Oh my goodness, this is a long one. pace yourself!
Chapter 13 –Ge'elaphi's Introduction and Clint's Murder-
When Clint decided to force himself to his feet, it was with the understanding that to make such attempt may spell his own death or at the very least his arm. He refused to restrain himself to a sick bed any longer than necessary and, with a sudden urge to move, took his own initiative. Doodle had stepped out of doors to check on those things he tended around his home. Clint took that opportunity to struggle his way out from beneath the furs.
Planning to stand and actually accomplishing the feat became two very different challenges. His joints felt like they were cushioned in finely ground glass. Each one of them screamed of its own accord and ground against the tops and bottoms of his bones. He had almost given up half way, but there were three or four rays of sunshine beaming down the smoked out chimney flume that beaconed him to go out.
There was a strange thing that living in the realms away from home did to a man. Clint had experienced the phenomenon on Asgard first. He'd been taken there quite suddenly one night after Natasha mistakenly shot him in the head. Within a few days not only had he been healed to full functional capacity again, he'd also begun to forget about earth, the Avengers, and everyone he cared about. At first he thought it may be a fluke, an unfortunate side effect of being shot someplace important. But it happened again the second time he found himself on Asgard. The foreignness of it, the sheer beauty of the land, and the ancient customs swept him up in ways he could never fully comprehend. Anyone hailing from Midgard, traveling to another of the Nine Realms, tended to leave everything else behind. They forgot all.
This time, Clint wanted to forget. What was there for him back on earth? More sympathy? More apologies? His murderous brother? He could avoid everything by simply staying away. He could remain on Alfheimr and forget, forget everything. The thought spurred him to his feet. He leaned against the little wicker stool at first with nearly all his weight upon one arm. The other he kept stiffly tucked across his chest. Even thinking about that arm hurt. He couldn't imagine whether he would ever shoot his bow again. He moved through the quaint earthen room and into the outer courtyard of Doodle's hovel.
The woodland pressed back from the immediate doorway of the hut. A green knoll extended, in coats of thickened carpets, to the brook flowing at the foot of the hill. Clint desperately wanted to reach it. He settled for the small bench to the side of the front door. He placed his hand along the wall to steady his walk and slowly dropped to the seat. The sun felt hot and cool at the same time upon his face. He closed his eyes bathe his skin in it.
Tony and Steve must have been exhausted. He felt one or the other move to him continually in the night, as if to assure he still lived. Clint had yet to disappoint. Though he may have been awake at the time, he feigned sleep to avoid the inevitable conversation to come. Speaking with Doodle had somehow lessened the overwhelming pain in his heart.
"Ah, see there. The boy's trying to bring his death by enjoying the light of day. You have not the slightest sense of the frailty of your life or the fact that at any moment you may take a turn and lie dead on my doorstep." Doodle Bygrove complained as he rounded the corner of his home. He held two baskets in either hand with all manner of edible things held within. It seemed other elven houses lay hidden in the woods and he had visited a number of them that morning to gather supplies.
"Mya e'veheen." Good morrow, Clint said.
"Yes mya it would be if there did not exist this overwhelming need by Midgardians to find irrefutable trouble for themselves."
He set down his baskets by the front door and leaned over the patient. He analyzed Clint very closely. "You are much too pale. You do not breathe very well and I fear it will take a great deal more than smoking herbs to assist in that. I do assume your bones feel as though they may shatter of their own accord?"
"Or something like it." Clint admitted weakly.
"In time, if you do not find yourself dead, then it too will mend." Without pulling the bandages away, he gingerly prodded the back of Clint's wound. It had begun to rot from front to back, though the boiling water had stopped the progression. In the night some of the skin attempted to heal over the poultice. The elf continued to be concerned that it would never heal properly without Asgardian care. Clint's generally high pain tolerance had significantly waned since the venom took control of him. Even Doodle's light touch sent a gasp from him. He was glad when the elf stopped.
"To be truthful, ackarae, you must travel to Asgard and have this mended properly if you ever hope to continue your vocation. However, tensions being as they are any hopes of that coming to fruition are laid to rest."
"Why's that?"
Doodle and Clint looked up to the doorway where Tony leaned. He'd heard their voices outside. Without bothering to mention his happiness at seeing Clint conscious, or his anger at not being informed, he entered himself to the conversation.
"Has Midgard not been informed of the troubles of the Asgardians? Does Thor Odinson himself not call Midgard his home?"
