Lepidopterophobia

Chapter 10

Tyrael scuttered forward like a dying animal, eyes wider than stars yet pupils smaller than ants.
'No no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no-'
"Hey- *huff* -Hey, you ok? You look like you just saw a ghost or something. You alright?"
Tyrael didn't stop running.
He wasn't-
He couldn't-
This couldn't be happening,
He should've been on the other side of the continent. How far had Carawin and Swallowtail taken him, he-
"Wait! I really can't run that fast-" Kentafir panted, still trying to catch up to him.
Were they doing this on purpose? Maybe his father or someone else that used to know him had paid them, to bring him here and kill him? Would someone even do that to him? No, that couldn't be it. Probably. No, no, it couldn't be. No one cared about him that much, even in hatred.
Barriers were weird. If you were banished from a place, you could see into it until you went it. If for some completely and utterly ridiculous reason someone were to enter and immediately leave the barrier, they wouldn't be able to see into it for some weird specific amount of time. He didn't know how long.
Maybe he'd done something wrong to Kentafir? He'd done it in the past, who's to say it wouldn't happen again? Yeah. That was probably it. Tyrael had stolen something from them in the past, like food or fabric or something like that. Yeah. And now they had a grudge on him because he was a bad person and a thief, in their eyes. And then they must have done some investigating and now they'd found out how much of a horrible person he really was and decided to do the world a favor and just kill him. Honestly, it was perfect logic. Tyrael couldn't argue with it all.
Either way.
That was far more likely.
Which meant he couldn't stop, could he.
Tyrael grimly made a mental note to not try the whole 'friends' thing again.
"Ok, seriously- *huff* -this isn't funny or whatever you think it is, I really- *huff* -really can't run, now just stop and tell me what's wrong. Please."
The elf, still running, shook his head violently.
Why hadn't he outrun Kentafir yet? He was fast. Fastest person he knew, in fact. So how in the nine hells was an unathletic poet keeping up with him? He was sprinting as fast as he could, too. Kentafir couldn't be this close to him. It was impossible.
He risked a glance back to check how much space he had. Ah, right. They were a poet. He'd somehow forgotten that part. They were probably just making their voice louder or something like that. To scare him into making a mistake, probably. That or just freaking him out for the sake of freaking him out. No, no. That was it. This whole thing was almost entirely Tyrael's fault, that much was extremely obvious.
Tyrael noted that Kentafir was practically still at the barrier, further than three dragon's wingspans away from him. They were just really good at making their voice louder than it was, because they were a poet. They were ages away. Tyrael allowed his still wide eyes to return a tiny bit to their normal size. Minor progress.
He ran off to the side of the path, into the forest, so that it would be harder to track him. Kedia and Taacin hadn't known him at all and they chased after him, Kentafir knew where he used to live and all of his injuries. Hells, Tyrael wouldn't be entirely surprised if he called the military to help find him.
Terrified, sure, but still not surprised.
Hiding behind a particularly large tree, Tyrael took a moment to breathe. His chest was aching, and his lungs refused to take in any air. He was fast, sure, but he couldn't run for more than a minute or two.
He really needed to work on that.
Tyrael's mind was racing as he looked around. What did he do now? Where did he go? Where could he go? He didn't have any clue where he was. All those years ago, he'd been wandering in circles for months. He couldn't recreate that. He was lost for real this time. Fully, truly, completely lost.
The elf gasped for air again, sliding down along the side of the tree and onto the ground. He knew he couldn't stay here long, but he needed to be able to breathe. It would be stupid for him to start trying to find out where he was if he couldn't walk more than a foot or two without wheezing for air. His heart was beating louder than he thought was possible in his throat, so loud that he wouldn't be surprised if the dead heard it.
"Yo, you alright?"
Tyrael yelped, flinching backwards so fast he hit his head on the tree behind him. That was pleasant. This was pleasant. All of this was just so absolutely pleasant.
In front of him was a semi familiar figure. That wasn't right. No one should've been familiar to him. Who was this person, and why were they familiar to him.
