Séverin, refined as ever, stalks out of the tent, a peevish expression on his face. I have to stifle a slight chuckle, and then both of us break out into hysterics.

"So I take it you're a master wordsmith, correct? When the fancy takes you, and you have to deal with Severin?" the boy says, a hint of laughter present in his tone.

"Well, you're hardly any better yourself. I take it you lied to that scrunt? Although, I have to commend you on that, as dear Séverin would say." I snap.

"Why not? It gives us something to do." I flinch as he comes closer, but he only sits down at a respectful distance, as if he wants to talk.

"Ask me whatever you want to ask me, and then leave."

He looks around warily, checking to see if anyone is around.

"I'm not here for that."

He's slightly taller than me, his hair the colour of blemished leaves; swooping messily over the sharp features of his face. He has a smattering of freckles, dusted like constellations over his face, a slight redness tinting his olive skin a dusty pink. His expression is halfway between sombre and frightened; like a rabbit caught in the headlights.

"You are?" I ask simply.

I'm Silas. From-" he looks lost for a moment. "Um... Hastow. City of the Wanderer. Elé Daêryn." Something in his expression makes me pause for thought. He fiddles nervously with the hem of his tunic.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"He nane Aeren?" I ask, if only to confirm that I just heard him speaking Airen.

Airen is forbidden by the Council.

"Los de, Ariana." I'm taken aback by the fact that he told me to shut up.

"De nom Marin!" I exclaim.

"You want to draw someone back in here? Be my guest and continue." Silas shushes me, and I look away, ashamed. His concern is warranted, though.

"Give me back my sling, now. I won't ask a second time." I glare at him.

"No. I won't." He replies aubruptly, his tone brooking no argument.

"You're a scrunt. I hope you understand that. La din, Teghin."

But, he has let me go. Surely that means something?

"Don't tell me what to do, Mairé." He's struggling to keep his voice steady and firm - it's almost as if he's trying not to laugh.

"Aren't these lands ruled by Illanwé? He has control of all of Eleriad.... Daerion." I ask, if only to be on the defensive. I cannot afford to warm up to an enemy.

"These are the lands of Daerion. Bryndis's lands. Except I'm not supposed to say that. I should be loyal to the Council. Bryndis and his bloodline are the rightful monarchs of Daerion. The Council have usurped the order of rule in order to merely line their own pockets with blood money. It's sickening."

Perhaps we both have the same mindset about the rulers of our country. After all, the Council of Hastow is corrupt.

"I take it you don't like them? The Council, I mean." I whisper, rubbing my aching wrists.

"That'd be putting it lightly. I never wanted to join up. The Council of Hastow enforced the rule that all teenage boys have to sign up for the army. And we have the biggest dunderbrain of them all... Illanwé's son. The worst."

"You'd say."

I grin. Finally, someone shares my opinion on Séverin.

"That man is an idiot." I open my mouth to speak again, but then I hear all too familiar footsteps.

"Go!" I mouth, nodding my head to the left, urging him to leave.

He's been listening, hasn't he?

In Marien's DALEN name!