by Matt Rogers
Chapter 17: A Difference Of Opinion
The Pursuit (Breathtaking Forest)
The forest was alive and the Elfin excited. They were tending their gardens secure in the knowledge their Wearwolf duties were no longer necessary. The Piglets turned out to be quite helpful. At first no one knew what they were doing.
“What are they doing?”
“Are they rooting around again?”
“I thought the truce put an end to that?”
The confusion the Elfin were facing was where the Piglets were turning up the ground with their stubby little noses; barren fields.
“Don’t they know we haven’t plowed that land yet?”
“You’d think they’d know there wasn’t anything planted there?”
After a bit of time even Elfin heads became aware.
“Hey, you know what?”
“What?”
“I think they’re plowing the fields for us!”
And the Elfin community realized cooperation with their neighbors might actually be a benefit after all. The Piglets were made for garden preparation. Their natural ability to uproot soil and turn over turf was exceptional for the agricultural ways of the Elfin. They responded with a bushelfull of baskets in appreciation for the Piglet’s ingenuity.
Everyone was in high spirits, imagining the bountiful harvest they would be able to produce when the warning went out over the grapevine. Everyone scattered. The Piglets followed suit for they could sense the evil which entered the forest. The chattering intensified, the anxiety level rose and the agricultural farmers in Mother Nature’s forest armed themselves. Their ancient foe had arrived and on everyone’s lips one phrase was uttered in fear.
“Elvin are here.”
They moved without sound, unseen but sensed by their other half. They paid them no heed for they were of no consequence. Slicer led the band but all of the same mind, of the same unquenchable desire; destroy those who dared challenge the Guild.
They knew they were being watched, could sense those who held an ancestry with them, those who had chosen to go a different way. The Elvin and the Elfin had once been the same. The split had occurred so long in the past they were no longer so. It had come about abruptly, a differing of opinion which could not be compromised.
“We should make peace with the Humans.”
“No, we should kill them all.”
The Elfelvin were an elderly race, roaming the land long before Humans arrived. They were a stoic breed, able to hold their own against creatures much larger and stronger for they were intellectually superior. Their intellect allowed them to evolve many techniques which would prove them well. Two of which were cultivation and defense. When the Humans arrived the two traits were put to a test and found wanting.
“There is plenty of room. We can learn to trade with them.”
“They are trespassing, they must die.”
Two factions emerged, two ideals verbalized, only one prevailed.
“Where will you go?”
“To the mountains.”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t find common ground.”
“Don’t be sorry, be warned. The Humans will dominate your life.”
The Elfin made peace and began trading with the Humans, the Elvin made plans and went to war. Over centuries both sides changed, evolved and finally emerged. The Elfin moved to the forests, the Elvin into the mountains. Human views progressed with them came differing problems.
“The Elfin refused our offer. They won’t sell their land.”
“Take it by force.”
According to different opponents.
“What happened at the battle?”
“The Elvin slaughtered everyone.”
As Humans swarmed over the land, multiplying at a rate impossible to match by those who lived for centuries, the Elfelvin common heritage diminished, eroded and finally divided. One grew smaller, the other larger, a necessary trait to implement their crafts. The species became two, of separate ideals, a contrast of peoples.
“Which side do you choose, us or them?”
“We wish not to choose at all but if we must, it will be with the Humans.”
“Then we are now enemies.”
The battles were fought, lives were lost and over time the separation became complete. The Elfin were much more numerous for they were on the side of history; Humans would rule the land. The Elvin were never defeated but their ranks were depleted so they retreated into the mountain and became masters of their art, disciples of their goddess, instruments of Death.
“How many are there?” Tweedlewink asked.
“We have counted seven so far, but they move so rapidly and with such stealth there may be more.”
The Elfin were rightfully alert, alarmed at what they’d seen.
“What do we do?”
“We do nothing. We are no match for three let alone seven.”
The Elvin were a story, a fable, a tale told to frighten children. They were the monsters in the dark, the creatures lurking outside, the eradicators of life. As with all tales an element of truth rang through.
“They are following the same trail.”
“I know.”
“Which ones do you think they are after?”
“It doesn’t matter. Whichever it is their lives are forfeit.”
As Tweedlewink said the words his eyes caught sight of something on the ground, something he’d seen before; an amulet of Nature. He glanced to verify the other Elfin was unaware, confirmed it was and quickly placed the enchanted necklace in a pocket. He wasn’t sure but felt a gift from Mother Nature herself would someday come in handy. He had no idea how right he was.
And so, as the Elfin leader pocketed Wort’s amulet, Slicer and the Elvin cut a swath through the forest, unhindered but watched by those they once called brothers. They never broke stride, never eased their pace for they’d caught the scent, found the trail of the ones who helped take an Elvin life.