Lepidopterophobia

Chapter 9

The elf hit the ground with a hard thud and a roll. He felt tempted to stick his tongue out at the building behind him, but an arrow suddenly hit his left ear.
Shoot.
Holding the wound and trying not to let too much blood out, Tyrael quickly got to his still aching feet and started to run. He turned to look back, trying to see where the archers were.
Another arrow came far too close to his eye, making the elf gasp before continuing to run.
This couldn't be happening.
Tyrael dashed behind a nearby tree, breaths heavy and short. At this point his ear was throbbing, blood oozing out. The hyperventilating elf tilted his head to the side, bringing up some of the fabric from his broken shirt to cover the wound. He considered going back to the jail. They'd treat his wounds, he could write to Felamir, and he'd get food.
Another arrow shot past, although a bit slower. The archers must have stayed where they were.
At least there was a tiny bit of luck on his side.
He sprinted forward, barely noting the yells that came from somewhere behind him. An arrow missed him. Another one. Tyrael let out a cry of pain as one grazed his arm, although it wasn't as bad as the one that hit his ear. He kept running forward as more and more arrows missed him, although just barely. The elf held his hand to his arm, again trying to make sure it didn't bleed too much.
Failing, of course.
But he couldn't go back to the jail, at least not without seeing Felamir first. He practically abandoned them, and their food had definitely run out at this point.
Tyrael kept running, breaths even more painful than before. His footsteps were loud, crunching in the leaves. He had to stop running, he couldn't keep this up. The elf risked a quick glance behind him, but found no arrows flying his way. The birds sung peacefully, as if letting out a sigh they'd been too scared to let out before. Tyrael's frantic sprinting slowed to a jog, then a walk. He was safe. Good. He let out a long, loud sigh of relief.
'Wait, but what do I do now?' he pondered.
He had to get back to Felamir, above all. That was his main priority by far. Anything else, like apologizing to Kedia, or apologizing to Throx, or... well, apologizing to anyone, would have to wait.
The elf glanced around, but didn't really take in any of the scenery. It was unfamiliar, that was the main thing. Not much else mattered. But either way, Tyrael wasn't paying attention. He was more focused on what he would do.
He was lost, that much was obvious. He didn't have any rations, and his cloak was nowhere to be seen. Even though it was practically empty at this point, Tyrael couldn't help but feel a bit sad at that. And he didn't have Felamir's sword. It seemed special to them, making Tyrael feel even worse.
Looking down at the sword he had stolen was irritating, to say the least. A yellow butterfly perched on the part of the sword he'd been taught to call a pommel. It wasn't real, just a small thing carved out of wood, but that didn't stop it from feeling like a slap to the face.
Tyrael tore off the left sleeve of his shirt and tied it around the wound on his arm, as the sleeve was too short to reach it on its own. He couldn't blame it though, the poor shirt was outgrown years ago. He'd have to get a new one pretty soon.
The first thing you were supposed to do if you were lost was find a path, right? Then follow the path until you find a town. Yeah, that would make sense. The only thing was how to find a path.
The elf walked aimlessly forward.
No sign of a path.
He continued walking aimlessly forward.
He saw a section of ground where the grass was flat and dying. 'Well that was easy.'
The question was, which direction would he follow the path for?
Tyrael couldn't remember which direction the city he'd seen before had been in, meaning there was no reason to choose either direction over the other. The elf shrugged, closed his eyes, and began spinning. When he was sufficiently dizzy and felt like he was going to fall over, he opened his eyes, stopped spinning, and pointed in front of him. Decent enough method of choosing things, right?
Right it was, then.
The elf started walking down the path, looking at everything around him in an attempt to keep himself entertained. He'd exclusively walked alone before he met Kedia, so why was it so hard to keep focused now? Tyrael thought about it for a moment. He hadn't really met any memorable people before Kedia, and definitely no travel partners before Felamir. Technically Carawin and Swallowtail could be counted as travel partners, but neither party wanted to be associated with the other so that never really counted.
