( Jormund POV )

The fish sizzle as I carefully extract them from the embers of the campfire, using a stick to avoid burning myself. The scent of baked fish ought to make my mouth water, but after a month of it I’m utterly sick of them. I poke the fire back into life and feed it another branch, and sit in the twilight, munching my piscine repast without enjoyment and glaring hatefully at the river. The river drifts on past the thinly-wooded banks, in a manner that strikes me as callously oblivious to my petulance.

Why did I decide to do this? Why did I think it would be a good idea to leave the tribe? To abandon food, shelter, and safety? I try to remember why any of this seemed like a good idea, but I’m distracted by a fishbone I’d missed in my filleting.

I miss proper meat. I’d give just about anything for a Candur haunch.

The first few weeks weren’t so bad, the excitement of adventure overriding any trepidation, the elation of freedom negating any distaste at the day-to-day realities. That’s all worn off, now, and I just feel homesick, and bored, and just a little afraid.

The fish is bad, but worst of all is having to constantly watch my every step for the telltale signs of Putrikan. At home, we kept track of them, and knew when we were in danger, but out here I have to fear the giant insectile predators whenever I move. The waterlogged clay of the riverbank lowers the chance of encountering one, but ‘probably not’ isn’t much use when you’re being eating by an enormous many-legged nightmare from the subterranean depths.

Still, for all that I’m thoroughly fed up of the trickle of running water and the splashing of teeming fins, the river has been my greatest ally. Out in the savannah, far from camp, even the gift of fresh water is not to be scoffed at, and I ought to be grateful that it runs with such a banquet of easy meat, however monotonous. It seems strange, then, that I’ve run across no other tribes. The riverbanks are eerily deserted, it seems. I’ve seen the remnants of a single campfire in many, many days of travel, surrounded by tracks I didn’t recognise. Other swathes of the riverbank seemed to have been ripped up by wildlife, in long, swirling cuts into the clay, churning up the ground in a way that left me distinctly uneasy.

The muffled thump of a beetle, falling out of the canopy in the gathering darkness somewhere to my left, startles me from the revery. In a moment of paranoia, I narrow my eyes and listen intently, aware of how exposed I am silhouetted against the campfire.

Wait, what was that?

There! There it is again! Voices, almost inaudible, but there! Too distant to make out even tone, let alone words, but that’s definitely the sound of conversation!

Suddenly, I’m drenched in adrenaline. I’ve been looking for others for over a month, but now I’ve found some I realise how terrifying vulnerable I am. No kin, no allies, no other hunters to back me up… If they catch wind of me, I am entirely at their mercy. I can only hope that they, like I, are looking to create new bonds and establish new alliances. If, on the other hand, they’re simply looking for easy prey… I shudder at the thought of walking alone into the court of the goblin headman.

Quietly, I pull the unburnt branches from my campfire and douse them in the river, wincing at the brief hissing each makes. I’m lucky I’d let it burn down to embers to cook on; even so, they must have only approached in the last hour or so, with the setting sun hiding the smoke.

As quietly as I’m able, I shin up a nearby tree, and stare out into the gloom. After a few tense moments of trying not to breathe too loudly, I hear the voices again. Along the riverbank, I think. I descend and start a painstaking approach, using the instincts I’ve learnt from painful years of trying (and usually failing) to hunt Candur. I move like vicious flatulence - invisible, barely audible, and only detectable by those downwind.

As my eyes adjust, I notice a faint, flickering glow amongst the trees ahead. The voices are much louder, now. They sound… almost human, but not quite. It’s certainly not as blatant as the growling tones of wolfkin, or the grating shriek of goblins, but there’s something fundamentally… off about them. They’re curiously lilting, changing words I’ve heard all my life into something strange and alien, but beneath it there’s a hint of steel. Steel, song… and sadness. They may not be human, but I can still recognise the sound of a throat ragged with grief, and with this realisation, it all snaps into place, and I can follow their conversation.

“-on’t know what we’re going to do, love. I’m sorry, I just… don’t. I’ve wracked my brain, and I honestly don’t know what’s left for us.”

“I… I was hoping you’d have spotted some possibility I hadn’t. You’ve always been better at… adapting to change than I have. But… no. I agree. There’s not much left for us, but to try and find some other tribe and throw ourselves at their mercy. For Altaï’s sake, if not our own.”

“Yes. However, if we’re to… abandon our homelands, then the first we’ve got to go back. Go back, make peace with our dead… And bury the bodies.”

“I was afraid you’d say that. I’d rather Altaï didn’t have to see the wreckage. Frankly, I too am afraid of what we’ll see if we return.”

“I know, love. But we have to. We’re the only ones left.”

The night lapses into silence. On my part, it’s a stunned one. After all this searching, it seems what I’ve found is just another band of stragglers, they themselves searching for a tribe to join. It’s a coincidence almost too great to believe, and not necessarily a happy one.

