Later, he noticed that he had actually been asleep. His body, completely useless at this point, had just shut down temporarily, his head and upper body sunken low against Atela’s warmth. He only woke up when the constant movement beneath and inside stopped.

The clear, green moon of late winter hung in the pale black sky above them; accompanied by stars on end. Kirdain spotted the Griever, and the Huntsman, the Fishwife - his birth constellation. The Fishwife was said to bring good luck to her children. Fortune not in money but in people, richness not in materials but in years. His parents hadn’t believed in those things, but during his stay with the Vandrainor, Kirdain had come to appreciate this wisdom.

Ahead, less than half an hour’s ride away, lay the White Forest.

He had only seen it once before. On his way back to Agshraf a few weeks ago, he had stopped to say goodbye to a fellow classmate. Back then, he had only been able to discern the faint glimmer of the white trees and their leaves.

Now, he was a good deal closer to the forest’s edge, and he came with someone he knew nothing about, in search of help. Not knowing if their culture even helped people like him. This was probably why the forest’s beauty was lost to him at the moment.

It took him a second to understand why Atela had stopped: Someone or something was coming at them. He saw the shimmer of something in the moonlight, and he felt presences. But he was not eager to repeat the experience with the last ongai’s mind he had poked.

Instead, he casually dropped his hands to his daggers. He still couldn’t believe that he had left Agshraf without sword and armor. But at least he wasn’t tired anymore. He still felt miserable, but right now he was confident that he could handle whatever other things this day threw at him.

The people — most likely a patrol — came to a stop not far from them but Kirdain could still not see them. It wasn’t the lack of light. The green moon gave off light enough.

They had a visual shield. Something assassins used. But assassins wouldn’t leave their weapons and minds out of the shielding. Ongai patrols would do that. It was a very old tradition. Something between protecting oneself and discouraging the enemy by letting them know they had been detected. Ongai with their silvery scales were an easy target out in the open. The tiniest light reflected on them for any predator to see. And even though they were a lot taller than the average human, a pack of very determined carners or a maw was a considerable threat. So were arrows. Ongai scales, as Kirdain had felt only hours ago, were not too thick. They were tiny and a bit translucent when removed from the skin. He had thought of fish scales, shimmery and smooth. Not heavy.

A long time ago, humans had thought of them as good luck charms, and gatherers and hunters had tried to collect as many as possible to sell them in the markets of Ur or the Nightlands. The practice had not vanished with the founding of the Alliance, either. Only when the ongai had been included in the spell, and the first Ongaian Vandrainor had appeared, after the war, had it stopped. Still, the only thing that lasted longer than superstition was fear.

Something touched his mind. Not the cold claw of pain that the wounded Ongai had sent after him. It was a quiet touch, curious. It felt soft, in a way. And Kirdain knew what it was doing. This touch was to sense intent, nothing else. And his intentions were good. Or good enough. Because now, he saw a shadow moving towards them. One of them had dropped their shield. Not an Ongai, but a woodelf. A really small woodelf.

Kirdain knew that woodelves did not like to be called ‘Catelves’. That Renor would have hit him for even thinking it. And yet, it was hard to look at this person and think of something other than ‘cat’.

It was not only the fact that their ears were so much bigger in proportion to their small, feline face, or the long bushy tail. It was the graceful moves, the fingernails sharpened to claws. The lack of shoes to conceal the paw-like feet, that made them excellent climbers.

Their long hair and velvety tail were black and the moonlight’s shimmers got caught in it. Compared to this person, Renor seemed like a human with strange ears and a tail.

They stopped, a few paces away, and Kirdain felt it best to dismount before talking.

Red cat eyes followed his every move. Their skin a shade of light brown he could not tell in the light. They wore armor from something that looked like leather and fur, and Kirdain could not tell if the elf was a male or a female. Their body was androgynous in that way that betrayed deliberateness.

Kirdain could see their nose twitch, their ears stiffened and the tail fluffed even more. ”Who are you?”, they asked. Their tone was very hostile.

”We are Vandrainor”, he said carefully. “This is Atela, I am Kirdain. Who are you?”

“I am Artemis”, they said. A slight hiss accompanying their common tongue. “I am the First Hunter of the Western Border. What do you want, slavers?”

Kirdain twitched, and Atela tensed next to him. ”We bring a child of the Forest. He is hurt and my abilities are not refined enough to heal him.”

Artemis sniffed again, then hissed even louder. “You found him like that? No harm came to him by your hands?”, he asked.

”Yes.” His jaw tightened.

”It’s good that you brought him. He was missed.” He raised one of his hands with the authority only a signal had, and the other two people dropped the shield and came closer.

The group was entirely compressed of woodelves; one who was very tall and heavy built for these delicate species who lived in smaller trees. He was most likely the tallest woodelf Kirdain had ever seen and stood nearly a head taller than himself. The other one a woman, who was taller than Artemis but smaller than the other one. They all had long, black hair and really bushy tails.