Which meant it was probably Felamir that was making him lonely.
Tyrael frowned a bit, looking to the side dramatically. But he was fine before! Sure he had a friend now, he didn't have any of those before, but he didn't have one anymore either! He was fine without a friend before, so why wasn't he now?
He shook his head.
Having friends was weird.
What would he even do, anyways? Who knows how far he'd have to walk, and what was he supposed to do? What did he do before he met Felamir?
'Oh yeah, that.'
Tyrael dug his hand into the pocket of his pants. There was only one, as the others all had far too many holes to be considered useful. His hand closed around a rectangular object that he hadn't used in far too long. Taking a deep breath, he pulled it out and held it in front of his face.
He stared at the small book in front of him. He'd have to skip the first few pages, but how many pages was it? He didn't want to waste any of the paper.
Maybe he would just start at the back.
Still walking forward, the small elf opened the book to the very last page... and closed it immediately. He'd forgotten that the... previous owner of the book liked to do practices at the back. The smell of paint overwhelmed him. Could he just draw on the back of the pages? He couldn't afford paint, but it was relatively easy to find something that could make a mark. And he'd been taught years ago how to draw most things, so he used to do it sometimes to pass the time.
Used to.
Tyrael picked up an empty pen from his pocket and grabbed a few pinkish berries. He stabbed one of the berries with the pen, giving himself some makeshift ink. Looking at the scenery in front of him, it seemed simple enough. Taking in another deep breath, he began to draw it on the backside of the first page. The previous owner's paint had bled through the page a bit, giving Tyrael's side a few colorful flowers, but it wasn't that bad. There were a few daffodils along the sides of the path anyways, so it worked well.
After a bit more scribbling for the trees, Tyrael held out his work at the furthest distance his arms would stretch. It looked decent, at the very least. A caricature, sure, but still a decent one.
"You're an artist?"
Tyrael quickly put the book down, face turning red. He whipped around to see who was behind him. The tiefling from the White Ravens stood in front of him, an unreadable expression on their face.
"That painting on the other page is really good, where is it?"
The elf's face turned even redder. "I didn't- I can't- It, um, isn't mine."
The tiefling nodded a bit, winking at Tyrael. "Ah, I see. It 'isn't yours.'" They made quotation marks in the air with their fingers.
Tyrael shook his head. "No, it really isn't mine. I, um, found this in another town a while ago. Thought I could add to it, and all that."
This time the tiefling actually nodded. "Oh, alright. You're probably telling the truth, the style's pretty different. Anyways, what happened to you?"
"What do you mean?"
The tiefling gestured to their nose, then their ear, then their arm. They then continued to make a huge circle in the air while still pointing at themselves. "You look like you just got eaten by a lion."
He frowned.
Although, the unnamed tiefling wasn't entirely wrong. He had frostbite and a bleeding wound on his left ear, another bleeding wound on his left arm, three stab wounds on his stomach and his nose had been broken, what, six times? Seven? And all of that wasn't even counting the bandages from the whole thrown-against-a-wall thing.
'Got to buy armor.'
The tiefling restated their question; "Seriously though, what happened to you? You're a kid, aren't you?" They made an awkward expression. "Is your family treating you alright?"
Tyrael frowned further, turning forwards and continuing walking. "I live alone."
"That doesn't answer my other question." The tiefling also walked forward, overtaking Tyrael. They were really starting to annoy him.
"Do I need to?"
"Preferably."
"Ok then. I got kidnapped, then I fought a dragon, then that aasimar you were with earlier – Helxi – knocked me out, then I got kidnapped again. And then I got shot at with arrows. That answer good enough?"
The tiefling paused for a second, then chuckled, then paused again. "Are you sure your family's treating you alright? I wouldn't judge or anything, I've been there. So's a friend of mine." They shrugged. "Happens to the best of us."
Tyrael was starting to feel a strong urge to punch them. He'd already told them he lived alone, were they implying he was a liar? And why did people keep asking if his parents treated him weird? He was an adult, how would that be a problem?
