The next morning found him curled up between the roots of a maple, drenched and weakened by hunger. In his feverish sleep, the hand shaking his shoulder might as well be an awful dream.
When he finally woke up, he pulled away from the grip as his eyes darted around. Terrified, he recognized none of the faces staring at him. It was impossible for humans to have followed him this far, but he was too scared to think clearly. Only when a commanding voice called, he realized elves surrounded him.
“Calm yourself, boy. We mean no harm.” The one who had awoken him loomed over, a worried look on his face. “What is your name?”
With his mouth parched, his voice came out ragged and feeble. “R-Regn.” The old elf regarded him with concern, while the others grew restless. A younger elf spoke in their language, and the one closest to him nodded before turning his eyes to him once more.
“Your family?” he asked.
The lump in his throat prevented him from talking, so Regn only shook his head and stared down, ashamed of his tears.
They could have left him there. An orphan half-breed was not their problem. However, the leader of the group took pity on him. He offered a hand, shaking him out of the mournful haze he fell into and pulling him away from the roots. “My name is Hevonen, Regn. You will travel with us.”
After feeding him and healing the cuts in his arms and legs, they resumed their journey. Regn followed close behind.
Days passed, and as they moved away from the battle, others joined their group. The elf led them through roads near the border, keeping a safe distance. The earth beneath his feet shook with each step of the Hill.
What exactly is a Wandering Hill? What are their paws like, and how many do they have? Where are we headed again? Why is it considered good luck to travel with one of them?
Regn marched next to the Hill, surrounded by the caravan. Hundreds of questions gathered in his mind, but this time, he didn’t bother to ask for answers. He had spent the last few days walking in silence, focusing on the tip of his boots, which grew tighter every day.
Around him, everyone was strangers. The family of elves who sneaked off the battlefront. The seven young pixies who seemed more nervous than usual. A few exhausted wolves, traveling the same path along with him. And the Hill. The war must have escalated to a worrying state if it had forced a Hill to escape.
Rain fell on the travelers, and Regn let out an annoyed growl. Wonderful. His feet hurt, drained after walking all day, and his stomach protested since morning.
He hadn’t eaten almost anything since last night when the wolves kindly shared some meat with him. Only his questions distracted him from his overwhelming situation. He had always been a curious child, and his father always said—
No.
Don’t think about them.
Regn hugged himself to ward off the cold, but more than anything to dull the sharp pain in his chest. He focused again on his steps and emptied his mind of memories.
He looked up at the elf who walked in front of him. Despite his kindness, he was a taciturn fellow. They crossed only a few words since they started traveling together; he mentioned they would only have to journey until dawn. They would soon reach the territory of the Children of the River, and the elf was sure they would take him in.
Regn was not so confident.
Although half-breeds like him, people who lived in villages did not trust nomads very much. Maybe they would accept him because he was a child, but uncertainty weighted like a stone in his stomach. Or perhaps he was just hungry. “Pff...” Regn snorted, gaining a raised eyebrow from Hevonen.
I could keep traveling with the Hill if they decide not to accept me. I could hunt on my own and live just fine. Mom always said that...
He dug his nails in his arms to chase away the awful memory. Remembering his mother hurt too much. He couldn’t help letting out a growl, and the elf turned to him again. This time, before continuing, he patted his head. That simple gesture helped him keep walking and chased his family’s memories away.
How did life change so fast? How did it come to this?
He did not understand war. His father didn’t understand this war either. One day, their peaceful life disappeared, and everyone around them turned dangerous. If only they had survived until meeting the elves. If only his family had escaped the ones hunting them.
They walked for days following the Path, joining other refugees, and for the first time since that fateful night, Regn laid eyes on the lands of men. And he saw them.
A wild bawl escaped his lips.
Hate. Deep and searing hatred roared inside him.
His eyes fixed on the two figures watching them from the plains, half-hidden behind a few rows of trees. His body trembled with rage, and his fingers twitched. He wanted to tear out the lives of those humans who dared to approach the Forest.
Regn never felt anything like it. The unbearable need to kill. Damn monsters! A calming hand landed on his shoulder, breaking the tension. Regn gasped when he realized he had taken a step forward.
The old elf scowled at him. “They are children, boy. They didn’t hurt your family. They don’t deserve your hate.”
Regn looked away, unnerved. They were children now, but the men who murdered his family had also been children. Those children would grow up and become murderers in a few years, but now he had the opportunity to prevent it. Avoid another death, avenge his family.
He took another step, but the elf held him back.
“Your hate is your responsibility, and you will decide what to do with it, but I will not allow you to break the law again. They are in human territory. Hurt them, and it will be
