestures of two conniving tricksters. Which was he to brave? He did not know how to survive the wilderness; he did know how to fight.
Anteni took a few cautious steps backward, giving a sense of retreat and fear, as he waited for the right moment. With each step forward, the men felt a small rush of confidence, a sense that this prey was ensnared and already defeated. They continued to separate, to advance, more eagerly, more brazenly. The younger man, to Anteni’s right, began to proceed forward more quickly; the Coronian was quick to capitalize.
As his retreating foot touched the earth, he bent his knees and sprung toward the man on his right. He stabbed at his abdomen, but was parried by the surprised, yet collected, rogue. Anteni allowed the momentum of his attack to carry him past both men and he swiftly positioned himself toward them; the older man was already rushing. With a duck from the man’s axe, the Coronian was given the chance to strike—an accurate or effective stab would have been difficult, given his current posture, so as Anteni straightened himself out from the crouch, he landed his elbow on the chin of his foe. Already, however, he was beset by the younger rogue. He attempted to parry his blade to the side, but the highwayman was too quick: the hot sting of steel, managing to get beneath the leather pad, cut a line across Anteni’s thigh. The awkward strike, however, made possible a vicious counterattack; in flight and aimed at the brigand’s groin, Anteni’s knee planted directly on target. Though he dropped quickly and was entirely vulnerable, the young thief was helped as the older fellow pushed the Coronian back with a threatening sweep of his axe. He stood by his partner in crime protectively.
“Get up, Leran.”
“Uhha… dirty, son, of, a, whore…”
The axe-wielder grinned malevolently. He spoke calmly and clearly, “Y’know, fella, there’s that path behind you that you can flee to. No worries, though. We’ve got a scout on his way, hmm hm. We’ve been waitin’ for you for a while now, it isn’t goin’ to be easy to slip by us now. I’d wager that no matter where you run, you’ll only find an arrow in your heart or my axe in your back.” He paused for a moment, his smirk ceaseless. “Nothin’ to say, hm?”
Anteni remained silent, though his mind was deafened by thoughts and impulses and heartbeats. Was he to run? Was the tale of a scout just a bluff? He didn’t have many cards to play, so he didn’t want to gamble on his slim chances. To cripple these two men may discourage the scout; or rather, at least, it would be two less to fight off. He would have to try—that he may actually die just a day after leaving home was a thought that attempted to find a crook in his jumbled mind, but it could not, and it was likely best that it did not.
Having considered his options, and doing his best to ignore his stinging abdomen, Anteni charged with a surge of strength, bolstered by the knowledge that he had little else to do or to lose; back to the fight he went, right at the cringing Leran and the sneering brigand. The latter didn’t seem to expect the movement, and disappointment and anger lined his expression; still, the man appeared to embrace his anger with that smirk, that macabre sense of humor.
Instead of continuing head on, however, Anteni feinted to the right—then rolled to the left. The axe came down and caught nothing but air and earth; meanwhile, the Coronian had positioned Leran between him and the other rogue. He could have killed the man right then; a quick chop to the throat would have ended his young life, albeit slowly. But the thought didn’t even register—to kill a man, even one that was bent on ending Anteni’s own life, seemed to be just damned impossible. So, he simply went about incapacitating Leran even more: a boot to the ribs and a fist to the jaw sent the groaning rogue to the forest floor. The old highwayman, now belatedly realizing that his opponent had some training and skill, and had the opportunity to kill his ally, began swinging erratically—but defensively—to move Anteni away from Leran. The two combatants faced off now, slowly stepping to the left and right and making quick, premature feints and advances. As they peered into each other’s body language, they both got the same message: Now. They collided heavily; the jarring impact of the steel tools of death reverberated to each soul. Adrenaline soared and teeth gritted; a test of stamina was in play.