"I live alone." He chose to say, more firmly than earlier.
"Ok then." They said, putting their hands up. "If you say so."
They went silent for a few moments.
'Finally, silence.'
The crunching of the two adventurer's footsteps were the only noise as
"Ohhhhh you're the kid! From the tavern!"
...never mind.
"I'm not a kid, but yeah."
"Sure."
Tyrael took a deep breath. He could ignore this person. He wasn't good at ignoring people, sure, but he could try.
He continued marching forward, ignoring the endless ranting of the tiefling. The birds were chirping, the wind was rustling through the leaves. There plenty of things to focus on other than an unexpected travel companion. Like, um, birds! Birds were cool! There were robins, and crows, and... ravens, and... and there were bugs! Like, mantises! And stuff!
Sighing, Tyrael asked the tiefling "Hey, do you know the way to Ghoulcrest?"
They temporarily stopped talking, just to laugh. "I'm a travelling author. I write about brave adventurers in perilous situations, then share my stories to the world. I, uh, wander with the wind and all that."
Tyrael frowned.
"So you're lost."
The tiefling smiled and nodded. "Of course! How else would I get pure and fresh content for my stories?"
The elf's frown only deepened. "So you don't have any idea at all where any towns are. At all."
"I never said that," they laughed, "just that I don't recall where your town is. I know that there's one along this path, Why else would I be going this way?"
"Is it a big town? Could I get directions from there?"
The tiefling's smiled, like Tyrael's frown, grew significantly. "I'm an author. Who writes about adventurers. Would I ever waste my time on a small town?"
Tyrael shrugged. "You might. I don't know you."
The tiefling frowned. "Would I really be Kilarin the poet if I wasted my time so often?"
"You seem to still be ignoring the fact that I don't know you."
He continued walking forward. The moron had said that there was a town along this path, which meant all he had to do was walk along it until he reached it, right? Then he could find someone in the town that would give him directions. Then, in maybe a day or two, he would finally be back with Felamir.
Would they forgive him?
Tyrael tried to think of how long he'd already been gone.
There was the walking to the tavern, then the fight with Helxi. That would've taken maybe an hour. Then there was him getting walked to the healer's and healed, then passing out. That would've been less than an hour. But then he passed out. How long would he have been out for? Assuming that he was out for a day or less, that much already meant that Felamir had been alone for a day or so. And then, he'd been kidnapped.
Tyrael had been travelling alone for quite a while. A few years. Most of that time he'd spent wandering around the Valley, as it was quite a large and luxurious area. The reasoning behind this was that its luxury meant that it had quite a lot of discarded supplies, meaning Tyrael got food and water most of the time.
The peculiar thing about this area was, he didn't recognize it.
At all.
Which meant that he was at least a week or two away from Ghoulcrest. Or several weeks, actually. Probably a month or more.
Tyrael stared at the ground in front of him as it disappeared behind him. He'd left Felamir alone with barely any food for... a month. His stomach turned uncomfortably at the thought. They wouldn't forgive him. No one was that patient. He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose to stop himself from crying and breathing as deep as he could manage.
'This is fine. You've been through this before. You got through it then, you'll get through it now.' He tried to remind himself. 'You didn't have any friends before, and now you won't again. It's like nothing ever changed at all.'
Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes.
This was fine. He was fine. This would all be fine.
The tiefling behind him wouldn't stop talking, irritating Tyrael greatly but providing a welcome distraction.
"...So I say to this lady, right, I say to her 'I get that you're upset but would you stop grabbing my tail', and then she drops it. But then she walks away and acts like it never even happened! How weird's that?"
The elf nodded slightly.
"Yeah, right? Jeez, no one ever agrees with me on that. So here's another thing that happened one time, right?"
The tiefling didn't stop talking for hours after that.

