The Forsaken Hero

Life quickly fell into a pattern. Once or twice a day, the door would open, and Bilev or his mother, whose name I learned was Emrily, would appear, carrying a mug of herbal tea. Aside from their infrequent visits, and the rowdy nights, I spent the remainder of the days drifting through dreams and nightmares. Oftentimes, I awoke clutching the sheets tightly, tears running down my face.

By the third day, they began bringing a small bowl of soup, and on the sixth, it was joined by bread and other solid food. Months of neglect and torture had left my body broken and weak, but gradually, my strength began to return. My wound began to heal, losing the bright, angry colors and fading into scabs. The damage was severe, but unless I stressed the muscle or tried to move, the pain was reduced to a dull ache. Occasionally, I’d be able to understand a conversation nearby for a few minutes, but it was always random and unpredictable and lasted for only a few minutes. It never happened when someone visited, but even if it would, I decided to keep that information to myself. Explaining it in a short time would be impossible, not to mention raise far more questions than I had answers to.

I awoke on the seventh day with some trepidation. The inn below was livelier than usual, and Helron’s promise to return loomed in my mind. I was reaching the point I could sit up on my own, and it wouldn’t be much longer before I would be able to walk. Bilev made it no secret he disliked my presence, and only Emrily’s stern, domineering insistence prevented him from throwing me back into the woods.

I learned several things through the scattered snippets of conversation. The village was named Westfall Village, and was one of five settlements in the region. It and three other villages, named after the cardinal directions, provided outlying communities to the central city of Heartland. The name Brithlite came up several times, but it didn’t sound like I was within the borders.

That was just as well, as they had little fondness for my kind. The only real concern I had was that I would be forced to leave the area. The ninth-level demonkin instructed me to wait for "her," whoever that was supposed to be. Fate would undoubtedly guide her here, but if I left would she still be able to find me?

I froze as the sound of voices startled me from my thoughts, and I turned to find the door open. My chest tightened as Bilev and Helron entered, followed by a younger boy and girl, looking no older than myself. The older men were deep in discussion, while the younger pair looked at me with wide, curious eyes. The boy was tall and strong, a wolfkin, with a sword at his hip. The girl had long, brunette hair, and a face that rested somewhere between pretty and beautiful. She seemed human, but had slightly pointed ears and startling green eyes. A half-elf, perhaps. I’d never seen one, but her elfin features weren’t near as exaggerated as Selena, or the other elves I’d met during my travels.

Beliv set a bowl of stew on the nightstand. Judging by the steamy aroma, it was left over from the night before. I flinched as he made a move to feed me, shying away until he rolled his eyes and handed me the spoon. I struggled to something resembling a sitting position and took the bowl, testing the temperature before setting it in my lap. Warm, but not hot.

They began talking in their unknown language, rapidly throwing points back and forth. I’d long since given up trying to decipher their intentions through body language, and simply immersed myself in eating. Every bite was a chore, my hands didn’t seem to want to cooperate, and the close proximity of the visitors only made that much more difficult. After nearly dropping the spoon for the third time, I froze as a soft hand fell on my shoulder, dangerously close to the Sunpurge.

"Please, allow me," the half-elf girl said in Beastkin. She knelt by the bedside and took the spoon.