"He does and the last we heard everything was fine." Tony elaborated. He stole a glance at Clint to try and assess him. He still appeared as sick as the day before Haladarrel found them.
"Well, then Odinson is greatly misinformed. He has abandoned his throne following the death of his mother and the invasion of the . . ." Doodle lost his voice a moment as he considered the reality of it. He shook his head. "The Dark Elves. Since that time our great ally has distanced from us. I cannot recall the last time we have had the Bifrost open. It is believed Odin resents Alfheimr for those departed souls that were once our kin."
"Pointy said something about that. He said they needed Clint here and his job was to get him out of elf land before someone killed him. Does that make any sense?"
Doodle stood, straightening to his high height once more. They noticed he did so only when stress overtook his typical bookish, hunched ways. He considered the words for a time. A heaviness filled his chest as he thought over it. "You say these things and drop a grief into my heart I could not at once understand. But I do see it now and indeed I break over it. You come from the Bifrost? That tells me someone of Asgard has willed you here. Someone with enough influence to see it done. Heimdall has been taken from his post as the watcher and set in irons over his aid of Thor during the dark time. Who stands watch in his stead I do not know. All of Asgard holds the archer in enough regard to allow him as the funeral archer of the resting Queen Frigga. You released her very soul to the stars with your arrow, did you not?"
Clint confirmed the well-known fact. It was an honor when Thor and Odin asked him to participate in the ceremony on Asgard after Frigga's murder. It did strike him as curious how current Doodle was on all the latest gossip for a being who hid in the woods.
"Since that dark time tensions rose. You, their champion, have been sent here and set upon nearly as soon as you step foot into our realm. This stinks of subterfuge and I fear a great deal has gone into your predicament here."
"Someone on Asgard is in league with elves to murder me?" Clint asked. He always thought he led a complicated life, but despite all he had ever endured, this was considerably the worst situation he faced.
Doodle couldn't take the full weight of the news on his feet and instead settled down beside Clint. Tony came through the door, Steve appearing out behind him. Apparently both had been listening to the conversation.
"Elves. Light elves taking lives. I cannot . . . surely I cannot imagine such a thing. The evidence I can no more deny than I could pretend my own hand was unattached." He placed a hand on Clint's knee. "Your life means the very preservation of our people. We are strong, and we are mighty, but we are peaceful. Should Asgard take this set against us there would be nothing we could do to stop it. Indeed, all of Alfheimr would be painted in the blood of kinsmen."
The depth of his news settled in the air around them. Any hopes that the attack from the Southlings was simply a misunderstanding was left to the wind. The reality hit like the blow of Thor's hammer against the captain's shield. As the reverberations coursed through them, the distant brush opened. A figure stumbled from the tangle of trees and vines to drop into the brook. Doodle shot straight to his feet.
"Haladarrel!" He cried.
Clint tried to stand, but his knees gave out the second he moved. He collapsed back with the heaviness of a laden sack. Tony stayed beside him as Steve ran ahead of Doodle.
Hal pulled himself from the water by sheer determination though he got little farther before Steve reached him. Only half a step behind, Doodle assisted in turning the elf over.
Haladarrel panted to gain his wind again. He'd run for so long his body thought he may still be in motion. His tunic was torn where a blade had entered not once, but twice.
"Velu'ha lithe` me ilu. Velu'ha." Haladarrel whispered as Doodle tore at his clothes. "Edhe. Soutu Hele edhe."
"What's he saying?" Steve asked.
"He says elves have done this. He led them away but the ones of the south have done this! Elves! Edhe!" Doodle shook his head vehemently, trying to fathom it all. "Inside, get him inside!"
Steve helped Bywater to his feet. Once upright again the elf could manage well on his own, though the soldier remained beside him should he take another turn. Clint tried standing again so he may follow them into the house, but his joints forced him back.
Tony kept him down and tried to distract him with conversation. "Nothing in there is going to change with you in the room. You shouldn't be walking. How did you even get out here?"
"I walked."
"Why am I not surprised? You know, if this was Nazi Germany, or Pepper's birthday party I would aid you in any escape with money and a helicopter. Walking ten feet when you came real close to dying on us, I'm not going to agree to."
"I always come close to dying."
"This was different." Tony said sternly.
