In the wake of losing his magic, Feyrith struggles to adapt and survive the new and constant onslaught from the feral jungle beasts, trying to keep himself as well as Sunwood alive. Something unnatural has disturbed the beasts and though it's danger...
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Feyrith had no idea what to think. On one hand, these people had taken his magic. He shouldn't even be listening to them, let alone be around them, and yet he'd been talking to the elf called Wyn, and what the man had said so far was difficult not to find some logic in, no matter how awful his methods were.
Wyn must have been the man who had been present when Feyrith's magic had been stolen. The one who had apologized for his terrible crime even as he'd committed it. And Feyrith was also certain the woman who had mocked Wyn then, the one who had attacked and captured Feyrith, was the one who had argued with him earlier. She unnerved Feyrith, much more than Wyn himself, but that was mostly because she'd attacked him. Not to mention that she kept glaring his way.
"I wish I knew that there was another way at the time," Wyn continued, keeping his eyes trained on the back of his quasir's head. There was genuine regret in his voice, but Feyrith wouldn't let that sway him. Though the other elf had seemed very sad ever since Edwyr had called him a liar. It just seemed...too genuine to fake. But Feyrith was still not too good at being able to tell that he was being lied to.
He needed to have a word with Edwyr, also.
"I truly hope that this is the way forward. I've already hurt far too many elves."
Feyrith wrinkled his nose. He still didn't like that these elves were intending to ignore the Goddess' will and give themselves magic, no matter their Curse. And the worst part was that it clearly worked if Edwyr was any proof. It was simply wrong. Feyrith wouldn't be convinced otherwise. He didn't disagree with Wyn on Aendor needing a change of leadership—he'd lost all faith in the Council after their absolute disregard of what had happened to him—but to do it this way? It made Feyrith sick.
But he knew he could do nothing to change this. There was nothing he could do to stop these elves. And as much as he hated it, he wanted his magic back, so in a way, he did want them to find whatever device Wyn and the others were looking for. But he was supposed to have magic, these elves didn't.
"How many have you stolen magic from?"
Wyn's face somehow fell further as he dragged his eyes over to meet Feyrith's. "The elves with us, the ones who can use magic. Aside from Genrith and myself."
Feyrith looked around, trying to remember which elves had been using magic when his group had found them. But there had been around ten, including Wyn and Genrith. So that meant eight elves who had lost magic. And while that number wasn't as high as he'd feared, it did make him feel sick.
And yet the way Wyn had stated that fact made him pause from expressing judgment. Being regretful, perhaps even ashamed made none of this okay, but it certainly made it more difficult to be as harsh as Feyrith wanted to be. And he had every right to. It didn't matter if Wyn truly would restore Feyrith's magic, it wouldn't make what he'd done right. It never would.
But if it were possible, Feyrith longed to get it back.
"And what have you done to the elves you took magic from? Kill them?"
