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Hemlock never thought that walking through the woods belonging to his clan might inspire uncomfortable feelings in him.
It was a matter of course.
The Greenhold was the territory they shared with their allies. Hard fought for and defended from the likes of the barbarians of the Redhold, and those greedy busibodies of the Ironhold who looked at the land as if the trees were made of the crystals they slaved their lives away digging for.
As part of the ‘Woods Clan’, he had more than enough experience walking through them. In fact, if he closed his eyes now, he’d still be able to turn around and walk back home.
He’d never visited the lands of other clans, however.
The Goblins, or the Swamp Clan, as they were known locally, technically occupied the largest swath of territory, even outside of their usual swamps. Oftentimes you could find small goblin villages dotting the landscape. Though those tended to be very short lived by comparison.
There one decade, gone the next.
If the diminutive rascals thought to ask them for help, maybe they would be able to build something that lasted more than a generation. Most of the time their people simply kept to themselves though, so it wasn’t like anything but the most basic of communication was possible.
They kept to their territory, the Elves stayed in theirs.
‘If I am fortunate, maybe they will have built a new village on the way.’
That would help him finish this errand early.
If he could just leave the bewildering stranger to the Goblins and let them guide him the rest of the way out of the forest, he could avoid making the man an issue for the rest of his Clan, who were liable to see Hemlock as conspiring with the unpleasant creature.
He would have to spend the next century reassuring them that he wasn’t in fact some sort of traitor.
Though that was likely just paranoia speaking.
The man… Ghoti hadn't done much to warrant suspicion yet. And while Hemlock realized that their initial meeting wasn’t perhaps the best introduction, what with his less than gracious reactions to the man he was now scorting. It was… discourteous of him to act as he had towards a lost traveler, even one whose Clan and identity remained a mystery to him.
It would be even more so to accuse him of being an enemy.
Not that he was above suspicion, of course. For starters, he wasn’t dressed like a traveler.
Heavy armor made of a dull grey metal with a helmet covering the head for protection. Very little in the way of baggage and provisions. A traveler making their way through the Greenhold would know better than to simply brave the wilds alone. Even the Woods Clan traveled in groups, and this area was their backyard.
‘Is he a runaway, perhaps?’
He could see it.
A stranger covering his face, with nothing but a weapon and armor, not even a bag to carry necessities. Hadn’t he made it all the way to this point, Hemlock would have written the man off as suicidal. Or perhaps desperate enough to risk certain death if it meant hiding from whatever awaited him outside the woods.
“You could just ask.”
And there it was again. That frustrating penchant for seeing through his thoughts.
As an Elf, Hemlock was accustomed to hiding his true feelings from others. If only because such nuances were lost on simple Goblins and whimsical Fairies. A good Elf was capable of understanding his kin by the nuances of speech and reading in-between lines.
Yet this… Being completely trivialized it. Invoking even more uncomfortable feelings within him.
“You mistake me, good sir. I have nothing to ask.” A bold faced lie as if there ever was one. Yet no Elf worth their quiver would let an outsider think they knew to predict their thoughts.
The man chuckled.
“You can just say you’re bored, you know?”
How in the Mother Tree’s…
‘Interesting.’
The stirring of curiosity was a feeling her gladly welcomed, and the puzzle this creature proved to be was the most interesting activity he’d picked up over the past… five… maybe ten years?
Hemlock was no traveler.
But even he was prone to wanderlust if he found nothing interesting to occupy himself.
Musical instruments.
Books.
Tending to the communal garden was one of his favorite activities. But even that got tiring after some time, and as the days blended together, those who had reached adulthood but not yet earned the right of independence from the Clan found themselves set adrift within the Greenhold.
Why, he’d heart from some of his neighbors that some of their relatives even ventured beyond their territory to satiate their boredom.
Madness, truly.
But Hemlock would be lying if he said he hadn’t felt the urge once or twice. And here, before him stood an unknown being from a distant land where Elves likely never ventured before. Truthfully, the urge to ask questions was eating him up, like a buzzing on his ear he dearly wished to swat.
“Well, if you’re not gonna ask any questions. Mind if I do?”
The young elf bit back a sigh of relief.
Social activity at long last!
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“I’ll endeavor to answer to the best of my abilities.” Hemlock carefully measured his cadence so as to hide the burning desire for answers he himself felt. This was a test of his skill, and he would not betray his intentions to this… stranger.
He would be the one to start from a position of advantage in this verbal engagement!
“Do you guys eat bugs?”
Hemlock blinked once.
He blinked twice.
“What?” His ears must have been shot, because he could swear he heard the man.
“Bugs. Insects. Critters. Creepy crawlies. Do you guys eat those?”
Good, so he wasn’t going insane after all.
“I… I assure you that isn’t the case. Where, pray tell, might have you heard this… slander of my people?”
The man behind the helm chuckled.
