Nord and Lov left behind the last of the elven forest. They emerged onto a grassland of soft rolling hills. It seemed as if someone had built mounds everywhere. The grass was a beautiful emerald green, standing waist high to Lov, and as the wind brought them the scents, Lov's nose was assailed by rich earthy goodness. They walked and rode the horses by turns, covering much ground. At night, Nord lit a small campfire and they ate and cooked all but a little of what was left of the deer. They went to bed soon after dark and were up well before the sun had risen the next dawn.
Nord wanted to set a ground eating pace, but wasn't sure if Lov or his mount were ready for it. He started them out at a mile by mile switch, one mile riding, one walking, and they kept this up for the whole day. It was a grueling pace, and Nord expected to hear at least a little grumbling from Lov. His nephew had lived a sheltered life because of his mother. But Lov was silent, eating mechanically and dropping into a sleeping pose before Nord could say a word.
Inside his head, Lov grappled with a feeling of emptiness. He felt such a burning hatred and rage, but had no one and nothing to direct it towards. Already he could feel the hunger building, slowly gnawing him from the inside. He felt filled with a want, a need, for his family. Everything he held dear had been ripped away from him. In its place was a burning hole, a bottomless abyss that seemed to suck everything he poured into it up, and demand more. Right now it begged for fuel to feed the raging fires within him that he knew he couldn't control yet. He didn't have the experience or practice. A part of him, the cold part, cursed his mother for not preparing him for this better. If they had talked about it, he might have some inkling of an idea how to turn it down or tune it out.
On top of it all, he had felt his father die. Amon had been an empath and would float with the ones he loved, experiencing what they did and sharing his love and wisdom. He'd known the moment his father died, like a string to a guitar being cut. It had sent him out of key. He knew he needed to find a balance, but he hurt so much. Finally, the blessed blackness of sleep overtook him.
Nord watched as Lov tossed and turned in his sleep, moaning in pain and loss. Seeing his home like that. The council all murdered. His mother missing. And the survivors insisted it was the Titans who destroyed it all. But that didn't make any sense. A thousand years and more Nord had lived and in all that time, never had the Titans been anything but a steadfast wall against any evil in the domain. They had been all that had driven the vicious orc hordes back during the Greatmothers’ March. Even though the elves patrolled the border, it was the threat of the Titans had kept the Greatmothers from uniting under one banner and smashing across the plains.
Nord couldn't think of any reason why the Titans would do such a thing. Maybe Jaxon, up the road in Hobton, would have an idea. If they kept up this pace, they'd make it in a couple days. He would just have to hope Lov could keep up.
The next two days passed with neither one saying more than two words to each other in a day, and Lov seemed to thrive on the pace. Nord flagged late into the second day, pulling up short a scant ten miles from Hobton. He pulled his horse off the road, motioning Lov to follow.
Lov sighed wearily. He felt energized and just wanted the journey over with, but he could see his uncle flagging. A part of him, the hunger within, pushed at his selfishness. It demanded that he make his uncle continue until he fell out of his saddle, and then to tie him on until the journey was finished. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that the young man knew no one in Hobton.
They were traveling to meet one of his uncle's friends. Lov wasn't even sure of the halfling's name, and he had no money or valuables with which to barter for a room in an inn, except for his bow, and he'd never willingly part with that. He reached out from where he lay on the ground and caressed the marbled wood lovingly.
Nord watched his nephew brood from his seat at the fire. He noted with approval the soft touch his nephew had for his bow. Though not a lover of the bow himself, Nord had known many elves who were skilled with the deadly weapons. Some could split arrows in a target ten and twelve times in a row. He knew Lov would be as good as any of them. The shot that had taken down the deer had been perfect, and Lov had done it with little effort or thought. He yawned sleepily and kicked some dirt over the fire, crawling into his blankets to sleep.
Some time passed, and Lov lay in the dark. He caressed his bow, memorizing every feature of the wood. The bumps, the dips, the smoothness. Every sense of touch stretched out as he began to learn the feel of his bow well enough to shoot it while blindfolded if need be.
As he lay there, he noticed a soft blue ball floating from the direction that he and his uncle had come from. As it drew closer to him, Lov could make out the features of a little person floating within the soft blue glow. It appeared to be a tiny woman wearing nothing but a leaf wrapped around her body. She had short blonde hair and seemed to make a faint tinkling as she flew towards Lov.
She floated no more than an inch from Lov's nose, before he felt her land softly on the tip. A voice sounded in his ears soft and light.
"Hello, young one." She said bowing low, "Your grandfather sent me to tell you to be patient. He senses your hunger growing, but can't come to help you at this moment. He sent me with a gift to help you." She floated up away from him, and reached into a pouch on her side.
It didn't look big enough to even hold a copper, but unbelievably, she pulled a short bushy desiccated branch out of her pouch. He was amazed she could even carry it, it was bigger than she was. As she handed it to him, he saw that there were dried green and purple flowers upon it. "This is to be used in emergencies only, it will help to dull your hunger, but it has its own inherent danger. If you smoke it too much, you will get horrible cramps and your hunger will triple in intensity."
"How-" Lov began before she shushed him."Now is the time for listening, you'll have time for questions later." She reached back into her pouch, this time twisting and struggling to pull something out. "Damn stupid thing!" She exclaimed, landing and pulling her pouch off. Lov watched, utterly stunned, as she put the entire top half of her body into the pouch.