"You say that each time. Just lay off. This is my life and so far the few times I've actually needed you in it, you haven't been there. So you know what, Stark? Get out of my life." Clint said the words with less force than before. Either he was exhausted, or his views on his friends were slowly changing for the better. What Tony did know, was the words he spoke now rang surprisingly familiar to those he spoke during their fake falling out. Back then Stark wondered whether or not Clint meant any of his accusations. Listening to this, it was hard to tell.
Despite Tony's protest Clint forced himself up. He grinned and bore what his body cursed at him. Clint headed inside on his own power. The energy it took him to go back inside was monumental. The moment he came within dropping distance of the couch he nearly fell right over into it. A slight movement out of the corner of his eye let him know Tony came in right behind him. Most likely he anticipated Clint not making it. To prove he could, the archer sucked up the pain and remained upright until he slowly relaxed back into his settee. He pulled the thickest fur over his legs and watched Haladarrel, Doodle, and Steve in front of the mantel.
Haladarrel eyed the archer as Doodle and Steve worked to strip him of his tunic. He considered his journey back and how in the Nine Realms he was going to get Clint Barton off of Alfheimr. Ge'elaphi was not going to make things easy on them. Indeed, he would result to burning down all of Woodrenkell before he would allow Barton to escape with his life. The fire in his eyes Haladarrel would never forget.
:(:):(:):
He knew leaving the others behind was not the brightest plan he'd ever conjured but he must do something before they were found out. This was the only way he could think to get them out, give them a head start, and let Barton have a fighting chance at his own survival. His duty was to his king and he would shed his very life in the quest of completing his duty.
Ge'elaphi was not far behind them. It took him less than a league to meet the first of the faralir outriders. Even in this, the densest of the forest paths, the Southlings had managed to roam and hunt. The great cats approached with the unreserved madness of their Southling riders. The once fantastic antlers fixed over their skulls had been sawed to off to their bases, allowing the cats better clearance in the wood. It defaced the very souls of those great cats and truly it pierced Haladarrel's heart to see them in such states.
These Southlings resembled the wild one which had surrendered himself to Rinon. Their prized elven locks were hacked back near their skulls in intricate arrays of mohawks or twisted individual dreads. War paint and permanent ink marred their faces from one ear to the next and coated their bare chests and arms in heavy designs. They would have been beautiful if they did not belong to the bodies of traitors and murderers.
"Who are you, outrider?" They demanded of him in a mix of edhellan, basic, and a peculiar sharp elvish he didn't recognize.
"Haladarrel Bywater. The steward of Inner Glencove and a rider for Longfeather Brookin of Skydale." He tried to remain aloof in their presence, though curious as any elf should be when confronted by such a sight as they were. "And what on Alfheimr are you?"
"Greyback of the new order." One elf hissed at him.
Hal nodded once. "Ah."
"Why are you in these woods?"
"I am an outrider. Why would I not ride in Woodrenkell?"
"What purpose do you ride for, low elf?" Greyback encouraged his faralir closer. The animal sniffed at Haladarrel's clothes and its vertical pupils converged together. She could smell the Midgardian blood on him, he realized.
"What for do you call me low? Merely because I lost my mount? That is not all too fair I think." Haladarrel reached a confidant hand out to the enslaved faralir and pressed his fingers into the cat's fur. He willed his message to be read through the animal's eyes. Be silent. Save us all.
"You hold allegiance to that defacement on Lakeheed's thrown."
"I am an outrider, we are not allowed to have thoughts of allegiance. We merely do as instructed." Haladarrel dipped his head, the faralir blinked in understanding and they parted from each other. "And who is it you ride for on such brandished faralirs as these? And whatever happened to your face?"
"I should gut you for such talk!" Greyback cried. One of the others sneered toward Haladarrel, baring filed down teeth.
"Gut me? Well that would be a surely fancy talk. What elf harms another? Come now, who is it you hail from?"
"Ge'elaphi."
"That great of the Southlings? You've come a long way from there. Why ever would you stop in Woodrenkell? I imagine there are much fairer clan lands North in Skydale, or even Blueskin."
"Because we are on a hun—"
"Sh-leki be ephi!" Greyback snarled at his fellow rider in a language Haladarrel could not comprehend. He understood their meaning, however. It made no sense to share the fact that they hunted a Midgardian with an elf they did not know.
The rally horn blew, splitting the air. Ge'elaphi was not far behind them.
"Is that him?" Haladarrel asked politely. "Do you think he would give a commission to another outrider in this hunt of yours? I am not terribly handy in Woodrenkell, but I have bountiful knowledge of Skydale and Blueskin both."
