The ruins that lay several miles north of Azul were once a beautiful elf village. The town had long enjoyed peace on the plains to the south and the view of the mountains to the north. The inhabitants had built everything around an intricately laid pattern of stones that served as their village commons. A well was at the center and out from it, beautiful scenes of rivers and animals, plants and trees flowed.
Time had worn away the edges of the work of art. Two new additions now corrupted the piece further.
Lying atop the stones now, were the two dead bodies of Enoth guards. Every piece of usable material or supply had been stripped from their bodies and they now lay silent, marring the once admired centerpiece of the town.
Had they ears to hear it, the two would have heard a constant click ring throughout the village, as well as restrained sobs of one in mourning.
Scared, cold, and still shaking from the realization of what had occurred, Serinde tried again to make a fire from the small piece of flint she had found in the soldier of Enoth's pack.
He certainly wouldn't be needing it again.
Bits of cloth, pieces of wood that had once served as a small ornate dresser, and anything else she could find that would burn had been arranged in a pile in the center of a ruined home.
She prayed that the fire wouldn't be visible in the dying light of day and the night would mask the smoke. The air around her was getting chilly and she had very little to wrap herself in. With another click, a spark flew from the flint to the dried materials on the floor and caught fire.
A sigh of relief escaped her lips. She bent down close to the spark and blew gently to encourage the flame. Within moments, the small fire was crackling and the room became warmer. Looking around, Serinde saw by the light of the fire that this room had once been the pride of whoever had called this place home.
A beautifully carved wooden table was now pushed against a wall. Its chairs had long since been stolen or removed. Two of the walls were painted with intricate scenes of fields and flowers. The fire showed every crack and peel that the artist had not originally planned on.
The roof to the home was also long gone. Whatever material it had once been was decayed or blown away in a storm. Small and dried up plants clung to the lower walls of the dwelling. These Serinde had gathered and put along with her pile of other burnable material.
She planned to use the table for fuel last. Mostly because she knew it would cause a great deal of noise to break it apart and she didn't know how long her gathered up material would last. The guard's sword was ready, though, to be used as a makeshift ax if needed.
Serinde sat by the fire and warmed her hands, then turned to the other, more pressing business of the evening.
Propped up against an overturned piece of stone furniture with a thin blanket behind her back, Erilas sat staring at the fire, a bloodied cloth wrapped around her neck.
Serinde thanked the stars that the guard's knife had missed her sister's throat. Mostly the blade had cut around her chin, missing death by a finger width.
Shock had been what took over when Erilas felt the blood flowing from her body. It had taken Serinde several minutes to calm her down and assure her that she wasn't going to die from that wound.
But it still needed cleaning and dressing.
Their supplies were very low, having brought nothing with them. It was fortunate for them that the guards had chased after them. Without the meager rations and various items they had procured from them, they would have been in a much more dire situation.
Not that they could have been in much worse.
Erilas was mostly just exhausted from the run to the ruins. Serinde had always been the slightly more athletic one. But, if she was honest with herself, she was running mostly on adrenaline and the pressing need to care for her sister.
They were both hungry. The guard's packs held small dried meat strips wrapped in thin dressings. Such rations would last them for a few days, but not for long.
Serinde handed a strip of meat to her sister. Without looking directly at her, Erilas accepted the meat and took a bite. She chewed on the ration and stared into the fire.
She took a small bite of what was in her hand as well. The taste was bland at best.
A gentle breeze made the fire flicker.
“Why'd you do it, Seri?” Erilas asked.
Her voice was just a whisper. Serinde wasn't even sure she had heard her speak at all.
“What?”
“Why'd you do it?” she repeated.
Serinde thought for a moment. What was her sister talking about?
Why did she kill the guard? He was going to cut Erilas' throat!
“He was going to kill you,” she answered.
Erilas shook her head, grimacing with the movement and reaching up to touch her bandaged side.
“No,” she said. “Not that. Why'd you go off on Reder?”
Serinde looked at her sister scornfully.
“What do you mean 'why'd you do it?'” she blurted. “Didn't he and the rest of the Enoth guards force us to work until they killed our father!? Didn't they ruin the happy life we might have had without them!? Didn't he throw our father into a garbage pit!?”
She had leaped to her feet and was nearly shouting at Erilas. Her pulse was racing. Heat radiated off of her face as she was becoming more and more angry with every word.
“Seri, don't shout!” Erilas implored, looking pained from both her injury and the events of the day.
The look on her sister's face of hurt and dread and sorrow was too much for Serinde.
“He's gone,” she said, losing control of her legs and her self-control.
Her lips quivered and her shoulder shook. She sank to the floor, her knees hitting the hard stone and sending a wave of pain up her otherwise numb body.
“He's gone,” she repeated, steadying herself with one hand and looking into the flames, wishing she could actually feel the heat that came from it.
An overwhelming coldness was sweeping over her.
One day.
Had it only been one day?
That morning she had wept over her father's lifeless body. Now she was miles from her home, unable to return and afraid of what the morning would bring. They couldn't stay in the safety of the ruined house. They may have stayed too long already.
Enoth guards would come. She knew they would. When their companions didn't report back to the city with the light of day, more would be sent to search for the elves who had escaped the quarry. They'd be tortured, imprisoned, and hung for their crimes.
Her crimes.
It had been Serinde who had killed Reder. Serinde who had killed a guard with his own blade. They would never be safe in the empire of Enoth again. Home was a place they could never return to.
“You can't bring father back by killing others,” Erilas said quietly.
It took all of Serinde's restraint not to lash out at her sister. These were not the words she wanted to hear. She wanted her sister to share her desire to see everyone and anyone who may have caused her father's death and their hardship to experience the same pain she felt.
She wanted revenge.
“But we can't just sit here and do nothing!” she shouted back, far too loud she knew.
“So what are you going to do?” Erilas challenged, sitting up and facing her sister.
It was too much.
“I don't know!” Serinde managed through hot tears and choked breath.
She didn't.
There was nothing in the world she knew for sure at the moment, other than her father was dead and she wanted others to be dead along with him.
Maybe even herself.
“They killed him,” Serinde said, pounding the ground with her fists, bloodying her knuckles.
“But Serinde,” Erilas began.
She couldn't bear to listen.
“It's all their fault!” she shouted angrily as she scattered anything within reach, sending a metal canister from one of the guard's pack flying against the wall.
One terrible, grief consuming sob overtook her body before she heard it and became rigid.
Something was moving just outside the house.
Both sisters stared into each others eyes and saw the same horrifying emotion: debilitating fear.
For all her anger, Serinde couldn't move at the sound of an angry male just a few steps away.
“Who's there!?” a voice demanded. “Show yourself!”