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In her own way, it seems, Lenora had inherited her own kind of unwavering strength. A type of strength, that for all of her brawn and might – she could never possibly hope to match.

The first day was the hardest for her to swallow.

Going against a lifetime of honed instinct, the searing screams of every one of her senses, and even against her own better nature – Eshwlyn sheathed her sword and stifling her every malevolent impulse, assisted her younger sister, relieving her of the burden and the reprehensible experience of having to carry a human.

Something Lenora managed to do so frighteningly easy.

The entire ordeal, and for the entire journey back to their burrow, Eshwlyn was sick to her stomach, a permanent tenseness to her furrowed brows. Leaving unattended such lavish spoils, tempting other potential scavengers to make off with the rest... all for the sake of aiding a stranger, a human no less... it left a bitter taste to fester in the back of her throat.

Once home, Lenora unhesitantly, or more rather, insistently took it upon herself to cleanse the human of all the blood and mucus clinging to her skin... tinting a nearby stream with the pungent hue and taste of deep crimson.

.....

Her clothing had been reduced to mere tatters, and the narrow gashes in her forearms and legs told an all too familiar story of a long, arduous journey that had gone terribly awry. Ribs protruding through pale skin, large clumps of black hair breaking loose from their stems, and unblinking eyes seemingly sinking into her skull – the woman appeared to be on the verge of death already. Two days, no... just one day more.

If only they had ventured out just a single day later.

None of this would have happened.

Eshwlyn recalled Cale.

Eshwlyn recalled danger.

She made sure to keep a wary eye, a wary ear, any threats, even the smallest sliver of uncertainty ... the next time her blade leaves its scabbard... it would shortly return then after, only no longer gleaming its usual bright silver. Next time... she wouldn’t listen any longer.

A Glean’s paralyzing effect needed at the very least seven nights before it is able to fully dissipate. Eshwlyn knew this, all too painfully aware, and no doubt, Lenora knew this too... realizing its implications, its consequences... and yet... why is it does she still seem unbothered?

Seven days... feeding, tending, caring... for a human. Never. The bitter taste in her mouth grew, clenching her fist until it began to hurt.

No... never in her life would she ever. This was for her sister, this help, this aid, this mercy – solely for her. If she thought of it that way, then perhaps... the days wouldn’t seem so long at all.

“Vil, Lenora, vil,” She called out, drenching and rippling her legs forward into the rushing stream.

“Hm? Ah – !” Lenora made a squeal, hastily propping the woman’s head back up that had sunk under the surface for quite some time already. “Air! Humans need air! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

Sorry.

That was another new word, and from her tone, it sounded almost like an apology.

It was an apology.

An Elf apologizing to a human. Truly, sometimes, thinking thoughts she never really relished... she’d wonder if their mother’s action was justified... seeing her sometimes, just hearing her sometimes... perhaps she was after all.

Then as sudden as its arrival, that thought would pass, the guilt would surface, and Eshwlyn would feel the bitterest taste coating the surface of her tongue.

Sometime later, after recovering the last of what little remained untouched from the hunt, Eshwlyn returned to their meadow with her nose instinctively wrinkling, smelling something awfully foul.

In the air swirled the distinct murky streams of smoke, of fire – and seeing the source of it all, Eshwlyn instantly spurred forward, the wind whistling, the flowers billowing in her wake.

Many, many things passed through her mind in that brief second, many dreadful things. But none could ultimately prepare her for what she saw next.

Lenora stood alone at the front of their den, a small bundle of sticks aflame at her feet, and a peculiar-looking basket hovering over the flames. Eshwlyn blinked, sniffed, her panic dwindling and pinching her irritated nose, breathlessly asked, “Kulva nar, Lenora?”

Still a little startled at her sister’s brisk, spontaneous arrival, Lenora took a moment to answer, slowly stirring the smoldering contents in the basket with a flimsy wooden stick.

“Cooking.”

“Coo... king...” Eshwlyn cocked her head, her confusion pulling her gaze over towards the blackened, charred pieces of meat floating above a pool of something colored a sickly brown.

Apparently, humans do not consume as most other species do. They ‘cook’ their prey first, otherwise, consumption, as is, could very well prove hazardous to their health. So they burn, they char, they simmer, and they boil in order to provide themselves with the very same sustenance every other species could so easily attain eating bare.

