**

  Breaking through the trees was the echo of two unmistakable emotions; no sentient life would mistake it for anything but great misery tipped with a certain despair, and the other sound was a boundless joy that puffed up its chest to brag about its boundless future.

  The scent of trees and wet grass after the thick but life-bringing showers of rain last night was snuffed out and smothered today under the scent of smoke, heavy metal, and blood. The light of the sun was broken in the corners by the shadows cast by the trees having secret meetings with the light of the fire from the raid.

  The town of Ansvil was attacked last night. Two spindly-legged elven siblings hid on the outskirts of town, rationalizing why it was moral for them to break from their family and run. If one was to be honest, their choices were run and die or stay and die. In the end, the sister was the first to make her decision, even if she didn't accept it, as she started to sneak away. When the brother saw this, his instincts led him on, and soon the two were following his lead—running away, hiding at times to make sure they weren't being pursued.

  After forty minutes, they found that they were. Three orcs came galloping like wild boars up behind them, spotting them mid-run from hiding spot to hiding spot. The creatures had long limbs and were taller than the elves. They also had muscles that made it impossible for them to hide themselves, as they were wider than the trees.

  They carried simple swords and axes, had long hair pulled back over their scalps and tied into knots or tails. The armor they wore was made of scrap metal, turned into hundreds of plates and then arranged over their arms, legs, and necks like fish scales. Their chests were bare, but each one held a thick, round wooden or wicker shield that was dented and clearly well-tested in battle. They didn't wear helmets, as they were hard to forge, and other than dwarven ones, they never found helmets from the people they raided that fit orc heads.

  Because of this, when the orcs saw the Elven adolescents, they raised their shields over their eyes and heads, screamed like beasts, and then charged blindly like bulls. One orc collided into a tree, breaking his momentum but shattering his way through the tree in a feat of strength the elves would not be able to manage.

  The siblings, however, were not without merit of their own. Seeing this happen, the elven brother drew a thick wooden hunting bow from his shoulder and fired an arrow at the leg of the orc. The elf had over 13 arrows with him—enough to kill each one—but even still, he waited to take his shots, as he knew he didn't have the time to go back and collect them.

  The arrow hit the orc in the leg, breaking through the armor and getting lodged inside. Each time the elf shot his arrows, he did so without slowing down at all, firing backward at full sprint. This only seemed to anger the orc, as unlike the tree, it didn't slow him down at all.

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  It struck at the brother elf's morale, but taking another shot at the orc, this time he hit it just below the shield in the waist. This area would usually be protected by the shield, but because it was raised so the orcs wouldn't be hit where it counted by the arrows they had come to expect from the elves, it was left open.

  The elven sister was approached by another orc. This one seemed larger and tougher than the other two and had run out in front. She darted behind a tree as it charged, being loud in ways that elves simply aren't. As she moved, the orc heard and followed unthinkingly into tree after tree.

  Screaming out in anger, it dropped its shield from its face, forgetting the valid reason it held it up, where an arrow from the brother quickly reminded it with the last lesson it would ever learn in its life, as an arrow found its way through the eye of the orc, killing it then and there.

  He killed another one that lost itself in rage seeing its comrade die, deciding to try and throw its weapon at the girl, who darted safely behind a tree. However, in doing that, it had opened itself up, and that opening was taken advantage of when an arrow found its way into that orc's throat.

  Panic set in quickly. As it started to flail around, struggling to breathe, another arrow struck the orc in the head, and it died. This gave new life to the elven brother, whose hopes of victory rose just in time for the orc with an arrow through the waist to demonstrate the sheer vitality of orcs that made them so intimidating, as it caught up and tackled him to the ground.

  The elf hit his head and was quite dizzy, quickly being mounted by the orc, who raised his sword to strike down the elf for good.

  "NOO!" At the scream of the sister, his last living family, he raised his bow to defend himself, using it as a shield.

  Thwack! Thwack!

  Two quick attacks from the orc—the first one cut halfway through the bow, and the second cut off his fingers that gripped it, causing it to fall from his hands to his chest. Screaming in victory, the orc raised its sword up high and got lost in the moment just in time for the sister to plunge a fallen orc's sword straight through the orc's eye, dropping his sword in the process.

  As the strength fell from its arms, it found just enough to grab her by the arm and swing her into a nearby tree, splintering wood and splitting her head open so that red blood ran through her blond hair. It was in the way a brute would swing a stray cat.

  Then, reaching down for its own sword to kill the woman's brother in a last moment of cherished violence.

  The two wrestled for the sword, but the elf found he had no fingers to grasp anything, so he fought simply to keep it from the orc's hands. In what felt like an eternity to the elf, the orc lost its strength and then succumbed to its wound, falling face first.

  It was a challenge simply to get the orc off him, but after doing so, he went over to check his sister. She was bleeding badly but could live, even walk but she was clearly suffering and had taken a strong blow to her ability to concentrate. His fingers meant he could no longer hold a bow or draw back an arrow; she was in no position to fight as she balled up into him, squirming under the pain.

  Still, they pressed on, not looking back in the direction of their village, knowing no help could be found there, as their home was dead.

  **