The outriders considered his proposal. It was all Haladarrel needed to get close to the leader of the Southling clans.
:(:):(:):
Ge'elaphi was a larger elf, nearing eight feet in height with a body frame as thick as an oak limb. He had been banished to the Southling lands for nearly three thousand years after an attempt was made to seize the throne from the supporters of King Agliṻn in a time of Ge'elaphi's youth. After his years of penance were satisfied, he was invited to return to the mainland elven clans and restart anew under the monarchy of Queen Laieh, but that opportunity was refused and he remained ever since in the southern lands. Haladarrel had been south of the ocean a number of times on one emissary mission or another but rarely went into the deep lands where Ge'elaphi stayed. Meeting him now, Haladarrel attempted to remain the same detached manner he had prior. After all, no normal elf would have come to Ge'elaphi with the same knowledge Haladarrel possessed. A normal elf would not fear for his body, or his life. They would have a childlike trust in their own safety. In the outrider, such notions had forever been crushed.
"Haladarrel Bywater?" the Southling leader asked.
"Haladarrel if you would."
"A Glencovian clan?"
"I prefer to believe I am an elf of all parts of Alfheimr."
Ge'elaphi considered that opinion as he looked Hal up and down. While he took his time to assess this potential help, Haladarrel had his first look at who they were up against. The results were far greater than he could have imagined. Ge'elaphi had a considerable amount of archers, both on the ground and in the trees. More than thirty faralirs prowled around the perimeter of the walking army, all of them damaged in the same sad ways to create a sleeker animal. There were weapons, many of them, and manpower. Worse than all of those, there was a charismatic leader.
"Do you know what we plan here?" Ge'elaphi asked.
Hal looked around. "You have a great many elves with you. What you plan I cannot guess."
"These are my children." Ge'elaphi corrected.
Haladarrel could not hide the surprise on his face. He looked at them all again. All those elves, many of them young, all of them younger than their leader. No families. No mothers, nothing but those who resembled Ge'elaphi. The idea was almost as perverse as attempting to murder the king. Ge'elaphi had been living in his banishment for three thousand years. To have so many elven children claiming his parentage meant he must have had thousands of lovers, perhaps tens of thousands. Never had so many elven women been left in the South Lands. Haldarrel had no doubt that to produce such numbers, Ge'elaphi must have taken his own daughters into his bed.
The Wild Southling watched as the cogs in Haladarrel's brain turned to uncover the depths of what he witnessed.
"We are all family here." Ge'elaphi stated. "And as a family we hunt. We hunt for our future which lies in the soul of a Midgardian. If you are a worthy elf, you will direct us to his location. As rider you know whether someone has crossed your path. Especially a man in the second night of elaren."
"Elaren? Nasty business that." Hal pointed down the way he'd come and subsequently in the exact direction where Clint and the others retreated. "Three men in that direction were walking. From the screams of the one I have no doubt it could be the venom you speak or an unfortunate run-in with a drusk or tik tik."
Ge'elaphi signaled to a few of the faralir riders who took off in the direction Hal indicated. Haladarrel turned slightly, watching them go, knowing that two leagues away a trap waited along the road that would surely take their lives. Hal expected the possibility of men getting passed him. It pained him to think he may shed elven blood himself, but to save his people he must protect their path.
But that was not all. Meeting Ge'elaphi set something very firmly in his have any hope of escaping these elves, Haladarrel had to do something he never thought he would. When he turned back to the leader he had a single plan on his mind, and a sole use for the dagger he palmed in his hand.
Ge'elaphi knew his plan before Haladarrel could execute it. He was ready first, had no hesitation, and struck forward with a blade. Haladarrel gasped at the shock of it. He held the wound as Ge'elaphi pulled back and rammed into him once again. With the knife remaining in Ge'elaphi's bloodied hand, Hal sank to the forest floor. The leader stood above him, wiping his blood off on his own sleeve like crimson stripes.
"I trust no one beside my own. You have not been enlightened to the Dark Elven ways and cannot understand what we hope to achieve. I am releasing you, saving you, from what is yet to come." He leaned down, wrapped his large hand around Haladarrel's throat and drew the elf up to his face. "I smell the lies on you like the stink of Midgard's man. I will kill him and in doing so save my children from the cruelty of this rule. Live and see this forest be bathed in the baptism of fire. Long live Malekith."
