One stormy night

[Quetzal]

More secrets. Isrydia's eyes narrowed as she followed the events. She had never heard of Thor Gorlsson before, nor his manor. The stranger referred to Shaelren as a Lord in the absence of his father, which must mean he owned land as well as a manor. The stranger and Shaelren were both elves, probably, which made the situation strange because Isrydia hadn't thought elves had Lords. Perhaps it was a human town, especially if it was concerned by the affairs of the Empire. Shaelren had looked human before so the elf appearance could be an illusion of sorts. Arlyn moved to interject and add his thoughts to the conversation, but Isrydia glanced at him to say this was none of their business and was for Shaelren to deal with. He reluctantly held back, shuffling uncomfortably, eyes flickering around anxiously.

The messenger's death was a surprise to Isrydia. "Whatever happened to the saying 'don't shoot the messenger'?" she thought to Arlyn. He didn't have time to respond before Shaelren threw a knife through the messenger's killer without so much as a thought. Now there was another problem. The boy had much to learn. He was clearly not as stealthy as he thought if both elf and man had managed to find him. Killing on impulse was without a doubt far worse. She had never killed anyone. She valued all lives greatly, including those that weren't hers. You could never truly know another person's situation. She had no right to end someone's life. Trying to see the best in everyone, she could understand that there were other ways and took them at all costs. Anger and confusion clung at her now, anger being something she had rarely felt since before Brenton's death. She was angry at Shaelren for being such a fool to kill his own uncle without thinking, angry at the consequences he would get himself into.

This vanished when he looked at her, weakness in his eyes. She ran over to him as he collapsed, Arlyn following swiftly behind. He examined the boy as she looked at Mythia. Her gaze swept over the daggers first, fine blades as far as she could tell, before landing on the stunned half-werecat. Her own sword, Nettle, was not with her. She hoped no-one else would attack them. "It's OK, he's not hurt. He's just in shock," she explained, glancing up at the sky. The rain was worsening, a storm setting in. She drew her faded cloak tighter around herself for warmth. It was too far to drag Shaelren back to Ellesmera, but she and Arlyn were of the Air Branch of Riders and as such the young dragon would be able to brave the storm without much of a battering, although he would be unable to carry anything too large or heavy. He looked up at her now. "Warmth and shelter couldn't hurt," he prompted. She nodded. Shelter would be impossible to find in a forest, but she could at least keep him warm. She carefully rested Shaelren against a tree, draping her cloak over him. She was taller than him, so it covered almost all of the young boy. Shivering where fat cold raindrops touched her bare skin, the Rider looked at Mythia again. "Since he's fainted, we need to make sure his brain is getting enough blood. His blood pressure could be low, too. Keeping him warm and hydrated is important. The water is sorted, but I need your help collecting firewood," she requested. Crouching down beside Shaelren, she said "Adurna," and rainwater collected in a thin trickle towards the boy's lips. After making sure he drank without choking, she and Arlyn began finding suitable sticks to burn. The lack of dry firewood did not matter; magic could fix that.

[Brenton]

Screams and cries filled the air as the young boy walked through the streets of an unfamiliar town with his head pounding and his heart heavy. He'd just killed his uncle so why was he even here and able to walk? Suddenly a horse galloped away from a large palace-like house with speed intended while a woman clung on with her baby in her arms. Yet that wasn't the worst part as people began to shoot at her and she was forced to use magic to transport the baby and herself away far enough to escape pursuit. This was strange for the woman had the same look as Shaelren's mother but there was no way that could be for she was dead. Then he realized that the surroundings were different now.

Instead of warm light and green trees there were now barren hills and sandy ground while the air was covered by clouds that heralded rain much like a storm he could barely remember. As the boy watched he saw the same woman, his mother, caring for her baby under the nearest shelter. There were no people around but they were in a building that had obviously been designed for training. Just then people started to walk in dressed like Konner but they had weapons already drawn. An altercation broke out and soon Shaelren was able to see his mother in her true fighting form. Men fell but she refused to kill them, instead begging them to let her stay to care for her son.

----

Out of his hazy dream, Shaelren awoke to find himself covered in a cloak while he was against a tree. His eyes burned and he could tell that he had been crying for his face wasn't just wet from rain but was more salty. Shaelren opened his eyes more and glanced around himself to see that twigs and branches were being gathered to start a fire. His cold built within him and on some strange sixth sense he opened his mouth and rasped one word. Brisingr! A flickering green flame erupted where the branches were being gathered and warmth hit him but Shaelren had no idea how the fire had appeared. He also didn't know how he had changed his appearance and that bothered him a lot.