Pellam

The young man gurgled and spat blood on the cold stone floor as he looked up to the elf, who stood impatiently waiting on his pupil to regain himself. 

"Get up, you don't learn when you're laying on the flood bleeding." Cerythael scoffed and folded his arms across his chest. The elf shook his head as he looked down to the man.

The man sat upon a stone, pipe between his lips that loosed wispy clouds of cherry tobacco. Softly humming as he flipped the sizzling bacon on the skillet, looking over to his companion. A bear of a man, hair a dulled silver but yet his face hadn't seen more than thirty winters. Several markings decorated his face, most notably a band of blue runes reaching from cheek bone to cheek bone, bridging over his nose.

He gasped for breath, his hands clawing at his chest as if a desperate attempt to claw oxygen back into his lungs as they felt like they filled with fire.  Only to find that a burning pain began to surge through his arms, looking up to see the flesh on his and arms barely clinging to his body. The smell of charred flesh filled the air, tinged with the faint aroma of herbs upon his skin began to grow more fragrent as he tried to move around.

The ice crunched underneath his foot, Her words echoing softly in his head. "Your heart bears enought light to brighten even the darkest of days. Go forth, and make them fear the night." 

Dead scattered across the fields of gritty dirt and ash. East-men and Hill-men alike, crimson seeping into the ground. Few of the Hill-men had survived the fight, and fled back towards the local villages for safety and fresh warriors while providing safety for the child now in their custody. Few had returned, and The Young Hunter included. 

Returning from the Lair was a noisy affair. The place was so recluse from the rest of the world, that she had nearly forgotten what it meant to be part of something bigger than just her and her sole companion. And truth be told, the noise was grating on her nerves already. 

The fight had raged for several hours as the local Hill-men had gathered and ambushed those within the camp. Steel sang and crashed, arrows whistled and found their mark. The East-men had been pinned within their camp and unable to flee, though a sound filled with hills around them with something all to familiar to The Young Hunter.

The trees swayed along the gentle breeze as leaves fell from their towering homes. Falling upon the lush, green grass that seemed to grow abundantly in the small glade where a man knelt and prayed quietly.

"I heard about what happened, and I am here to tell you that you do not have to do this alone." The man stood, his hands behind his back as he watched. 

"You know why I do this, you know why it must be done." Pellam replied quickly, his tone was hushed and calmed as he continued to meditate. 

Broken hands had never stopped her from punching anyone or anything in the face. Though, when seeing the Weakling not even a day after having received his letter, angered her beyond words. But seeing the man seemingly unharmed and safe relieved her of a weight she had been all too aware of. 

Too much happened in too little time. And the more things that happened, the less Assaj felt in control of the situation. And feeling powerless was something she was not used to feel. Far too many emotions were warring inside of her, most of them foreign, and all of her usually so reliable instincts were a mess, leaving her with nothing to get a grasp onto.