:(:):(:):
The very scent of Ge'elaphi left a taste of bitterness in Haladarrel's mouth. He knew that despite slowing the troop down, he did not stop them indefinitely. Assuming Haladarrel lied to him, the entire wave of elven warriors spread in the opposite direction. The two outriders Haladarrel laid traps for, he found dead as he assumed they would be, along the road. He was fortunate Ge'elaphi had only wanted to wound him and not kill him.
"You should not be walking." Haladarrel pointed out as Clint passed by him.
"So I've been told." Clint said.
"It has been my commission to keep you alive. It is difficult to fulfill if you die from neglecting to stop."
"Yeah, you tell him, Legolas." Tony said, folding his arms.
Doodle's ears pricked upward. "What do you know of that elf? Legolas has been a nomad on the Blueskin Mountains since the last Midgardian left."
"What? Seriously?"
Haladarrel shrugged one shoulder. His chest was bare and Doodle stopped to see the many slanted stab wounds along his side. "Legolas was an outrider for the former king. He met the Midgardian, Mr. Tookin, in Alevenale of Skyhill. When the Midgardian left again, he returned to the mountains and has not come down in many years."
"Mr. Tookin? Don't you mean Tolkien? J.R. Tolkien?" Steve asked, moving for Doodle to look.
"Tolkien is an elvish word not appropriate for conversation, if you understand my meaning. He was known then as Tookin, which means "The Inquisitive". He stayed in the tree Faramir. Took quite a liking to its name, and only ventured out to follow elves around and speak of goblins. You know of Tookin?"
"He's one of the most famous authors in Midgard." Steve said. He grinned a little. "Somehow I'm not at all surprised he was here. Something had to give him all those story ideas."
"I am glad he found what he hoped to. The man was here endlessly torturing me with his questions and need for drawings or runes, or heavens know what else." Doodle said, continuing his inspection.
The revelation settled over the group for a time as Doodle poked and prodded. He went away to his kitchen for a basin of water and returned to set it down, then he went back to find some cloth in the cupboard, and returned again. He continued the back and forth, back and forth, waiting to get all he needed in proper lines. He was not the most neat or organized elf they had ever encountered, but seeing Haladarrel in such a state gave him even more distress than seeing Clint on his doorstep.
"Will I live?" Haladarrel asked. He was not particularly worried about meeting his death.
"You are lucky you are not a man and that you are an elf. I believe you will heal. Rest yourself for a time. How long have you run?"
"I hardly know."
"I am trying to forget your words . . ." Doodle, having wrapped the wound stood up and paced away from him. Haladarrel's life was not in danger, much to his happiness, but that did not make the impact of what this attempt on his life meant. "Elves attacking elves. What has our world come to? Such hasn't been born into this land since the end of the dark time. This, is . . ."
"It's a problem. You're lucky they didn't actually gut you. We warned you against going back." Tony said.
"No elf has laid a hand on another since the dark days when the elven clans were split in half!" Doodle shouted. Everyone turned to him, shocked by his outburst. The normally complacent, bookish elf had become red about his face as he considered all that had happened. Surprised at his own aggression, he tugged the bottom of his tunic and straightened again. Without excusing himself, he went out of the door and pulled the oak closed behind him.
Steve threw Tony a dirty glance. "We don't mean to offend. Stark's a jerk. Sometimes he can't keep that in like a normal person."
Tony resisted throwing the potato-like tuber off the table on his right into the back of Steve's head. He held it in his hand in case he should change his mind.
"He knows you mean no ill. But he is correct. It has been thousands of years since the expulsion of the dark elves by our once great king. I have never in my years known an elf to raise his hand against another. In the last two days, I have not seen only that, but a Southling take a venom blade to the very flesh of our king. " Hal replied.
"Is he all right?" Clint asked hurriedly. His attempt at displaying his ease slowly crumbled to nothing. After his walk outside and then back in, his entire body felt like rebelling against him. His joints felt as if they might tear apart. His shoulder blazed like a poker of dragon fire had been rammed through him.
Hal noticed this. "We should not speak of this in front of you. Not until you are well."
"Too late for that!" Clint exclaimed. He regretted it. The force it took to shout shortened his breath. He coughed once but that was all it took to be suddenly seized in a fit he couldn't escape.
