“Careful tonight” Runa cautioned as she handed him a steaming cup of something purple. “Oops, hoold on,” She spun around, fingers and nose twitching, until she settled on a strange orange blossom that was growing from a particularly devious-looking purple vine. She plunked a few petals into his drink, which promptly turned a bright fuchsia.
“You don’t have to be careful if you’re good,” Sven retorted, inhaling the minty fumes of his Elemental Protection Potion. Runa called it “sweater potion” for its ability to keep its drinker warm and dry, even in the worst blizzard. Sven would need that warmth tonight. The temperature had dropped steadily as the night had settled and the misty haze that had descended around them had already soaked him thoroughly on his way over.
He saw the slightly wounded look on her face and quickly recalibrated his tone. “I’ll be careful” he said, more softly. He downed the remnants of the potion, grateful for the tingles of warmth that had already begun to spread to his icy toes. He threw her a meek, boyish smile and made a mental note (for the millionth time) to be more “mindful” (a Runa word for sure) of her sensitive nature in the future. It was the elf in her.
Her mere existence forbidden, Runa had endured the same outcast status that Sven, as an orphan, had long experienced. Family was everything here; no name, no bloodline, no status. He knew he should be more patient with Runa, she was, as it were, his oldest and closest friend. His only friend. Her tendency to assume a maternal tone was irritating, but he knew that he should be thankful that there was someone to worry. “What difference does a moonphase make in the scheme of things anyway?” He fiddled idly with the ring on his left hand, and then the one on his right, betraying to his old friend the true state of his nerves.
“Full moons are great and powerful forces” Runa replied, forwarningly, her childlike features so stern and serious that Sven had to turn an escaping giggle into a cough.
“You know…” Sven told her, leaning back in his chair to gaze at the strange pots and herbs that Runa had strung across the ceiling of her tiny, warm cottage “MOST people don’t keep track of things like moon phases. If we were in a horror movie, you talking about moon phases would be a dead giveaway that you were the one axe-murdering everyone” He shot her a rye, crooked smile to let her know that he was only teasing.
“What a ridiculous human trope,” Runa murmured, half pouting, half bewildered, as if humans were a baffling and adorably mysterious to her, despite the human father that had given her half of her genes. “Anyone with half a brain knows that full moons are omens of great and powerful change”.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Hopefully that change tonight is my stomach going from empty to full,” He stopped fiddling with his rings and planted the feet of his chair back, firmly, onto the ground. He exhaled noisily and closed his eyes for a second, gathering his thoughts before he rose from his chair. Now was the time.
As a frosted wind rustled through the trees above him, Sven crouched silently in the boscage about fifteen meters from his mark. He was closer to home than he’d like, but the end of the year cold had come in fast and unforgivingly this year, and he needed something to line his belly other than what little small game he had managed to snare thus far. The Thieves’ Hamlet was communal in name only; there it was every man, woman, and child for themselves. Need a partner for a job? Sure, but you better be willing to fork over fifty percent of your loot. Some venison for your stew? As long as you had a few Self Flying Arrows you were willing to part with. Favors and handouts were not a thief's way of life. The cold had come too soon and the jobs had been too scarce this year. Heavy crackdowns on thievery by the Council meant that the ratio of risk to reward had a taken a sharp turn for the worse.
And so here he was, only a half a day’s walk from Thief's Hamlet and alone. He closed his eyes and inhaled slowly, picturing his target in his mind’s eye, walking himself through each step of his plan of attack. The changing of the guards should be any minute. Even through their layers of coarse wool coats,Sven could tell that the hired hands patrolling the secluded castle felt tonight’s chill. He could see the snowy crystals forming on their collars and eyelashes as they shifted back and forth between feet, trying to keep blood flowing in their no-doubt numb toes; he made a mental note to be sure to use some of any spoils from this job to get Runa some of that weird tofu gook that she loved. Thank dragons for her sweater potion, or else the guards would have discovered him in tomorrow’s daylight, a Svencicle in the snow.
He’d been watching Castle Bhatt for three weeks (or one cycle of the moon- if you wanted to be axe-murdery like Runa, Sven thought, suppressing a chuckle) and had seen enough to know that not even the rumored hoards of riches that the Castle Bhatt held could persuade the incoming guards to rush into the winter air and leave their warm meals and space heaters behind in the guard quarters. The current patrolmen were in as much in a hurry to get out of the cold as their replacements were uneager to get into it; which usually left a six minute gap as the next group slowly shuffled their heavy boots into the snow. Watching the first eager guard turn to head homeward, Sven pulled the watch from his pocket, setting the timer. Six minutes, if he was lucky. If he wasn’t, well, there wouldn’t be much to worry about- because he’d be dead.