He heard a muffled "There we go!" When she popped out, she was dragging a wooden pipe with her. It was decorated with carvings that Lov couldn't make out in the low light. He compared the texture to his bow, and felt the roughness. It seemed like a raw piece of wood, even though he knew someone carved it.
"Your grandfather says be careful with this, it's one of his favorite pipes and irreplaceable." She floated back up to his nose landing lightly upon it. "I have one last gift to impart to you. Use it wisely."
She flew to be eye level and brought her hands together. She began to rub them together vigorously, an intense look of concentration on her face, the tip of her tongue hanging out of her mouth. She slapped her hand above and between Lov's eyes, and it was as if a veil was lifted.
He could sense an immense well of power within himself and he could almost touch it. As fast as thought the veil was back, although not as thick as before. He could sense something, something he had known but a moment ago. Lov heard a light sigh next to his ear. He heard a soft breathy whisper as she sat up.
"Whew, you're stronger than you look. Take a lot out of a girl. Let me catch my breath and I'll tell you what I did." He heard her breathe deeply for a moment. She shoved herself off the saddle he was using for a pillow, and she flew around to where he could get a comfortable look at her.
She smiled and said, "I just guided you to your first touch. It put you in contact with the elemental, magical side of your heritage. I hope you can take it, you'll need to master it if you're to save your mother at any point." She considered him for a moment as if reading his aura. "I guess it wasn't your first. Still, it will be easier from now on."
Lov gave a start. "My mother!" He exclaimed, barely resisting the instinct to grab her and force answers from her.
She flew back as if sensing his intent. "You may not be full dragon, but you reek of dragon fear. You better get a cap on those emotions, or you're gonna have a lot of people out hunting you. Your uncle has the fact that he knows you and his time spent fighting the evil Wyrms. But I'm sure he's told you stories."
He hadn't, but Lov planned on asking.
The fairy slowly glided back down looking him squarely in the eyes, "If you can conquer your dragonhunger, everything should be fine. You are dark, but I sense it's from your father's heritage, not your mother's. Still, black dragons are omens of bad times," she said matter of factually, "so you'll see me from time to time keeping you in line."
She cupped her hands as if to impart a secret and whispered, "My advice for tonight? Set yourself a task, like using your concentration to light that pipe."
She flew over to Nord and dove into his pouch. She squirmed out a moment later pulling a worn polished stone and shoving it into her own pouch, "I'm sure I left you that much ability even with the shield I put on you." She continued as if nothing had happened. "Plus, concentrating on that will take your awareness off your hunger. The less you feed it, the less it is." She smiled at him, "Well, time to get back to your grandfather, a slave driver, but at least he works himself as hard! Goodbye!"
With that, she seemed to rip a hole in reality and step through it, leaving Lov stunned, with thousands of questions in his mind, but one that pressed to the forefront. He uttered it quietly to himself. "My mother's alive?"
Tyrosh awoke, swaying with the steady gait of the armored construct that carried
her. Slowly, her memory returned. The fear, the anger, the feeling of hopelessness. Knowing she could do nothing to save her friends, her husband's people.
They'd come to the door, asking for Amon and herself. Titans, there to escort them to the elven council that morning. One of them had given her a necklace, saying it was a gift from Gendry, the man she considered a second father. Tyrosh had put it on without thought. Now she cursed it, knowing it was the necklace that kept her from being able to transform.
She watched in her mind's eye, paralyzed with terror, as the elves met in council with the armored constructs. They had talked of an orc incursion into their forests, but Sanche protested. The old general and his men patrolled the forest constantly, they never saw signs of the hairy savages.
She remembered watching the Titans position themselves around the room. Tyrosh let out a small cry as she remembered the deaths. Her husband was snatched in a Titan's grasp, and with no effort, the construct killed him. Just reached out and crushed Amon’s skull with his gauntlet hand. The others acted quickly, capturing the elven leaders in the shock of the moment.
The Titans smashed a rough hole in the council building, dragging all of the surviving elves outside. Tyrosh watched, restrained by her beloved Reggie, who had guarded her since she was a small girl. The empty suits of armor tore through Elvenhom quickly and efficiently, separating the useful from the useless. Those found to be infirm were left to wander the streets in a daze. The elves who could prove useful were gathered together. The Titans stepped through the gathered people, cutting their ears from their heads. They tossed them in the street like the flimsy cartilage they now were.
Tyrosh cried, jerking against the Titan that now held her. Reggie had been torn apart by the other constructs as the elves were being chained and herded from the city. The Titans began to drag the elves away, taking the impotent dragon in the opposite direction towards Heart.
They had been traveling for days, and were headed deep into the Great Wyrm Desert. Already, they had passed the skeletons of ancient Wyrms blasted from the earth and killed in Dalanar's heroic sacrifice for the people of the world. Tyrosh had stood next to one of the claws in her younger days, her head barely reached the first knuckle. In the distance she could see another skeleton, rising from the dry crusty earth like a mountain. She could even see the wing nubs, the vestigial bits left of the magnificent dragon's wings after giving in to their dragonhunger and burrowing deep within the earth for precious metals and jewels. Its ribs spilled out onto the sands, looking like a jumble of sticks from this distance.
She pulled herself together long enough to wonder why the world would fall apart like this.