Nebolly’s shoe hit grass. She still wore her beautiful orange silk dress and blue shawl, which made her stand out in the vast woodland of Torolna.
Anaran jumped from Sibolt as well, landing on a large fern, though he paid it no heed. They’d had a rather quick and boring trip across the Ravine, even though she’d heard it was the most pleasant experience ever. It was mostly getting thrown around in a metal container while be told to stay calm. Real fun.
“Where are we, Anaran? Why have we stopped?” Nebolly asked. She gazed to the sky to make certain the orange sun still hung above the horizon. It was nearing the treetops, but would still be a couple of hours. “Is it dinner time already?”
Anaran didn’t speak, he simply pointed. His finger directed her to what seemed as a wall of trees, the gaps in between bridged by leaves and smaller plants. Nebolly shifted her gaze from the thicket and Anaran’s finger.
“What is it? What are you pointing at?” Nebolly asked.
He didn’t respond, but kept pointing.
Nebolly took a tentative step forward, then another. In a moment, she was at the wall, pushing back leaves and stepping through. The view was awe-inspiring.
Ruins. Ruins for as far as she could see. Ancient. The field stretched to the horizon, ruins entangled in vines and overgrown with moss. Larger chunks of stone glued to mortar and more stone, smaller, hand-sized pieces. A row of pillars extended, then had a ninety-degree angle with more stone pillars. An entire city could have been demolished here.
“What is this?” Nebolly asked in shock.
Anaran stepped right up beside her. “Home.” He walked over crumbled rock and rubble.
Nebolly stood, confused. “Home? This is where you live? A junkyard? Without civilization? Without friends?”
Anaran ceased. “Friends?” He turned around, brow furled. “Friends?” He repeated. “Have you seen me? I’m a Pact Warden. Who would want to be my friend? No one. No one!” He stepped closer to her. “As a Pact Warden, my job is to take advantage of others, slaughter innocents, and never, never feel remorse for anything I do, no matter if every person on Malkor knows how vile my task was.
“Given a life of luxury while thousands—no, millions—starve. Half of Sharnu’d receives annual wages lower than how much a Warden spends in a day. And we sit by and let it happen. Or make it happen, if you’d prefer.” Anaran was truly angry at Nebolly’s question. He only spoke full sentences, and multiple of them, when he was infuriated.
“How am I supposed to be anyone’s friend when I act as I do? Executing like we enjoy it, without a care in the world. Who in the Survivors’ names would want to be my friend?!” Anaran’s face was twitching, his ears had gone blood red.
The screams echoed through the expanse, carrying on for what seemed like an eternity. Anaran turned and continued through the building graveyard. His heavy footfall was all that was heard.
“I would.” Nebolly said.
Anaran stopped abruptly, though he remained with his back to his companion.
She spoke louder, “I would like to be your friend, Anaran.”
“No you wouldn’t.” He said. “You don’t know what that would entitle.”
Nebolly hurriedly made to catch up with him, though he’d begun advancing again, “You claim no one wants to be your friend, but when I offer, you turn me down. Can’t I decide who I’m friends with?”
