Henry walked with a pep in his step. He skipped over rocks on the soft, grainy dirt path like a child would skip over a crack on the sidewalk. He intensely observed the flora around him with boyish curiosity. A thorny rosebush prickled his legs as he brushed past it. It seemed like this world was not too different from his own. A horned rabbit skittered by. Yeah… Still not used to seeing that. Henry thought. The fear he felt from before had all but vanished. He should have worried about being a prisoner, but instead, felt a strange feeling of safety. His detainers had shown no sign of aggression after their initial meeting. The occasional wary glances were thrown his way but felt no hostility from the group overall.

He was flanked on either side by a sabretooth tiger. They purred as loud as a V8’s idle engine when brushing up against him. The hooded riders were helpless in trying to stop the tigers, barking commands upon deaf ears. Eventually, the tigers moved away at the behest of their riders, bringing out disgruntled growls. He quickened his pace to create some distance from the affectionate tigers.

Henry walked up beside his captor, the loose chain connecting them together clinked with each step. She hovered her hand near the hilt of one of her daggers, wary of any tricks. He waved his hand in hopes of what looked like a greeting gesture. She stared at him with a bemused look. Her dark silver eyebrow raised in confusion. I guess waving isn’t a thing in this world. Henry thought.

Before Henry could try something else, an order was called out from the front. The foot soldiers broke into a quick cadence march while the tigers began a steady trot. His captor yelled an order to grab his attention. She pointed behind her, indicating he should get on.

He mounted the tiger with some difficulty, the dangling heavy chain proving to be a nuisance as it got in the way. There were no stirrups, so he almost fell over backwards when the tiger bounded up to the rest of the group. Henry kept himself up using his legs wrapped tightly around the tiger, but he accidentally grabbed ahold of his captor’s waist, who let out a yelp in surprise.

Her icy glare possessed a chilling intensity that could cause hypothermia. He tried to placate her with an apologetic gesture, open palms facing towards her. Damn! I wish I was better at charades! Henry lamented inwardly. She turned forward, inadvertently whipping her silver hair against his face. The muted scent of lilac invaded his defenseless nose.

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Henry lolled in the saddle, the earlier tension melting away under the warm, afternoon sunlight. The tiger’s purring underneath him was deafening yet somewhat relaxing. He absentmindedly traced his finger along the collar around his neck. He followed the direction of the chain and noticed it was clipped to his captor’s belt. Would it be worth trying to make a break for it? Henry thought, eyeing the sabretooth tigers around him. One of the foot soldiers flung a dagger into a nearby brush. They walked over and picked up the dagger, a horned rabbit skewered on the other end.

I think I’m stuck with this group for a while. Henry thought.

His head bobbed, eyes musing on his captor, who tucked a handful of her hair behind one pointed ear. An idea suddenly struck him. When he first spoke in front of the leader, he felt… something. A power that rumbled deep within him. If there are elves in this world, surely magic would exist as well? Am I really in a different fucking world? he pondered. Henry’s stomach fluttered and the feeling of electricity rippled through his veins. His excitement was difficult to contain from the thought of being able to use magic. A dream come true for any young boy, even a grown man stuck in a wheelchair.

Was stuck. Henry thought. He was surprised at how well he acclimated back into using his legs. It was as if he had never lost them in the first place but it was such a weird feeling. He still experienced phantom pain, even though his legs were whole again.

Henry shook his gloomy thoughts away. He focused back onto the task at hand: Magic. He racked his brain trying to figure out ways to evoke magic without alerting his captor. He resorted to trying wind magic, figuring that it was inconspicuous enough to not be suspected.

Keeping his hands down low and out of sight, Henry closed his eyes tightly. He imagined a miniature cyclone dancing in the palm of his hand. After a brief moment, he did not feel any surge of power, let alone a small tornado. He opened his eyes and was met with disappointment. I feel stupid. Henry thought. He tried chanting an incantation within his mind: Oh Lord of the Wind. Grant this meek peasant a tiny glimpse of your godly powers!

Yeah. I didn’t think so. Henry concluded. He chuckled lazily. The gag in his mouth became more apparent as his ideas fell through. He had whispered his thoughts when he first met the leader, so maybe he needed to actually speak to cast magic.

Henry’s concentration broke as they marched into an open clearing where they faced an overhang cliff. He glanced left and right seeing no end to the craggy stone wall.

The leader bellowed out a command and the elven group spread out in a half circle with Henry at the center. The vanguard elves stood tall with their greatswords and protected in silver armor, similar to the leader. The leader herself sat atop her jet-black, sabretooth tiger in the forefront of the elven defensive line. She wielded her greatsword, easily swinging it around with one hand, contradicting her slender frame. The hooded warriors spread out behind the vanguard, readying their bow and arrows. Henry’s captor scanned the tree line, her bow already drawn with an arrow.

Their backs against the cliff wall and facing the forest, Henry felt a heavy tension envelope the group. The elves kept a watchful eye in all directions. Every tiger emitted a haunting symphony of grumbling, low growls. The steady breathing of each warrior was magnified by the stillness and silence of the strange serenity.

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The tension was a familiar feeling for Henry. He had felt this thick, suffocating air many times during his active duty service. He knew the lull right before a pitched battle began was both exhilarating and terrifying. Almost by instinct, he steadied his breathing to bring his heart rate down and control the rush of adrenaline. He sensed a calmness from the group, hardened by discipline, but the elves betrayed the underlying dread for what was to come.

A deep, savage war cry reverberated from deep within the woods, breaking the tense tranquility. Green humanoid figures burst out from the tree line. Brandishing bloody axes, and chipped swords, and gnarled clubs, they made a frenzied charge at the elven battleline. “Deza et Urks!” the leader yelled, the elves echoing the battle cry.

