Lithoniel

Lithoniel wanted to climb the rope, but her left arm hung lifeless on her side, and even she wasn't so crazy to lift herself up with just one hand. She waited for Rolim and his brother's help instead. Once she was on solid ground, Lithoniel noticed Rolim was giving her an odd look. The muscular elf was frowning like he didn't know if he should scold or praise her. His brother Kolvar, a thin man with a jovial face, was way more straightforward.

"Are you alright?"He asked, concern showing on his face.

Lithoniel nodded, though she couldn't really feel her left arm at all.

Kovlar relaxed, evidently relieved, but Rolim didn't fall for it.

He looked down at her arm and then up at her face, shaking his head with disapproval. But he didn't expose her with Kolvar, something she was thankful of.

Rolim's younger brother could be really fussy, especially when she was involved.

"Lithoniel!" Someone shouted, waving his hand from the pass entrance.

She shuddered when she noticed who was calling her.

Garluin.

If there was someone she liked even less than the deceased Nightstalker was his protegee, Garluin. He was the same person who always reminded her she had no place inside the tribe, sometimes even winding up his thugs when words failed to convey the message.

Garluin was a bully, but a devious one. He seldom acted in person and preferred to use others to attain his ends. The only person she wished he had died, one of the few that still lived.

The story of her life.

Garluin grew close, half dozen hunters following him. He showed off his best smile, the same smile that could make women of all age swoon. Because that was another problem with him; he was handsome---though in a cruel way---and charming if he wished to be.

Lithoniel, for her part, found that smile just repulsive.

His eyes on the other hand...

They were pale green, glittering like two emeralds with the reflected light of the nearby fires. Oddly hypnotic.

Before she knew, Garluin had already closed the gap and was rubbing her broken arm. But it was a gentle touch, almost a caress.

"We should bandage this arm" His voice sounded mellow, reasonable. Until she remembered whom she was talking to and wiggled away. Garluin laughed, sounding deeply amused.

"Garluin" Kolvar hissed, hands balled as he stepped menacingly toward him. "You have no shame.."

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But Lithoniel barred his way.

"How many made it?" She asked, stopping Kolvar from doing something he would have regretted later.

Garluin cheek twinged while he tried to hide the cruel smirk warping his mouth. Lithoniel had learned to know very well that expression, only the target wasn't her this time but Kolvar. The young elf stared back, his hand reaching for the knife tied to his belt.

"How many?" She asked again, and from the tone of her voice, it was clear she had enough of the men staring contest.

When Kolvar humphed and stepped away, the tension among the small group disappeared.

"The ones you see" Garluin answered, before adding. "I am sorry to say."

For sure he didn't sound sorry. Quite the opposite actually. He seemed to enjoy delivering bad news, or maybe he just liked making her uncomfortable. If that was the case, he succeeded.

Lithoniel paled, her knees wobbling as she faltered. But she didn't fall, she wouldn't give Garluin that satisfaction.

"Calarel won't last till morning" Garluin continued like he was unaware of her reaction.

He pointed to an elf, not far in the back. She knew Calarel. She was close to forty years old; old for an elf, even older for a hunter. But that hunk of scorched flesh wasn't her. Lithoniel could see the terrible burns on her body, the parts where the fire left just cracked skin on her face.

She shuddered. She could still feel the smell of burnt flesh and the screams, that screams would come back to haunt her later. But not now. For whatever reason, everybody was looking at her, in their gazes the same unshakable faith they had placed in the Nightstalker.

Her, not Garluin.

"Can she be saved?" She asked Rolim, trying to keep her voice steady when the only thing she wanted to do was to curl into a ball and cry. But it was Garluin the one to answer.

"She can't be saved. For her death will be...a relief" Garluin searched a word adapt to the situation without finding it.

There was no word for mercy, or compassion if that matters, in the Elven language. It was an empty word devoid of any meaning in a land where the only fate for the weak was death. Lithoniel's tired mind struggled to decipher the meaning of his words. But when she succeeded, she wished she hadn't.

"You don't mean to..." kill her?

She swallowed. The words were stuck in her throat.

"I am afraid there is no other choice" Garluin answered, his face and tone emulating a compassion he didn't really feel but never ceased to fool his peers.

Lithoniel watched Rolim, hoping to find a different answer in the young elf's brown eyes. There wasn't. He slowly shook his head, his tight lips wavering like he wanted to give her a different answer. But he couldn't, no one could.

"I-I..." She stuttered, glancing at the faces of the survivors around her.

They were waiting for her decision. It was what she always wanted, to be accepted, listened. And yet, right now the only thing she could think of was running away, crawl into a hole somewhere and empty her stomach.

In the end, it was Rolim the one to rescue her.

"I'll deal with it." He said, making a step forward.

"Rolim.." She started to plead.

But to say, what? They couldn't wait here for long, and leave the woman alive, or worse, behind.

"I'll deal with it" Rolim repeated, his gaze shifting toward Garluin. "And you will help me"

The eldest of the Phinoriel brothers wasn't tall, not for the elves standards at least. However, the muscles bulging from his chest and arms were unusual for one of his kind. He was solid like a bastion, and the simple look he gave Garluin was way more intimidating than Kolvar's previous threat.

Garluin opened his mouth, likely to protest, but closed it as he saw the look on Rolim's face. When Rolim headed toward the wounded elf, he followed him. Most of the hunters looked away at that point, but not Lithoniel. She had to see it.

Rolim crouched down near Calarel, saying something to the wounded elf while he took out the knife. Lithoniel flinched, feeling the taste of bile in her mouth when he slit her throat, but she kept looking till the end.

Then she threw up.

At that moment a sudden gust of wind lowered her hood, scrambling her hair. The survivors closed their eyes enjoying the momentary relief from the heat. But not Lithoniel. It was a crisp wind, coming from the north, not the east, forecasting the winter's arrival. It screeched on the fissure of rocks and small caves of stone, like a wail maybe...or a roar.