The Last Light of the Star

10 - Because, Of Course, Could Anything Ever Go Right? Clearly, Not.

Arryin grit her teeth as her stomach grumbled for the sixth time. The 13th sector had been running drills over and over in the sun's heat all day. It was entirely unnecessary as they had gotten the movements right hours ago, but Legolas kept pushing. Quite frankly, they weren't improving anymore; they were just getting more irritated and exhausted.

The thing that finally prompted the Prince to end training was the sun, well, the lack thereof. As the pinks, oranges, and purples of the sky faded into dusk, the weary and bone-tired warriors made their way into the dinning hall.

The hearty aroma danced across their noses, luring them to the large pot at the side in the room. As if they were undead creatures, they all slowly bombarded the stew. Of course there was more than enough for everyone, as the Mirkwood cooks were well aware of the guards eating habits, but still they acted so.

Everyone was currently gathered around, waiting in anticipation for their turn. Arryin, Rowan, Belanor and Beyla were at the front of the line. As Beyla was using the ladle to scoop the stew into her bowl, Arryin leaned forward. She placed her hand on the rim of the pot in order to make it easier to smell the deliciousness.

That was a mistake.

"ARRYIN!" Rowan called out in alarm.

He lashed forward and ripped her palm off of the hot pot.

Almost every elf in the room now had their attention turned towards the commotion.

Rowan grimace, "Damn, you won't be able to pull a bow string for at least a week with a burn like that."

The amber-haired elf picked up her hand and gingerly turned it over to reveal.....absolutely nothing.

He sucked in a deep breath and his lips parted in confusion, "You're—you're not burned?"

Arryin opened her mouth to speak but Rowan spoke before her, "I saw you—your hand! It was on the..." He looked up at her face and his voice got quiet, "....you should have a burn."

All the warriors had gathered closer for this indeed was an interesting situation. Legolas, who had been talking with other sector leaders, pushed through the crowd to to see what all the commotion was. He arrived at the front just to see Arryin pull her hand away from Rowan's grasp.

She spoke quickly, "You must have been mistaken Rowan. I didn't touch it."

Internally, Arryin was filled with anxiety, panic, end alarm. Her previous hunger was replaced by queasiness and nausea while her mind raced. This couldn't be happening. How could she be so stupid—so careless?! This was a mistake. It all was a big mistake. And it was going to haunt her if she didn't get out of there....fast.

Arryin was about to weave through the immense crowd, but a gentle grasp stopped her. Now it was Legolas who had taken Arryin's hand in his own. He turned it over, his fingers brushing upon her callouses, before gently moving his thumb across her palm.

"There is no burn," he stated simply.

Legolas then turned to Rowan, "Are you sure you saw her hand on the rim?"

He was about to reply but Arryin interjected, "I am not burned. You're eyes must have deceived you."

She pulled her arm away from Legolas' and turned around. She felt like she was suffocating—like the walls and countless elves were closing in in her. Arryin could feel every gaze upon her form as she shoved warrior after warrior to the side—desperate to get out of the crowd. She just needed to leave. Now.

As she stumbled into the hall, she began to suck in deep breaths. Everything felt so....so...hot.

Her heart began to race. Oh, no.