The morning came to greet Thu’lain, the red sun of Hargrithe bathing everything in its furious glow where he was still hiding amongst the branches. Thus awakened, Thu’lain wandered back to the place where the tear had occurred, grabbing fruits and tubers along the way to fill his belly.

Thu’lain wasn’t the only elf there, either. He noticed others of his kind investigating the area, each one tall and predatory. They took turns trading glances, reading each other's body language and weighing the risks of gathering so many elves in one place against investigating what could have been a monumental event. The six of them decided it was, indeed, worth the risk.

A smiling elf announced, “I am Trat’catha, the Winter Smith. It’s good to see you.” The five elves nodded and introduced themselves in turn. Once the greetings were finished, Raj’ken, Tu’lar, Tin’lo, Anar’dea, Trat’catha, and Thu’lain began to confer with one another.

“Did anyone see what happened?” Raj’ken asked, an eager edge to her voice.

“I saw a tear hanging in the air and fairies flew through to Erebus,” Thu’lain informed them.

“And magic also returned to the area for a moment? That is what we all felt, yes?” Tin’lo crisply cut to the heart of the matter, sharing a glance with Tu’lar.

“Yes, it certainly came from the tear. Something must be happening in Erebus,” Thu’lain confirmed.

“What does that mean for us?” Anar’dea asked.

“If magic is returning, even in some small amount, does it change anything?” Tin’lo paused for a moment before continuing, “It may…”

“We can take back our home! If magic is returning, then so will our strength!” Raj’ken was hopeful and eager.

“That is exactly what we will do!” Trat’catcha glowed for a moment. It seemed an eternity had been shed from him, though he admitted, “It will be difficult - nearly impossible - with just us here.”

“Sounds like we have a quest on our hands!” Anar’dea grinned.

“Wait, so that wasn’t a stupid idea?” Rai’ken was surprised by the others’ agreement.

“Of course it is!” Tu’lar teased her as he slung an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. “But what else is there to do?” he continued, glee in his voice.

“You know we can’t just walk in there together, even if magic returned. It was a nightmare just holding the walls and we had an army then.” Tin’lo scowled.

“We were reliant upon magic then, even when it was waning. Now we have other skills to defend our home,” Trat’catha argued.

“We still need to make the trip home, just to see it, though, right?” Anar’dea chimed in cheerfully.

“Even still, it’s risky for us to meet even temporarily like this. How can we travel together? The apex would be on us the entire journey,” Tin’lo reminded them.

“We can’t handle being pursued - even if we could keep our cloaks powered,” He gripped the edge of his cloak, a dull red and brown, raising it slightly. The others nodded, some obviously discouraged.

“Thu’lain, where is your cloak?” Trat’catha asked, startling Thu’lain from his contemplations. He was confused, noticing Thu’lain was also not armored.

“What?”

“Your cloak! Where is it?” Trat’catha asked again.

“Never had one.”

“How?” Trat’catha demanded, confused.

“How what?”

“Spirits of--he’s asking how you are even alive!” Tin’lo spat, frustrated.

“Just am.”

“How do you avoid the apex?” Raj’ken asked, before either Trat’catha or Tin’lo could burst a blood vessel.

“Oh. I don’t.”

“Then...What? You just get lucky?” Trat’catha wasn’t remotely processing.

“Something like that.”

“Spirits, it's easier talking to a tree,” Tin’lo said, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“So . . . we doing this or not?” Anar’dea interrupted, breezing past Thu’lain’s lack of cloak and armor.

“We could do it, but it's going to take a lot of blood,” Tin’lo brought everyone’s focus back to the original issue. Thu’lain visibly relaxed with the focus off of him.

“There are some centaur in the area. They’re pretty juicy,” Anar’dea offered.

“Agh, do you have to say juicy?” Trat’catha had a look of mild disgust.

“I mean, what do you call it?” She retorted.

“You could say they are full of essence! Or there is more life in them,” Trat’catha pleaded.

“Does it matter how we refer to it?” Tin’lo asked pointedly.

“Yeah, I’m with Tin’lo on this one. We have to do it in any case. Unless we find enough game,” Raj’ken shrugged.

“It just seems so…heartless,” Trat’catha murmured hopelessly.

Anar’dea grasped his shoulder firmly, comforting him, “It is, but that’s the way it's gotta be.”

“I...I know,” he sighed sadly.

“So, how we wanna do this?” Anar’dea looked to the others.

Thu’lain took a step forward and took a deep breath, “Bring me your quarry and I will handle the harvest.”

“We can do our own harvests, it's not like-”

“Harvesting is an art. Any extra I can get out of our game could mean one less we need,” Thu’lain cut in. The certainly in his words and stance implied that, if it needed to be done, he was the one to do it.

“O-kay! Well, then meet back here tonight? We can stand guard while he does his thing?” Raj’ken offered, getting nods from everyone.