~~~

Tyrael sighed. His feet were aching. He took a moment to interrupt the tiefling, who by now he had learnt was called Kilarin, to ask; "Hey, um, are we close to the town yet?" He knew that it was almost impossible for them to have made much progress. Most cities were days apart. But that didn't stop the irritating feeling in his stomach. How long had it been since he'd last eaten, again?
"Yep! Just a day or so away."
'Wait what.'
He stared up at them, annoyance scribbled over his face as crudely as if a child had drawn on him in his sleep. That couldn't be right. Were they lying to him? Then again, why would they? Tyrael had done nothing wrong. Sure, he was an irritating person a lot of the time, but he had done nothing wrong.
Yeah, they had no reason to lie.
The elf nodded and muttered a thanks, looking at the landscape in front of him. Should he continue his drawing? He wasn't able to finish the bushes or the flowers, and the pen would still have a small amount of berry juice on its tip. And even if it had dried by now, he still had a few more berries in his pockets. Plus, there were more of the bushes pretty much lining the dirt path he and Kilarin were walking along. Meaning he had practically infinite ink.
Why not?
Tyrael, still looking at the trees around him, took the small book out of his pocket and turned to where he recalled he had started sketching. He looked back to it, grateful that he had remembered the right page, and continued the small drawing.
The pinkish ink wasn't the most pleasing to the eye, sure, but it had a charm to it. It was nice, soft. And it made the yellow paint that had bled through the other side of the page just that more evident.
Tyrael let a smile creep onto his face.
He forgot how nice this was.
He looked up, seeing a tall figure with an easel in front of him. His smile grew into a grin.
"Look! Look! I drew you!" The small boy grinned as he shoved a sheet of paper in the figure's general direction and up. He was far too short to reach his face, but this was good enough.
The figure grabbed the paper, careful to not let the colored inks drip down the page. He smiled, although it was a softer one than Tyrael's. "That's great, Tyr! I drew someone as well, but it doesn't really look like them. It's practically garbage, honestly..."
Tyrael frowned, grabbing the edge of the artist's shirt and pulling on it. "It won't be, now let me see, let me see!" he complained, practically yelling at this point.
The figure chuckled a bit, then moved to the side to let him past. A painting lay in front of him of another figure, a more elegant one. They had charcoal skin, the same shade as Tyrael's but a bit darker than the artist's purplish gray, and deep red eyes. Their hair was in a short ponytail that curled into what looked like a bun, and they had a small hairclip that they had been given anonymously for their birthday. Tyrael immediately recognized it to be Vulatir.
He stared up at the tall figure, whose smile was starting to grow sadder and sadder. "Do you still miss them?"
The figure nodded, turning away. "Yeah."
"Why can't we visit them, again?"
"They, um, moved really far away. The trip would take too long."
Tyrael nodded a bit.
"Do you wanna keep drawing? I really wanna learn how to draw people too and you promised you'd teach me!"
A warm laugh filled the air as the figure leant down to hug Tyrael. He hugged back, grinning ear to ear. He always had liked it better when his brother smiled.
He opened his eyes, staring at the ground and shivering as the cold hit him like a tidal wave of depression.
It was even closer to winter now as it had been before the whole kidnapping incident, and it was obvious to anyone with even a vague sense of sanity. Even though the leaves had barely started falling, the elf still felt like he'd been bathing in a pool of ice.
He never had liked the fall.
Tyrael, ignoring the violent shiver going through his spine, increased his walking speed. May as well keep going. Not get distracted. All that.
The ground was cold, which meant freezing cold mud from rain that must have occurred earlier seeped uncomfortably through Tyrael's practically nonexistent shoes. He was a dark elf. He wasn't supposed to get cold, so why was he? Yet another shiver went down his spine.
"Hey, you want a coat or something? I have a blanket and some string, I could make you one if you need it?" Kentafir offered, suddenly appearing in front of Tyrael. Looking up at them, he realized his arms were holding his side and he was shivering practically non-stop. Pleasant as always. He considered it for a bit. His coat had either been taken, hidden, or destroyed, and no matter what happened to it he wasn't going to get it back. So, the only thing to keep him warm would be his shirt.
