Search for the Extinct [Last of Elves book 2]

Two: Kuraĝon

Kuraĝon

She shot out of the cottage, the playfulness of her childhood still running strong in her veins. The beastkins followed her, nearly tripping over their oversized paws.

“Hunaja,” she called, seeing the younger female head towards a tree. The honey-coloured companion – her fur the reason for her name – looked up, and then promptly ignored the call.

“Face it, Kura. She won’t listen to you.”

Laughing because she knew he was right, she turned towards her brother. He still looked the same as he always had, mischief gleaming in his dark blue eyes. His hair had grown longer over the years, the few tiny braids still interwoven with silver thread.

“I know.” She hadn’t changed much either. Her own blue-black hair hung to her waist, rarely let out of the messy plait. She too had silver threads woven through the glossy strands, a symbol of their heritage.

He grinned at her, and let out a sharp whistle. Hunaja abandoned her explorations, rushing over to him, while the male beastkin stayed where he was.

“Come eat, Kura. It’s a long road.”

She sighed as he vanished inside, and absently stroked the tawny fur of the beastkin beside her.

“It’s always a long road, Vakt,” she confided. “I always have to eat, always have to follow. Why can’t I do anything for a change?”

Vakt only purred, his voice even deeper than it had been in his kittenhood. He’d been her faithful companion from the start.

She smiled. Despite her objections, she would go nowhere without her brother. It had been nearly ten years since she’d almost lost him for good; ten years since he’d promised her that he would never leave her again.

He’d kept his promise.

With Vakt almost treading on her heels, she headed inside, sticking her butt on the table.

“Off, Kura.”

She rolled her eyes. She’d never been able to work out how he knew where she sat, but he always did – even when he couldn’t see her. Even so, she got off.

“Where’s the long road to this time?” she asked cheekily, filling her mouth with a piece of bread. As she waited, she fed both beastkins under the table, liking the way their rough tongues cleaned her fingers.

“Åska.”

She almost choked, and coughed to clear her airways, her eyes watering. It wasn’t the cheeky answer she’d been expecting

“What?” she finally forced out, her voice still hoarse.

“Åska,” he repeated, putting the food in front of her. She attacked it with glee. It was the biggest reason she’d never learnt to cook – he did it so much better.

“Isn’t he dead?” She waved her fork, her mouth full again. He sat down opposite her.

“As dead as I am,” he answered.

Unwillingly, her eyes were drawn to his arms. The scars from the fire that had almost taken him from her were no longer the vivid red that they once had been, but they were still clear. He’d never completely regained the full use of his right hand.

He was believed to be dead, just as she was believed to be a human.

“You’re sure?” she asked quietly, looking into his eyes. They’d darkened slightly. He knew what she’d been thinking. He always did.

“Yes.”

Just like that. She sighed, finishing her meal in silence. The beastkins were curled under the table, dozing.

“Why now?” she finally asked. “After all these years?”

He lifted a shoulder, absently feeding the sleepy Hunaja the remains of his meal. “I don’t know,” he answered.

She blinked. It was rare, but there had been occasions where the only reason they were on the road was a feeling. It looked to be one of those times.

“When do we leave?”

He smiled at her, the amusement lightening his dark features. “When we’re ready.”