Leran struggled to get up, but only managed to spill more blood from his mouth. He could hear the grunting of the two men—one his partner in the hunt, one his prey—but could hardly stand, nevermind intervene. Meanwhile, Anteni remained locked up with the old brigand. Both had their feet planted firmly upon the ground and their hands gripped tightly upon their weapons; they could make no movements save for pushing against each other. Neither wanted to let up, nor saw an opportunity to strike. No words were spoken, but tales were told through their eyes. The brigand could only see the still-awe-struck gaze of a young, naïve target; he felt a slight bit of remorse at ending this boy’s life, but if not for the well-intentioned fools to rob, his own life would have ended long ago. Tragic, yes, but worth survival. Anteni, on the other hand, could see a life of misery beneath the man’s cold stare and evil grin—a life of living between the hard law of the streets and the unbreakable injustice of society; a life run by the rules of the jungle; cynical, barbaric, inhuman. Yet, before Anteni stood a human, and in no other situation would that have been so apparent. They were the molten steel, as of now, and the quiet of the forest beat upon them like a smith’s hammer, stripping them to the core to that which they were: lost human beings.
Then a whisper broke the stalemate of silence. Both could identify it: an arrow seeking blood. That disgusting grin upon the old man’s face returned; It was not a bluff! screamed Anteni’s mind. A sickening thud of metal and flesh announced the arrow’s arrival, but the Coronian was too numb with revelation to feel the pain. His shock was increased exponentially, of course, when he felt the old man’s resistance give way, when he saw the life dissipate from those callous eyes. An arrow in his back, the brigand collapsed to the earth; witnessing it all, Leran found the strength of a titan—or a coward—and began to scramble through the foliage into the green abyss of the forest.
“No need to worry, young one.” The voice rung like a crisp bell in Anteni’s hollowed mind. “He’ll be caught. Either the forest will get him, or we will.”
Anteni, who had been looking at the arrow, which he had thought was his own death sentence, finally glanced up toward the origin of the harmonious voice. Immediately identifiable as an Elf, a creature of height and grace and posture stood beside him. A dark, forest green cape was draped upon his neck, up to which were leathers and animal hides and quilted fabric that clothed the male. A blade was sheathed at his waist, a quiver slung over his shoulder, and a bow held in his hand. On the left side of his chest, an insignia of medium size was quite visible: crossed were a rifle and a sword. A Ranger!? thought Anteni. Or so he believed.
The Elf looked at him curiously upon hearing the exclamation, but he smiled as well. “Yes, a Ranger! So this is your first time seeing one of my duty?” He did not wait for an answer, but instead turned his attention back to the direction in which Leran had run. “Hopefully it will be your last. We only exist where trouble does.”
“He said somethin’ ‘bout a scout…”
“Yes, there was a third one. I have been watching them since this morning; their tracker has been detained and is with my comrades. The way forth to the South Road is watched and safe for you; an inn to rest is not too far after. Travel in peace. Though…” He looked pointedly at the blood upon the Coronian’s pants.
As he was so caught up in thought, Anteni took a few long moments before realizing what the Elf was getting at. “Nothin’ I can’t wrap up myself...” Anteni did not know what to say. He was fortunate, and angry, and confused, and elated. “I… I thought I was helpin’ someone,” he ventured after some quiet moments. The Ranger looked down sympathetically upon the young man trying to articulate himself. “Is that what happens? D’good intentions always get manipulated?”
The elf wasn’t sure how to respond, initially. It had been so long since he had some sort of life discussion with a young fellow. This boy was a child, essentially, and yet he wasn’t. “No… I am what happens to good intentions. You and I are much different, young human, but we are still brothers, in a distant sense. There will always be ones to help you. You could be the anonymous corpse bleeding onto the roots of this ancient forest. But you are not. Don’t forget that.”
The Coronian met the gaze of the elf, and they simply looked at each other for long moments; the human’s thanks was evident enough; Anteni put out his hand, as did the elf, and they clasped in brotherhood. The Ranger turned, then, hoisted the corpse upon his shoulder, and disappeared into the forest with long strides.