He looked down at the cuts and stab wounds again.
Not very warm.
"Um, yes please. If it isn't too much trouble." He muttered, half hoping Kentafir wouldn't hear them.
Nope. Tieflings apparently had good hearing.
Kentafir, swinging their bag around so it was resting on their stomach rather than their back, then brought out a deep red woolen blanket. They flapped it dramatically in the air, putting their hand in front of Tyrael. He stared at them.
"Sword, please?"
"Oh, right, sorry"
Tyrael passed them the sword. They quickly pierced some holes in the fabric with it, then threaded the string into the holes, passing it to the elf. He slipped it around his neck, already grateful for the warmth, and put his sword back into his belt.
It was a nice material, and soft to the touch. It wouldn't do much for rain, if he ever found himself stuck in a storm, but it was great against the cold. Maybe he could steal some waterproof fabric from a tailor's bin later and sew it onto the blanket. That would work well, then it would practically be the perfect coat for the winter. He muttered a thank you to Kentafir, staring down at the ground again.
So. Now he had a cape. That'd be nice for the winter. It was also a nice gift. Did that mean he and Kentafir and friends? He thought for a second. No, not necessarily. It probably was around his birthday, and sometimes strangers gave other people gifts for their birthday. Sure, that was all ignoring the fact that Tyrael hadn't remembered his birthday in years, yet alone told anyone about it, but he couldn't care less. Maybe Kentafir could read minds or something. Hey, the last person Tyrael had met when he was lost in the middle of the woods could read minds, why not this one.
Tyrael's mind, expectedly, drifted to Felamir. How were they doing? Were they alright? Had anyone seen them, had they been forced inside the barrier maybe?
His face drooped a bit. Did they hate him?
No, no, no. They wouldn't. They'd said that they liked Tyrael. That they cared about him, and even tried to make Tyrael care about himself. They weren't a liar.
Wait.
Were they?
There had been a wanted poster for two doppelgangers, robbing people along a popular road...
Tyrael stopped walking, staring at the ground.
"You alright?"
He continued staring at the ground.
A pointy-nailed hand on his shoulder made him look up a bit. Kentafir was in front of him, worried face in the center of his vision but the corner of his mind. "Hey, you ok?"
"Let's rest here for a bit. I'm tired."
Tyrael was numb. He was suddenly a few feet away, in a nearby clearing. Then he was sitting down. Then the fire was out and he was lying on the floor, in the cold.
He thought he had a friend.
The first one in years.
Did they even care about him? Was their plan to just steal half of the reward from the dragon and leave him? Or were they going to steal his half as well?
He shivered.
Was the sword stolen? Were the beads a lie, or maybe to mark how many people they'd tricked?
Tyrael sat up, pulling his knees to his chest and staring vaguely in front of him.
What did it even matter? It wasn't like he deserved friends, either way. He was a horrible person. Didn't care about other people's emotions. Didn't care about other people at all, actually.
Plus, he was an absolute idiot. He didn't bother to think that Kedia and Taacin were much faster than him, or that he shouldn't have paid Swallowtail to do her job and heal someone, or even for the painfully simple fact that he would always be alone and that trusting a con-person would never turn out alright.
And all of that wasn't even mentioning the fact that he was a cold-blooded, pitiful, soulless murderer that shouldn't even be alive.
Tyrael shook his head. He shouldn't be sad. He didn't deserve to be sad.
Maybe he should still try to find Felamir? Sure, they hated him, but maybe he could beg? He was fairly good at begging. Maybe they'd take pity on him for being so pathetic and stick around a bit longer. Or, at the very least, Tyrael could give them supplies. As an apology. It wasn't exactly nice to leave someone alone for a month, criminal or not. And, again, maybe they'd take pity on him.
He closed his eyes, grimly nodding to himself.
First, he would find Felamir. Everything else could happen after.

~~~

Tyrael opened his eyes, letting out a slight yawn. He looked to his side, smelling something amazing.