"You dead or something?"
Tyrael continued staring up at him, something clicking in his mind. He had long white hair, tied up in a messy bun-ponytail hybrid. He also had dark charcoal-colored skin, just like Tyrael's, but unlike Tyrael it had cream-colored spots that everyone had always thought a good omen.
The scarred elf gasped, muttering half to himself, "Mikirven?"
Mikirven's face melted from its apathetic expression to a much more confused one. "Do I know you?"
Tyrael tried to crawl backwards on his hands, forgetting there was a tree there. He shuffled a bit to the side, before standing up and starting to back away. Mikirven, much to Tyrael's horror, slowly walked forward to follow him. "No. Um, sorry. I'm a stranger, you don't know me. I, um, guessed your name, I don't actually know you. Sorry about all this, I um. I'm just passing through. I'll get going now." He started to take bigger steps backwards, praying to whichever god was listening that Mikirven wasn't as fast as Tyrael remembered he used to be. "Bye."
The taller elf grabbed Tyrael's arm, making him flinch again. He'd really just... grabbed the one spot on his arm that hurt... Pleasant, as always. "Who are you, seriously. How do you know my name? You a spy or something?"
He stared at Tyrael, eyes weirdly darting around his face. Suddenly, a look of irritation and realization bloomed from his face, making him utter a long and exceedingly loud string of curses. "You're Tyr, aren't you?"
At this, Tyrael immediately yelped. Nope. He then proceeded to pull his arm back away from his old friend's grip and began running away. Big nope. Not the time for that. Would never be the time for that. He wasn't ready and, again, he would never be ready, so running again it was.
Mikirven replied by grabbing the collar of his makeshift cloak, choking Tyrael. 'Why does everyone keep doing that!!'
The tall elf sighed loudly. "Ok, you're definitely Tyrael. No one else can do that weird noise you do. So, what are you doing here? You tried to go in, obviously, but why?" He poked Tyrael's ear from behind him.
He, again, tried to pull away. He failed horribly, of course, but it was the thought that counted. Probably.
"Ok I'm sorry I promise I wasn't trying to sneak in or anything, I was travelling with someone but I didn't realize they were going here. I'm sorry, I'm sorry I promise I'm telling the tru-"
"It's fine. I believe you. You can't lie for your life, Fyr made sure of that."
Tyrael tried to get away once more. This time he almost succeeded. Almost. That was progress, at least.
"Why'd you come to this area, anyways? Shouldn't you be, like, at school or something?" Mikirven questioned, irritation still bleeding into his voice like dye in water.
"Um, long story."
"And where in the hells did you get all this crap?" He poked the cut on Tyrael's ear, making him feel like he was about to start crying. He didn't, though, much to his own relief.
He frowned a bit. "The same, still very long story."
"Then tell me a recap."
Tyrael's frown deepened. "Why? Can't I just leave? I've given you my reason, my apology and you've accepted it so why can't you just let me go!?"
He made one final escape attempt, this time succeeding but hurting his neck. Great. That would probably leave a bruise. Coughing, Tyrael sprinted as fast as he possibly could, ignoring his shallowing breaths.
He would leave all of this behind.
He had to.
"Seriously, just tell me the bloody story! I can get tarts or something if you want them as payment or something like that!"
Tyrael continued running. Mikirven had always been trying to beat him in races, he shouldn't have been surprised that he was succeeding now. Tyrael also hadn't run as much in the past few months, which was probably making the problem worse. Yet again, he was to blame for pretty much everything.
"Is that that much of a crime to be curious how your friend's doing? One everyone told you was dead, years ago?"
He kept running, not daring to look back. This wasn't happening. This just couldn't be happening.
"I've lost what, four friends? Five? All before I was twelve. I was devastated at each and every one of them, but you know what really scared me?"
Wait, what? Mikirven hadn't lost any friends. Especially when Tyrael was there.
"Everyone always told you that they were all fine! That they'd just moved away, or whatever the story was!"