The question is, should I step forward and introduce myself, or should I slip away in the night, and pass them by? Standing motionless in the darkness, I try to weigh my options. I’m now certain the voices are those of elves, so at least it seems unlikely they’ll try and kill and eat me. Probably. However, I’ve nothing to trade, and I struggle to see what I’d gain from joining their little party. Another few pairs of eyes to watch my step, but we’d move far more slowly in a group. Perhaps they might provide me valuable information on the route ahead… Or perhaps they’ll try and kill me for my supplies and equipment.

No. The risk is great, the reward negligible. Best not.

I carefully edge back, determined to extricate myself without drawing their attention. This plan lasts all of a second before I step on a branch behind me with a loud crack, cracking my shin as I jerk away. I curse wordlessly, step to one side, and slip on a damp root, losing my balance.

The world is deeply unfair, it seems. I pivot sideways and smack my head on a tree trunk.

Lying on the ground, I gaze up with unfocused eyes. One of the elves, silent as the grave, materialises out of the gloom.

The last thing I see before the blackness is the arc of the elf’s stave towards my forehead. The last thing I hear is a crack.

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“Really. I swear, that is what happened.”

This proclamation is met with the stony silence that it so richly deserves. The elves seem utterly stone-faced in the morning light, and are treating my tale with polite disbelief. Still, they’ve at least been sufficiently convinced of my good intentions so as to untie me, and the circulation is busy returning to my hands and feet in an unpleasant, buzzing glow. I seem to have graduated from prisoner to barely-tolerated guest, which is about as good as it gets with elves.

Across the ashes of last night’s fire sit the pair whose conversation I overheard. Dutori, tall and wiry, a face lined with sadness but strangely unweathered. Beside him, Hinyr, his wife, who was so certain of their responsibilities to the dead. She’s elegant, in a way I didn’t even understand was possible, the only hints of her age a few, tasteful streaks of white hair amidst the black and the voice of an ancient.

To my left, out of reach but positioned to recapture me should I flee, is the third and final member of the party. Altaï puts her aunt in the shade; She draws the eye like a patch of sunlight at midnight. Her hair falls past her waist, a curtain of golden locks streaked with black, a curious multicoloured duality that seems common amongst all elves I’ve met, parted by long, pointed ears. Her figure stirs feelings within me that normally I reserve for Nym. Her eyes sparkle, for all that her cheeks are streaked from tears. Her face makes me wince with its delicate beauty. Her clothes have a strange quality I’ve never seen before, where they reveal as much as conceal. Her ti- Um. Well, you get the picture.

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Dutori coughs and tackles the conversational pit with what is, for an elf, remarkable tact.

“Nothing about that story is even slightly plausible. Why should the wolfkin agree to such a thing, after such a short association? And, if they’re such ravenous beasts as you suggest, why didn’t they immediately eat your goblin slave?”

“Ah… Well, truth be told, I’m still not quite sure why they agreed. They’re drawn to pack tactics, perhaps that’s why they were so keen to gather allies. As for Kali, the wolfkin aren’t fools! They may run on all fours, but they still appreciate a tactical advantage when they see one! Oh, and he’s not a slave, and I’d prefer you don’t refer to him as such.”

“Hmm. How very… human of you. I suppose it’s not inconsistent with my experience of your people that you would just accept a good thing at face value. And it’s a very human foolishness to vanquish your foes and then protest their worthiness. Very… self-flattering.”

“You’re too harsh, dear. I’m sure the young man believes how dangerous and cunning the goblins were. Although, I do seem to remember that goblins are small, weak creatures that would come up to our waist. Still, I’m sure they seemed very unnerving at the time.

Besides, I enjoy his sincerity. It’s one of those things that make humans so… interesting. They live in the present, and burn so fast and bright. Little perspective, but so much passion.”

“Hmm. When you put it like that, certain elements of the tale do make a little sense, I suppose.”

Altaï rolls her eyes, looking bored. Myself, I’d forgotten how profoundly uncomfortable it is to talk to elves. It’s all well and good them explaining how humans might as well be insects for how long we last, but it’s a little trying when they expect you to have died by the end of the sentence.

“Honestly, Dutori, who cares? Yeah, it’s stupid, violent, and irrational. So what? That’s perfectly normal for short-liveds. It all seems quite believable to me.”

She looks at me, and grins coquettishly. She rolls her shoulders in what looks like an unconscious movement, but part of me suspects was anything but. It causes her her clothes to strain across her body in interesting ways. Other parts of my brain tell the first part to shut up and enjoy the view.

“You’re quite right, Aunty. All that energy and passion… very interesting indeed. So many… possibilities.”

Dutori’s eye just twitched.

Oh boy. I am in so much trouble.

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We’ve just finished our noon repast when I finally feel able to broach the subject.

“Ah… If you don’t mind me asking, why are the three of you travelling alone? I overheard a little of your conversation last night, before you, ah… well.”

Dutori nods, slowly, showing not the slightest regret for having beaten me unconscious. When he answers, he seems distant.