The bigger one took the sled without so much as a raise of the eyebrow and began to just hurl it toward the Forest.

“We can help”, Kirdain said.

“No”, Artemis answered. “You are not invited in, slavers”, he said.

Kirdain groaned. It did not surprise him, it was only frustrating.

“Arti”, the woman said. Her common was way easier on the ears than his. Fewer edges. Kirdain eyed her. That was weird.

“Look at them, both of them need a break.”

“Don’t question me”, he said. He had spoken in the tongue the woodelves spoke. Kirdain understood both, of course. What made the woman’s use of the common tongue all the more curious.

Her growled reply was lost to him, however. It was the bigger one who stopped abruptly. He simply left the sled and walked back. His face unreadable and obscured by darkness. But Kirdain could see how he placed a hand on Artemis’ lower back and pulled him close; how the First Hunter’s body initially tensed and then relaxed, allowed the other to touch and hold him. They were arguing, and while arguing they were intimate in a strange way. Their bodies were so obviously familiar to each other, that it made him look away.

Staring at moments that were clearly private felt wrong, and lonely. After a moment, the murmurs turned into an audible purr. He looked up and saw the bigger elf kiss Artemis’s forehead.

”You may help”, the First Hunter said. He did not sound friendly but a bit of edge had left his voice. “If someone authorizes it, you might even stay.”

Kirdain nodded, he felt grateful. More for Atela’s sake than his own. He had slept a bit but while they waited for Artemis’ decision, Atela’s energy had run out. She was shivering and sweating, now.

There was little Kirdain could do to ease her suffering right now. He pulled the saddle from her back and fished in the saddlebags for the woolen blanket he kept for her. He stretched it over her back and nuzzled her cheek. She nudged him thankfully.

Kirdain detached the bags from the saddle before saddling her again. He did not mount her; they only needed the saddle to attach the sled. He walked beside Atela, one hand on her flank all the time. A steady flow of strength between them.

The elves walked on her other side, a good distance away from them. The woman at the end with the wounded, Artemis ahead.

Kirdain did not try to spark a conversation between himself and the tall elf and was glad that the disinterest he emanated was returned in kind. These elves were traditionalists. Descendants of those who never left the forest, and determined to keep that tradition up themselves. Strong believers in the idea of pure freedom. these woodelves hated everything about the concept of Twospirits.

This was why Artemis had called Atela and Kirdain slavers. When the elves had first been introduced into the spell, no one had considered asking the woodelves separately for their agreement. The highelves had agreed and that had been enough.

Given their isolated heritage and specific culture, the woodelves had thought of that as an affront.

Forcing two people to abandon their lives was not an idea that sat easily with them. Traditionalists would not urge their offspring to go, even if they were Twospirit. They would help them to stay, to somehow live. That was a concept that made Kirdain recoil. He had, of course, met split pairs; riders and horses both. He had grown up with the tale around Ishgol Watchmaker who had rejected his match. He was a strong man but always misplaced. Never balanced. Always incomplete. He remembered the agony inside his self those first days after he had touched Atela’s spirit but had been separated from her. These people’s pride was hurting their children, mutilating them. They were forced to live a half-life that required the utmost strength to just survive at all. It was unnecessary harm.

He really didn’t want to speak with them.

All his worries vanished when he set foot in the Forest. Until now, he had always pictured the White Forest as a calm place, a bit empty, a bit sad, a bit serene. It was anything but.

The trees were gigantic, their bark shimmered in the moonlight like diamonds only softer. White was broken into a thousand colors and Kirdain was pretty sure that he would not see an Ongai if they stood directly in front of a tree. The bark was not completely white but marbled with slim threats of red, black, blue in every tree. And the leaves. The crowns were still rich with healthy, white leaves never minding the season. And on the ground, they faded into pastel colors; faded green, a shy yellow, beige.

The greenery between the trees was striking, despite the late hour: Flowers that emitted light in a clear way that no torch could ever wish to imitate. Striking red leaves and translucent blossoms.

Kirdain suddenly realized that it was already Spring in the forest. The magic in the air, so thick that it was almost heavy to breathe, made its own climate.

A few paces in, an Ongai woman came walking towards them. Her horns were decorated with some sort of headband that twisted around both horns and connected them. She wore a set of armor very similar to the one Artemis had. She also lacked shoes. Her hand-like feet were fascinating.

She looked at Artemis inquisitively. “What’s this?”, she asked.

He gestured at Atela and Kirdain both without so much as glancing at them. ”They bring a Moska. I think it’s the one who went missing two weeks ago, from the coven.”

She huffed. “Is he alive?”, she asked. The question was directed at Kirdain but it was the female elf who answered.

“Yes, he is”, she said. “He’s stable apart from the poison, nothing's damaging him.”

