A teenage boy lies ill on a bed in an elven village. He himself was found and nursed back to health by an inn keeper. He still had a slight cough, but was able to eat, drink and coexist with the elven village dwellers.
"Can you get up?" a sweet soft voice asked. He did as the voice asked, his eyes remained closed, they had been severely burned during his attack. A soft hand brushed against his cheek, "Can you tell me your name?" He coughed a few times and then said, "My name is Raven, son of Raziel, and what of your name?" She smiled, "My name is Maharishi, but please just call me Mari." Raven let loose a sigh, "My eyes are still recovering aren't they?" She nodded, "Yes, stitched shut as to allow them to heal correctly, please do not force your eyes open." Mari eased him back onto the bed, "When you are ready I shall take you to the Elders."