“Our tribe... is no more. We were attacked. By… Something. An animal, I think, unlike any I have seen before. A monstrous creature of the water, its maw wider than two Boktar, surrounded by writhing black tentacles, slick with blood and slime. Our encampment was sited on the riverbank, and one evening the damn thing just crawled out of the mud and started killing. It all happened so fast, nobody had time to react.”

His mouth curls into a rictus, and he barks a bitter laugh.

“Not that there’s anything we could have done. Not even the fire mage. It ripped apart even our sturdiest huts and grabbed elves straight out of their beds. Our staves were like twigs against its teeth. Nothing could stop it but distance.”

I ran. I left them all to die. I was the only one to escape the village alive. Sixteen elves, good comrades, friends, family… wiped out. And I ran.

He falls silent. I haven’t met many elves, but all the ones I have have been phenomenally arrogant. To utter such an admission of failure, to a human no less… He must be killing himself inside.

“My aunt and I were out foraging for herbs. It was the solstice, an important one, I wanted something a little special. It seems a bit petty, now, but it ended up saving our lives. I never saw the village again. Uncle Dutori wouldn’t let us go anywhere near, just stay close enough that any other survivors would spot the smoke from our campfire.”

“After a few days, I gave up on that hope. Meagre that it was. I’ve had to give up on a lot of them, these last few weeks.”

“I’m… I’m sorry if my asking has brought up bad memories.”

“No, it’s not your fault. It’s a sensible enough question to ask, under the circumstances.

Still, one answer deserves another: You’ve said you’re alone, and on a journey, but that doesn’t explain much. Why are you out here, in what was, until a few weeks ago, elf territory?”

I quail slightly at the disdainful gaze she throws me. I’d not expected such territoriality from elves.

“I, uh, needed to travel. To find my place in the world. To... repay a debt.”

To my surprise, Hinyr waves my justifications aside.

“Oh, a wanderer. I haven’t see one of those in years. When was the last time, Dutori?”

“Must be... 37 years, now. That one centaur, black fur, brown skin, terrible breath. Had an inordinate fondness for rotting fruit.”

“I remember. Dreadful creature, even by the standards of short-liveds. Ended up returning to his village, I think. Or dying. One of the two. Anyway, Jormund, do you have a direction? Or just toddling about at random?”

“I’m following the river downstream. I was expecting to find others, to learn from and share tales with long the way, but you’re the first people I’ve met. It’s a bit strange, actually.”

Hintyr sniffs derisively at the innate inability of humans to see the obvious, currently manifest in me.

“There used to be. A year ago, there were settlements all along this bank. Used to be one not three minutes walk from where we are now, in fact, which is why we came here. Nothing but churned mud, now. The beast ate even the hides on the huts and the stones round the campfires, it seems.

So, why follow the river?”

I nod soberly at the thought of the aquatic monstrosity raking over the ruins of villages until I’d not even recognised them as such. I wandered if I’d walked past it as it glided beneath the surface, judging me too small to constitute a meal. I suppress a shiver of terror.

“I thought I’d see if the tales are true. Of the sea, y’know, a river so wide you can’t see the other bank, where the ripples come up higher than one’s head…”

Hintyr nods, judiciously, apparently satisfied. To my surprise, it’s Altaï who speaks next

“I would love to see the sea one day. To feel the breeze on my skin… to watch the horizon for all eternity… Hey, I’m sure Jormund wouldn’t mind if I tagged along! What d’you say?”

She winks at me. Dutori splutters.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Altaï! It’s a nice dream, but not when you could be snatched from the shore at any moment! Besides, you’re the only family we have left. If you embark on some fool’s errand now, you’ll have no way of knowing where we’ve gone. We might never see you again!”

I note that Hintyr isn’t coming to support him, but instead looking at me appraisingly.

“You’re being hysterical, uncle. We’re elves, for heaven’s sake, time’s hardly a factor. If I come back here and start looking for the nearest elvish settlement, it would be almost impossible not to find you. And besides, I’m sure I shan’t come to harm if I travel with Jormund here. After all, as he was telling us earlier, he’s a mighty warrior, used to battling vicious monsters.”

I don’t remember those words ever leaving my lips, and evidently neither does Dutori.

“Obstinate child! You think we’d entrust your protection to some self-aggrandising human youngste-”

“Calm, dear. At the very least, he runs slower than her, which might buy her a few seconds to escape. Besides, I’ve been walking the banks for months and it’s never attacked me, or any other travelling elf. It seems to attack settlements and large concentrations of prey. I’m sure she’ll be safe.”

“You… You’re… You really think this is a good idea?”

“I’m not as optimistic as you of our finding another elven tribe any time soon. No need for Altraï to waste her youth traipsing around behind us in our search.”

“Actually, I might be able to help, there. A travelling elven band visited our village a few seasons ago. It’s somewhere to start, at least.

Dutori looks unhappy, but this, at least, seems to perk him up. He seems to be the kind of elf who needs a plan.

“Hmm. Good, it’s a start. So, Altaï can go on her adventure, and we’ve a place to start looking. It’s settled.”

Altaï doesn’t say anything, just looking smug.

And… when did I agree to this?

Bloody elves.