Eshwlyn silently watched as Lenora poured a small portion of the brown watery sludge into a smaller wooden basket, dipping inside another narrow piece of wood swirling loose in her hands.

“Bowl me’n spoon,” Lenora keenly explained, “Gles ven ferinmathu hend.”

They did not feast with their bare hands... absurd... this woman... these humans... so incapable, so helpless, useless, the more she learns of their customs... so why then, above all else, were they ever so frighteningly ruthless?

Lenora clambered into the burrow where the human woman lay close to lifeless, to be fed, to be cared, still taking, always taking... this gluttonous, devouring race living amongst them.

Lenora did not go to bed at her usual time that very same night... and as such... neither did her vigilant sister too.

Eshwlyn watched her beneath the twinkling stars, sitting amidst a patch of swaying flowers beneath the shade of a tree, the green glimmer of her eyes staring focused at her small hands slithering and weaving, fabricating a loose flimsy garb fashioned out of the leftover hides of their evening meal for the human woman to don.

Behind her, faintly, yet so noisily, the woman sounded an occasional growl deep in her slumber. A ‘snore’ it was explained to her. A trait only some humans possess. An infuriating, vexing trait at that. Just another justified reason for her hatred of them.

Now clean, fed, and rested... Eshwlyn could see the woman was quite young, barely through the age of adolescence, naked, frail and so utterly defenseless, yet simultaneously, a sight almost too terrifying to behold.

Sleep wouldn’t come. Her instincts blared at her to run, to fight – to kill. The weight of the blade around her waist pestered her, almost calling to her, blaring the same incessant call for action over and over.

Yet Lenora, bearing the same senses, the same instincts, the same tragedies... still remained completely unbothered by it all.

After a while, beneath the swaying branches, the little Elf slowly rose, slowly strolled, green eyes beaming with pride at the thick bundle of tethered hides folded in her hands.

“Eshwlyn!” She spotted her, hurriedly scurrying over to eagerly present her work. “Ii nee? Selva, Klep, for’tur... Bleun! Ii na?”

The bigger Elf took a moment to glance thoroughly at her sister’s diligent efforts... wasted efforts... and formed a practiced smile, “Na.”

“Mmm?” She peered at her closer. “Mesta ii na?”

Eshwlyn widened her smile, reaching out to stroke her snowy-white hair. “Na, Lenora.”

“No, you don’t. You big stinky liar,” Lenora replied, forming a smile of her own too. “You think I’m being stupid. You actually think this is all just a waste of time. You think we should have just killed her, don’t you?”

Eshwlyn didn’t answer, didn’t understand, continuing to lovingly ruffle her long silky locks with that same gentle expression.

“And most of all...” She continued, her voice trailing for a brief moment, as she enjoyed the warmth of her sister’s soft fingers. “After this, you’re probably wondering if Mother was right for wanting to get rid of me... the way I am... for not being... the way we all should be...”

Still stroking, still caressing, still loving.

“But it’s okay, I don’t mind if you do, you should...” Lenora sighed, her gaze reflecting back in the shimmer of her sister’s, a mirror image, and yet reflecting so different. “Because sometimes... I wonder about that myself too, y’know?”

“Hmm?” Eshwlyn slanted her head, clueless. “Nan dashou la, Lenora?”

“Nothing,” came a whispered reply, then louder, happier, Lenora repeated again. “Nelai, Eshwlyn.”

She pulled her hand back from the curls of her locks, and that was when the little Elf stepped forward an inch closer, reaching and wrapping her small hands around her big sister.

“And even if you do think I’m no-good after all,” Her tiny voice whispered out buried heavily against her sister’s shoulder. “Thank you for taking care of me anyway, for accepting me anyway... for loving me as I am... anyway... I love you, Eshwlyn.”

A little bewildered, confused, Eshwlyn blinked out the loose strands of her sister’s hair poking her eyes.

“Love... you...” She repeated back the words, still ever as clueless of their meaning, but finding the way the words shape her lips somehow comforting to the ears. “I... l-love... you...”

Lenora giggled at her sister’s clumsy attempts, and tightened her hold even more on her.

“Yes, I know you do,” she said, the quiver of her ears seemingly never-ending. “Thank you.”