“My mom used to tell me stories about elves when I was young. Said that if me and my brothers didn’t behave, an elf would show up, turn us into caterpillars and munch us.” Hemlock couldn’t tell if the man was serious, though the wistful tone made it clear he must have been remembering some kind of mischief from his youth.
That much he could understand.
“While there are those who pursue… alternative dietary trends amongst our clan, I assure you that we do no such thing as turn children into larvae.”
His own mother would have threatened him with that if she had the idea.
“Ah, that’s good. Was starting to wonder what’d happen when you got hungry.”
Hemlock rolled his eyes.
“Pardon the candidness, but you do not look appetizing.”
His… companion barked out a laugh.
“Ah, I suppose I wouldn’t. Meat’s too tough for your fine tastes.”
After that, the two fell into companionable silence. And the elf was left to ponder over the exchange. Inane as it was, he found the banter to be… enjoyable. A breath of fresh air, to be able to talk with an individual as… candid and easygoing as the armored man, though nothing of importance was learnt he found himself more… at ease.
As if a branch was lifted from his shoulders.
The distressing feeling was still there. A constant reminder that the one he was talking to might as well have been a walking void. But the shock of their first meeting had long since faded, and Hemlock found he could… tolerate the sensation.
It was invigorating.
A simple walk through his clan’s land felt like another world without the guidance of his superior senses, as if seeing the trees, flowers, and shrubs for the first time. Without the guidance of mana and the ‘tastes’ that he’d come to associate with them, the plants might as well have been completely strange to him
Even if, rationally, he still recognized them through their shapes and smells.
What a curious feeling.
“Eartips?”
Hemlock cringed minutely at the misbegotten nickname.
“Is something the matter?”
“You’ve been staring at that tree for… ten minutes now. Is it a relative of yours?”
“I… beg your pardon?”
“I once heard from my uncle that Elves turn into trees when they get too old. If you two need some time to catch up I can set up camp.”
There was silence.
Utter silence as Hemlock considered where to even begin correcting the man’s gross lack of information regarding his brethren. Where to even start when all the other party had were rumors and probably bedtime stories told to frighten children? Truly, he had to fix this before it started…
The man in armor chuckled, shoulders shaking as he tried to stay perfectly still.
“You were jesting, weren’t you?”
The man gave him a playful clap on the shoulder.
“Just a smidge.”
What a bewildering man this… Ghoti was. Even though he was covered in lifeless metal and emanated the distressing void feeling he seemed like a lively playful sort, not unlike some of Hemlock’s own relatives and acquaintances, even if they were less… overt about their teasing and joking.
Elves, as it turns out, weren’t the most outwardly emotive of Clans.
It was a mark of pride, most of the time.
Unlike their savage cousins, the Orcs, they were a peaceful and serene folk unwilling to engage in senseless disputes. He wondered if the man beside him was one of them, perhaps less aggressive, wearing a face cover to avoid problems in the Greenhold. The Redhold was quite far away, after all.
Questions. Questions. Questions.
Hemlock had so much he wanted to ask.
And if he could get away with being more direct then maybe he-
Crack
“Wait.” Ghoti stopped, looking back at him.
“What is-”
Hemlock pulled on his arm, hastily diving behind a nearby tree. His ears twitched, finger pressed against his lips as the armored man settled beside him. A feeling of dread crawled up his spine as he struggled to project his awareness outwards. It proved to be a challenging task with the glaring void standing next to him. The ebb and flow of mana, nature’s bounty, flowed erratically around them.
But it wasn’t just because of the armored man.
Something else was here.
“Did you hear something?”
It was hard to describe. As if the entire forest had shuddered, the ground beneath them shaking ever so slightly in a distressingly familiar rhythm, the air was warmer, nearly smothering as the mana seemed to shift and surge around them. If the man standing besides him was a cold void… then this was a forest fire.
▂▂▃▃▄▄▅▅
A rush of warm air, the smell of smoke.
Hemlock could see the source from far away.
Angry red eyes, the color of gemstones. Two wicked tusks, curved like spears.
Its fur was a dull gray which ended up on glowing orange, the heat emanating from it turning the fairly cool swath of forest into a tropical jungle as it stomped through the leaves and grass, snapping branches and twigs as if uncaring that its presence might be noticed. Just the feeling of its mana was enough to send the birds flying overhead as they sensed the impending danger.
Its snout was covered in a pattern of scales, smoke wafting from its nostrils as it trotted through the treeline. Confirming Hemlock’s suspicions, much to his dismay.
‘We need to get out of here before it spots us.’
Because there was no way he could fight something like this without proper equipment. A full hunting party would have to launch an ambush if they wanted to pierce the beast’s hide. And he’d left all of his equipment back at the village.
Fortunately it didn’t seem to have notice them yet-
Crack
Looking to the side, Hemlock turned just in time to see his company step on a very dry branch. Snapping it clean in half with what might as well have been a thunderclap. The massive warthog turned towards them, eyes narrowed as it billowed out a plume of smoke…
Before charging towards them
Pinecones.