The Ongai beckoned. “Thank you”, she said. Then, she turned to Artemis. She had a very business-like attitude to her. Kirdain liked that. “And thank you, too, First Hunter. I’ll remember your alertness at another time. Now”, she indicated the big elf with one hand. “Can you carry him?” He shrugged.

“I think so”, he said. He had a deep, rich voice. Melodic but quiet.

The Ongai nodded. “Good. Bring him to the lake. And the both of you”, she looked at Atela and Kirdain, and a smile crept over her face. “I’m afraid no one will have time to tend to you tonight. Will those two” — she indicated Artemis and the female elf — “be sufficient to bring you to your quarters?”

Kirdain swallowed. Refusing an escort was unwise. Given the choice, though, he would have preferred a hungry wolf to Artemis. “Yes, they’ll be sufficient, thank you”, he said.

”All right, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Kirdain nodded. He watched stunned and a bit surprised as the big elf simply took the sled and walked off with it, taking Atela’s place once again and so casually as if he did nothing else every day.

The Ongai followed suit.

Kirdain walked behind Artemis. Atela was by his side. Her mind on nothing at all, while he tried to memorize the way. After the seventh curiously twisted tree, he gave up.

Both ongai and woodelves lived in the trees, and Kirdain had already braced himself for the possibility of a night alone and much higher above the ground than comfortable. Thankfully, his worries had been needless: Artemis brought them to one of the bigger trees in these parts of the forest. The trunk was so big, Kirdain was sure he wouldn’t be able to reach around half of it with his hands.

There was a crack in the bark that led into the heart of the obviously hollow tree.

Kirdain could not see the stars from within, but there was enough space for him and Atela inside. She was still outside, though. He could feel her taking in the night.

Artemis indicated one of the bright shining plants Kirdain had seen outside. “Tap it, and it’ll close and stop shining”, he said. “We don’t have bedding or anything ready at your pleasure but you’ll make do, won’t you?”, he asked. His tone indicated that he did not really care for Kirdain’s answer. Kirdain nodded. “It’s alright. I’m sorry for … troubling you.”

Artemis flashed him a look and bared his teeth. “You’re no trouble, honored Vandrainor. You are an insult to me and my kind.” With his hands locked in a claw gesture, his tail fluffed and on end, and his ears flattened to his head, he looked ready to pounce. “If you don’t want to trouble me — or the community — then you make sure that you’re gone before anyone can start to make a fuss about you. We have enough abominations among the ongai, we don’t need them from outside.”

Kirdain felt his face redden. He had been ready to not cause a scene. He was prepared to just let it slide to be called a slaver. He was not prepared, nor ready, nor going to accept this. “Leave”, he said calmly. Too calmly.

Artemis hissed. “I’m not taking orders from you, freak”, he said.

Kirdain jumped.

Artemis moved out of his way, almost dancing.

Kirdain had fought woodelves before, often enough. He had sparred with Renor every day for the last seven years. And still, he wasn’t fast enough. He followed Artemis’s move and reached for him.

Artemis’s claws slashed over his hand, and he groaned.

”Weakling!”, Artemis hissed.

Kirdain caught his wrist and twisted it; Artemis kicked him. His bare foot caught in Kirdain’s trousers and he could feel the blood running down his shines. He pressed the woodelf against the wall.

A roar exploded behind him.

”What the hell?!” Kirdain felt a hand at his neck, he tensed instinctively but someone wrenched him away from Artemis.

Hurt exploded in his tailbone when he found himself sitting on the floor, next to Atela, who stood in the entrance to the tree.

The female elf next to her. The woman simply put a foot on Kirdain’s pelvis. He was extremely aware that she, too, wore no shoes and had very claw-like feet. “Stay where you are”, she said with deadly calm. Her ears and tail indicated nothing of her mood.

The big elf had been the one who threw Kirdain through the room. How strong was he? What was he?!

He stood above Artemis and held him in his arms. “It’s okay, little one”, he said soothingly.

Artemis hissed and scratched him but he didn’t seem to care. He simply lifted him up and carried him away, like a child. Only after they both disappeared, did the woman take her foot down. ”Sorry about that”, she said. “He’s … passionate.”

Kirdain just stared at her, unable to answer.

She shrugged. “Good night, Vandrainor”, she said and left. He stared for another second, then he shook his head.

After a while, he got up and rubbed Atela dry. He was silent. Confused, hurt. He gave her the rest of the water, put the saddle near the entrance. He took a blanket out and rolled himself to a ball next to the natural wall the tree was.

Atela tried to talk to him but he felt like silence. Even when he only laid on the ground and listened to the magic buzzing around, he felt like silence. The forest’s magic hummed in his doze. He noticed how Atela laid down next to him. He didn’t mind.

It was okay.

He dreamed of cats with lightning and poisoned leather stripes.