These words were simply singing to the trees, however, as Tyrael tripped over a particularly large tree root, falling yet again onto what used to be his nose. Not the best timing, sure, but he could work with it.
"Did you even know? That they were gone? Hells, do you even know what day it is?"
He tried to get up, failing. Now he couldn't even see his nose was so sore. Pleasant, as always.
"Do you?"
He continued trying to get up, putting a hand on his nose to stop it from bleeding onto his new cloak. He'd already gone and got a heap of dirt on it, but that was easier to get off than blood. Blood stained. Easily.
He was far too aware of that.
A bit of fabric – probably a handkerchief – was suddenly dabbing at the blood. Tyrael could tell that the person dabbing was trying to be gentle, but even the act of trying to breathe through his nose hurt, so this was making the pain a million times worse. It was an act of attempted kindness, though, so Tyrael decided to not try punch the person in the face.
"I'm sorry."
"What do you have to be-"
"I'm sorry I made you and everyone else so sad and then I stole all your stuff when I was leaving, and now I'm here out of nowhere and now I'm wasting your time and I'm really sorry. I promise." Tyrael muttered, voice barely more than a long whine with words in between.
"Why are you sorry? You didn't steal anything. Sameia gave it to you. And you're not wasting my time! Do you know what day it is? Do you know what I was doing here in the first place?"
Tyrael, whose feeling in his face was finally starting to return through the pain, shook his head slightly.
"Wait, you actually don't remember?"
He shook his head again, but this time a bit more hesitantly. What was it? Tyrael remembered Mikirven had made some weird holiday when they were younger. To celebrate food or something. Oh, that was right. He'd made a day to celebrate food to trick people into cooking his favorite foods, so that they didn't anger the gods. How in the world he had managed to trick people into believing it was a mystery to Tyrael.
"Tyr, it's..." Mikirven trailed off, making a weird noise that wasn't quite a sigh but was very close. "It's your birthday. I was here to put some flowers at your and Fyr's graves."
'Ah.'
Tyrael felt blood dripping from his nose and tears dripping from his eyes. Sure, they had probably been there for a while, but it was still irritating.
How had he forgotten that the village's graveyard was outside of the border? It was specifically there so that people who were banished could visit their friends and family's graves. He'd never been allowed to go there when he was younger, but why hadn't he visited it after he was banished? It was there specifically for people like him. Yet 'him' had always been too lazy to go. Too busy faking sadness to bother showing respect to the person he'd killed.
He really was heartless, wasn't he?
After muttering a dozen more meaningless apologies, Tyrael managed to pull himself together enough to numbly ask, "What were you saying before that? About people you've lost?"
Mikirven seemed to suddenly be worried about something.
"Oh, um, nothing. I was just rambling. Sorry."
Tyrael looked up at him for a moment as he continued trying to dab his still-bleeding nose. Mikirven was older than him, by either two or three years. He could never remember. For some reason, he was a lot more adult-y now than Tyrael had ever thought he'd be. When they were younger, their little friend group had always joked that Mikirven would be a jester or something of the like when he grew older. Zenoré was going to be a judge, since she was really good at pointing out loopholes in her dad's strict rules. Then there was Beyarius, he wanted to become a chef like his aunt. And, to practice, he sometimes made dinners for the rest of them when he visited. This, of course, made everyone's families love him.
Then, most of the group had older siblings. They were all friends too, making them all like a really big family. Mikirven had two siblings, both sisters. They were twins, in fact. Sylari and Yitrieth. Neither of them were really nice, though. Plus, Yitrieth kept making fun of people behind their backs. On the other hand, Shinara was probably one of the nicest people in the world. Especially after her younger sister moved away.
Anyways.
The point was, Mikirven wasn't usually this nice. This responsible.
"You've changed."
He looked back at Tyrael and nodded a bit. "Yeah. Can't tell if you have though." He half-joked.
Tyrael crumpled his face. "What do you mean by that?"