"Morning!" Kentafir smiled at him. They were cooking some eggs on a metal sheet over the campfire. So that's what the good smell had been.
He blinked. "Um, good morning."
Suddenly there was a sheet of bark with two eggs in his face. "Have some breakfast! I made heaps, so eat up!" They gestured with their free hand to a small pile of eggs, and several bark plates similar to his own laying on the ground. A badger nibbled on one, while some sort of deer was trying to eat the bark of another. It was quite impressive, actually. "Come on, eat up! I can't hold my arm here all day, you know."
"Right, sorry." Tyrael mumbled, taking the plate. His eyes felt icky, meaning he had probably cried in his sleep again. He really needed to stop doing that.
He wiped one of his hands on his new cloak, not having anything to wash them with, and nervously picked up an egg. The yellow part wobbled, making Tyrael nervous as it danced away on the rest of the egg. He brought the egg to his mouth and, hesitantly, bit it.
It was... good, actually.
Tyrael continued to eat the egg, staring at the deer as it continued trying to eat the bark. There was something about it, something he couldn't name. It was majestic, elegant. Something not made for the people of the world's eyes, just to exist.
It gnawed unceremoniously on a fallen tree branch.
The elf's eyes remained fixated upon the 'elegant' creature, unblinking.
Kentafir, probably having seen his staring, sighed. "Ah, the majestic deer. Such a sweet one. Snow spotted chestnut fur, sad eyes afraid yet all-knowing. What secrets do these hooved scholars hold?"
Tyrael tore his eyes away from the deer and stared at them. Definitely a poet, that much was certain.
He felt extremely tempted to rub his nose, as it was extremely itchy, but he knew better. The poor elf still had a headache from his nose being whacked so many times that it was numb. It was honestly kind of scary, in a way. He was in so much pain that he couldn't even feel it. The bones that were previously in his nose were probably just liquid by now, he wasn't sure even the best healer in the continent could fix at this point.
Maybe he could wear a mask or something, if he ever got to a point where he could afford or steal one. To hide his nose. If he ever actually became an adventurer, or a knight, or whatever else, he didn't want people to be scared just because he didn't know how to dodge.
'Oh!'
"Hey, um, that reminds me. Do you have any, um, bandages?" Tyrael asked the tiefling, remembering that Felamir said he had to change his bandages whenever he could. And, given the fact that he'd been stabbed since they were applied, he thought now was probably a good time.
Kentafir looked up from cooking more eggs. Where were they even getting those? Did they own an army of birds or something? "Oh, uh, sure. I have some spare, but I don't really know how to put them on really well, sorry. Whatcha need them for?"
Tyrael lifted his shirt up a tiny bit, just enough to show the broken, bloodstained bandages around his torso. "I, um, got thrown against a spiked wall. My friend said I have to change these every few days, but it's been a while since I got the chance to."
The tiefling's eyes widened, now the size of small moons. "Okaay, so, I'm not going to do that, but I am taking you to a healer in this next town whether you like it or not. That is extremely serious, and to be completely honest I'm still questioning whether your family is treating you alright. Do you need help? I can lend you some money if you want to move out, or find you a place to stay for a while?"
Tyrael wanted to frown at their persistence, but decided against it. They were just trying to help, even if they didn't realize that what they were suggesting was stupid. He couldn't single them out, though. Dozens of people over the years had thought the same thing, even if most of the time they weren't so persistent.
"Thank you."
Sure he didn't need an actual healer, but who knows. Maybe they'd find someone willing to change his bandages for free?
"So, you ready?" Kentafir asked, slapping their legs loudly before standing up. Why did people do that? Was it some weird tradition he wasn't aware of?
Either way, Tyrael nodded and got up. "Are we going to just leave the food here? Or are we taking some with us?"
"Oh, I was just gonna leave it here. The badgers all love me for it." They winked. "So, unless you wanna take some, we're leaving it here."