Urks….? Orcs? Henry thought. The leader counter charged the green tide head on. Her tiger mauled the first orc with deadly claws and decapitated the next with a ferocious chomp of its maw. Henry’s captor fired off a volley of arrows. The arrows sank into the torso of an orc that had leaped into the air, just before it could deliver a crushing blow and split the leader’s skull. The hooded warriors launched a destructive volley of arrows just as the vanguard crashed into the orcs, bolstering the leader’s charge.

The elves were holding the center, even pushing back against the tide of orcs. There was a large movement to Henry’s right. An elite group of orcs broke through the weak, right flank. They wore a full suit of dark metal armor, a far cry from the leather and loincloth garments the center had. Red runic engravings were marked upon the helmets of each orc. They wielded huge, towering shields in one hand and a greatsword in the other.

Henry spotted one of the orcs holding a metallic tomahawk, arm winding back, targeting the leader’s exposed flank. “GET DOWN!” Henry yelled, the gag shredding into pieces from the sudden influx of magic. He grimaced from a sharp pain that blossomed in the back of his skull.

Without hesitation, the leader hugged the saddle of her tiger. The tomahawk sailed past where her head would have been. She sat back up and glanced back at Henry before deflecting an oncoming battle axe. Henry’s captor shot a volley of arrows at the orc that threw the tomahawk.

The orc blocked most of the arrows with its shield, but an arrow slipped past. Henry’s captor had returned fire so quickly that the orc did not have enough time to bring its shield up. The arrow had pierced the orc’s blackened breastplate. Pulling the arrow out and screaming a savage war cry, the orc made ready to charge. An orc dressed in an amethyst-embroidered, silk robe held its comrade back with a billowing, long-sleeved arm. The robed orc raised its intricately carved oakwood staff, and a green rune materialized in front of it. The injured orc was blanketed in a green hue as the wound stitched itself back whole.

Henry felt the stare of the robed orc. Like he was an insect being studied under the lens of a microscope, Henry fidgeted under the baleful gaze of the orc. A fuzzy feeling, akin to discomfort lashed out at him on the fringes of his mind. He raised his hand to his head to massage and soothe the unease.

“Piss off.” Henry muttered, venomously. He felt the familiar surge of power unleash from within. Raw, unadulterated magical energy blasted into the elite group of orcs. Pain exploded in the back of Henry’s head. Blood cascaded down from his nose as he felt dizziness start to take hold. He wiped away the blood and glared daggers back at the robed orc, trying to hold onto his consciousness.

The robed orc’s look of surprise was quickly cut as he barked an order to his retinue. The elite orcs pulled out metallic tomahawks hanging from their waist. Without missing a beat, Henry’s captor launched a barrage of arrows at the wall of heavily armored orcs. Most of them blocked the arrows against their dark armor and shield, shrugging off any arrows that snuck past.

Finding a break in the salvo of arrows, the elite orcs lobbed their tomahawks. Henry was violently dragged downward by his captor, marking his third time that day being brought parallel to the ground. She chirped a short whistle and the tiger charged the shielded orc formation.

Henry stood, recovering from his disorientation, he saw red runic symbols materialize in front of the robed orc. Henry’s captor launched another swarm of arrows but the shielded orcs intercepted, blockading any further attempts. His captor’s mount crashed into the dark-metal wall, drenching its pearl white fur with red as it raked and ravaged.

The sky darkened and a thunderclap boomed across the sky. Raindrops slowly descended from the dark, ominous clouds. The robed orc slammed its oakwood staff into the ground as the spell was completed. A glowing, red runic circle appeared below Henry. He tried to run but was frozen. His legs, as heavy as lead, seemed held in place from an external force. The brightness increased to a blinding white flash before it dimmed back down. Henry rubbed the irritation out from his eyes and slowly blinked them open.

The scenery had changed from a bloody battlefield to that of a peaceful, birch tree meadow. A navy blue lake, glistening under the sunlight, rested in the center. The lake was a picture of harmony, the surface still and even. Henry stood on the shore of the lake. His senses became more focused as he felt the warm grains of sand underfoot. He took a step back and bumped into the collapsed form of his captor. He placed a finger on her neck and was pleased to feel the steady drum of her heartbeat.

He looked around and spotted a tall, bulky birch tree. A suitable location for temporary shelter. He lifted his captor up with shaky legs, resisting the exhaustion taking a hold of him. He managed to walk over to the tree, leaning her against it. She began to wake as soon as he set her down. Her angular bronze eyes looked up at Henry. She yelled something he still did not understand and quickly stood up, drawing one of her daggers.

“Wait! I’m not going to hurt you!” Henry exclaimed, holding his hands up. He felt dizziness crawling back into his mind again. She swiped her dagger at Henry, opening up a bloody gash on his right forearm as he tried to block.

Henry swayed back and forth, avoiding the reach of his captor’s dagger. He looked at the dagger to his captor’s bronze eyes. Eyes filled with hostility and fear. Unwarranted fear that could be easily explained away if they could converse.

All he wanted to do was talk to her. To understand one another.

His bottled emotions finally cracked open.

All of the day’s stress had culminated to this singular point. He had woken up in an unfamiliar world. He had been gagged, and collared, and chained up like a dog. Survived through an ambush against a horde of orcs. And worst of all, he could not even talk to anybody. To vent away his frustrations. He threw rationality and self-preservation out of the window and let his body take action. He rushed in, knocking the dagger out from her hand and stepped in for a hip throw. He lost his balance, the exhaustion on his body too much, causing both of them to sprawl onto the ground, now face to face.

“Please understand me. I’m not going to hurt you….” Henry pleaded, just as he faded into unconsciousness.