Mikirven smirked a bit. "Well, you're still nervous and sad about pretty much everything. And angry, sometimes. But you're also, well, more of that. So, you used to be a kid, but now you're just a sadder kid."
He frowned. Given the other elf's smirk, he was almost definitely making fun of him. "I'm not sad! And I'm not a kid either. I'm fourteen."
"You're fifteen."
"Oh, right. Still, I'm not a kid."
Mikirven's smirk only grew smugger. "I'm older than you, I'm still a kid. Which means that you are, in fact, still a child."
Tyrael's frown only deepened. "No, no, that doesn't make sense. Who would kick out a kid?"
His previous friend's eyes widened. He kept smiling, sure, but now he was staring at the ground. It was a weird expression. Was he sick or something?
"So, um, if you're ok with me asking. Do you have any bandages? By any chance?" Tyrael took off the blanket-cloak and showed Mikirven his stab wounds and the old bandages. "I could probably put them on myself, I just don't have any."
Mikirven's eyes widened even more as he cursed so loud Tyrael got a headache. "Where did you get those!? Who in the nine hells is raising you!?"
Tyrael shrunk a bit. "Um."
"Seriously! I'm tempted to just grab my stuff and come look after you because you clearly can't!"
He was yelling now.
Why did everyone always yell at Tyrael?
"I'm sorry, um, what happened is pretty much. I was thrown against a wall by a dragon, then when I went to go get the reward for killing it but someone stabbed me. Then I was, um, kidnapped. I just escaped from there yesterday, actually."
Mikirven looked angrier and angrier with every word that left the young elf's mouth. "Ok, and who's responsible for you? Did you go to the old lady in the woods like Sameia told you? Did something happen to her?"
Tyrael's eyes widened as an uncomfortable realization started to drip into his mind. "W-what? What old lady? What do you mean, I-"
"There's an old lady who lives in the woods. She was supposed to take care of you, di- didn't you go to her?"
He shook his head slowly, staring into his friend's eyes.
They... they had actually made a plan for him? They had cared about him?
Mikirven stood up, shaking his head and letting out yet another string of colorful curses. "So who's been taking care of you? Where did you go to school? Did you find someone else?"
Tyrael shook his head again.
His old friend looked like he'd just been punched in the gut. "You've just been alone? All this time?"
This time, he grimly shook his head. "Seriously, I'm fine, I just need some bandages if you have any-"
Mikirven grabbed Tyrael's shoulders and shook them a tiny bit as he said, "No! You aren't! I don't know why you would ever think that any of this is fine! You're a child! And even most adult adventurers don't have this many injuries!"
Tyrael stared at him. He didn't like being lectured. It made him feel stupid, for not knowing better, and mean. For not thinking about the people who would be worried about him if he got hurt or hurt anyone else. Every time he was in trouble he got this weird feeling in his throat, too. It sucked.
And now it was happening again.
Adults weren't supposed to get lectures! If anything, they were supposed to give lectures! To future adventurers, ones that had wandered into trouble that they hadn't realized they couldn't handle. Ones that had to be saved by the hero. And the hero was always an adult. Never a kid.
But then again, he wasn't an adult. Which meant he definitely wasn't a hero, no matter how you look at it.
"I'm sorry but I promise I just need the bandag-"
"If you say you just need bandages one more time, Tyr..."
He immediately shut up at that, nodding a bit.
Mikirven sighed deeply, then paced in a circle for a bit. "Ok, so, if I ask you to stay here for a bit, will you actually stay or will you go running off again?"
Tyrael nodded again.
"Which one. Are you saying you'd stay? Or-"
He interrupted him a second time by nodding, again.
Mikirven nodded this time, sighing heavily. He started to walk away before throwing Tyrael a small bag of food.
"Eat these, you're thinner than a bloody tree branch. I'll be back with my master in a little bit, promise. Just wait here."
Tyrael cocked his head to the side. "Your master? You're an apprentice?"
He nodded again. "Yep. A healer."
'Ah. That makes sense.'
So, Mikirven left to go get help. Leaving Tyrael sitting alone, with his thoughts.