Tyrael nodded again, not taking any food but staring at it. Wasn't there a rule to not feed wildlife in most places? So that they didn't rely on people to feed them, and all that? Was Kentafir secretly someone who hated animals, and wanted them all to starve when they left the area? Tyrael didn't know the answer, and wasn't certain that he ever would. Maybe the reason that the poet left all their food in the woods was just a mystery that wasn't meant to be solved by anyone, let alone him.
"You coming?" They called out, oblivious to Tyrael's confusion.
He nodded, walking over to them. "Sorry. I'm here."
So, he was on the road again. Hopefully this time he wouldn't have a tantrum out of absolutely nowhere. But now, what would he do?
He'd finished the drawing, and run out of ink. He could use the berries from the bushes along the path, sure, but what the point be? It would simply be a waste of paper if he started another drawing, he probably wouldn't even have time to finish it. And by the time that he did get a chance to finish it, he would be far away from the place and wouldn't remember what it had even looked like in the first place.
All in all, it would be a waste of time.
What else was there, though?
Well, there was thinking.
Just him and his thoughts.
Tyrael stared forward, kicking the ground beneath him as he walked. His ear was numb as he hummed quietly to himself.
Just him, completely alone.
With his thoughts.
Thinking.
Tyrael started to hear a ringing in his ears, and his left one continued being numb. Nope. That was fine. Probably just his blood loss, anyways. He'd ask whatever healer they hopefully ended up going to to bandage all of his wounds, then stick with Kentafir to pay them back. Bandages couldn't be that expensive, sure, but he had a dozen cuts. Maybe two dozen. Even free samples at local markets were only free up to a certain point.
How would he even pay for the healer, anyways? If he decided not to stick with Kentafir, at least. It would be completely understandable if they didn't want some irritating, needy young adventurer with crippling debt following them around on their travels. They were a poet, not an adventurer. It would be stupid to travel with other people, especially since they already tagged along on other people's adventures.
They were a tag-alonger. They didn't need one for themself.
At this point his ear was hurting rather than just numb. It had to be the wound, right? Yeah, maybe a bug or something had landed on it. It was a relatively deep cut. Even a gust of wind would irritate it. But now it was hurting even more. Maybe he should ask Kentafir for advice? Sure, they didn't seem to know anything about health whatsoever, but they were probably better than nothing. Probably. Plus, maybe this was a very specific thing that they had just happened to overhear when they were travelling. Or maybe they were actually an expert with this kind of thing, but they just weren't good with the more practical side of medicine, like bandaging and stuff. Or something like that.
But seriously, why was his ear hurting? Wasn't it supposed to, well, not do that?
Tyrael brought his hand up to his ear and was pricked by far-too-sharp ice forming around his earring. He stopped walking, freezing in his spot.
"Hey Kentafir, what's the name of the town we're going to?"
"Oh, I think it was something like Adamant Pass? A town along there."
The elf's blood felt like it had been turned to ice as he started walking backwards. "Adomina Pass? Is the town called Winterbreak?"
Kentafir clicked their fingers with a grin. "Ah! That was it! Why do you ask, have you been there before?"
Tyrael, far too late, saw the shimmer of the barrier. The one that he had already passed. He sprinted backwards, out of it, as far away from it as he could possibly go. Kentafir called out for him but he didn't care. He wasn't going back there.
He couldn't go back there.
Not until he died.

a/n
5755 words

I've been waiting so long to finally publish this lol, there were just some things I had to iron out with the previous chapter or two before I could even dream of posting this

question 10: what was your favourite chapter exclusive character so far? technically most of them aren't exclusive-exclusive, more like featured in one or two chapters then mentioned later, but they still count. personally i think that Kahlien and Tulip (from chap 7) were equally the funnest to write, and I've also been trying to give them good designs. it's been surprisingly hard for some reason, but I promise I'll publish them as soon as they exist!

gosh, I don't really have anything else to say, these next chapters are so story based i don't know if i CAN even say anything without spoiling them

see you next time!