"Tony, hold him up!" Steve ordered. He grabbed a cloth off the table and handed it to Clint. As the archer coughed, his body ground against the slivers of glass in his joints. His shoulder jockeyed across the dragon fire and try as he might he couldn't stop the pain. He coughed into his hand, then the cloth, spewing blood from his heavy lungs. He tried to inhale as the men instructed him, but as he did so the mix of phlegm and red caught in his throat. He hacked against it until, unable to breathe, he began to panic. Like his head rising above water after a deep dive, oxygen flooded to the depths of his lungs. He felt dizzy from it and instead of grasping at it the way he would tug at a life line, his next breath came slow, calculated, and steady. Beside him elven words found their way into his ear. The more he breathed the clearer they became until Clint, aware again, looked over at Haladarrel.
The elf was not happy. "That was very close."
"I feel fine." Clint blatantly lied. He knew he wasn't fooling anyone but he found it difficult not to be a hard patient to deal with. The very notion was ingrained on his bones.
"Either you rest or my kin will force you to rest." Haladarrel continued to warn him in a heavy tone. Clint imagined when the outrider agreed to rescue the human from the clutches of death he had no idea how hard it would be for Clint not to sabotage his work.
Hal stood again and indicated that the others should move into the writing nook beside the window. It remained within eye shot, but for Clint's health, outside of his capacity to hear. They still had many things to discuss in light of their coming push for the coastline. What remained to be seen was how they would attempt to get to the king's clan lands from there. They could stick along the coast, skirting south and then west along the banks of the ocean and Woodrenkell before crossing the Earthenden line. That would take perhaps three days journey on foot. There was a chance they could encounter another scouting party, one with riders, which may take Clint and the others onward at a faster pace. Being in the open air also gave Stark an opportunity to fly ahead of them and get support from the king's camp though Haladarrel discouraged him from taking Barton on another aerial journey.
Another option was to charter a vessel for the barrier islands. Haladarrel knew the area well, having been raised there, and could find them faster travel to the coast on the backs of eagles or hawks. Mentioning it, however, came with the same notion that Clint should be kept from such heavy travel if at all possible. Time became their enemy on all sides. Two days of travel through Woodrenkell meant Ge'elaphi's forces had just as much of a chance at finding them as their allies. If they took to the water and the Southlings had great flying creatures of their own, they were sitting ducks.
Barton watched as they moved their hands and strategized together without him. He should have been part of it. He wished they hadn't gone, or at least hoped he had the strength to get up and follow them around, demanding inclusion. He didn't want to be honest with himself and admit how much the last attack scared him. There were times, many times, where he thought he might die. Each time had been quick, a bullet, a knife, an assailant standing before him with Clint on two feet meeting death face-to-face. This was different. Losing his life to something flowing through his veins, drowning on lungs full of his own blood after his cure had been found was not the way to go.
He was still exhausted. Knowing full well the others wouldn't be including him again anytime soon, he decided his only recourse was to either continue staring at them or to try and get some sleep again. Clint had only just considered it as his mind faded out of its own accord.
While the archer settled back and let his mind go free, Doodle reappeared from the garden with his forgotten baskets. He noticed at once the little change in the room. He had a home full of injured, exhausted, and beaten men and elves. The elder elf would have been happier had they all decided to take the next three days and do little more than sit quietly, speak, and dine but with the late events he knew the possibility was small. So much was left to be done and they had precious little time.
He set his baskets in the kitchen and removed the few loaves of bread and other oddities the neighboring elves donated. Everyone living on this edge of Woodrenkell spent most of their time in solitude but maintained their heritage of hospitality when it was required. Doodle had little to offer his guests from his own pantry so having additions from others made him at least feel the part of a proper host.
He looked over to Clint on the settee and noticed the man still hadn't moved. He was gazing lazily toward the others, perhaps hoping to know what they were doing. Doodle approached from behind with his glass of teglan tea to coax him into possibly eating. Naturally that step was to follow very soon if he continued to improve. The venom would progress, move from his chest to his belly where it had the chance of being expelled. He would be all the better for if they could only support his health until then.
"Ackarae?" He placed a hand on the archer's good shoulder. To his surprise, Clint did not move. His eyes, distant in their blue fields, stared forward to nothing. Doodle dropped his glass and the fragile pieces shattered across the floor tiles. Haladarrel and the others jumped from their seats.
"He has died!" Doodle cried.
Ge'elaphi's screwed up. I loved making someone you can really rally against. Oh Haladarrel! Never again can he trust others as he once did. To actually plan to take other's lives? ;_; And Of course Clint, will he survive? What will happen? Stay tuned!
Next time: Breath to Live, Live to Bleed
this next chapter is going to BLOW YOUR MIND!