Disclaimer:I don't own anything!

Author's Note: Senior year has begun. So far, the classes look challenging, but not impossible—except for math, but hey, I can't win them all. Got an AP Lit class that's been fascinating as well as a creative writing class.

I've been reading a lot of The Princess Bride and the movie—as awesome and amazing as it was—could never have captured everything in the book. It would've been impossible.

-/-/-/-

Each friend represents a world in us, a world possibly not born until they arrive.
~Anäis Nin

-/-/-/-

The war had steadily been getting worse. Recently, there had been reports of a new weapon that the humans were developing, one that could annihilate towns. Even if the reports were false, soldiers were constantly coming back wounded.

Martel muttered a spell over a man's shoulder, which had nearly been sliced clean through and watched as the flesh knit itself back together. Myra was a stern teacher, but a good one and she'd been learning much.

"You're a natural Healer." Myra told her. "It's why you're picking it up so quick. Even if no one had ever taught you, Healing magic would've worked its way into your life."

But she had never thought that she'd be here, in a tent in the lower reaches of the city, patching up soldiers, reattaching limbs and holding their insides where they were supposed to be while another Healer put him back together.

"Martel." She turned automatically towards her little brother's voice, quiet in the strange half-stillness of the medical tent. He'd grown so much in the last year and a half—Mother Luna, he would be eight in four months. Where had the time gone? Or so it seemed to her. He was taller than her waist now and he'd chopped his hair short in frustration one morning so it hardly brushed the tips of his ears. "You need sleep. And food."

"I'm fine, Mithos." She assured him. "I need to tend to my patients."

Mithos rolled his eyes—he had been around Kratos and Yuan far too long, she thought with a mental smile—and grabbed her wrist. "C'mon."

"Mithos—my patients," Martel protested weakly as he half-dragged her outside.

"They can live without you for a few hours. Hard as it is to believe, you're not the only Healer here."

Martel smiled wryly at him. "Yuan's rubbed off on you."

"Yeah, well at least he's got the common sense to stop and eat once in a while." Mithos shoved a roughly made sandwich in her hands. "Don't move. I'm going to find you some tea or something."

Martel chuckled and took a seat. Her brother had a mule's stubbornness when he wanted to—something that both Yuan and Kratos had assured her that he'd probably learned from her. She took a bite from the sandwich, sighing in relief. She'd been working so hard that she hadn't realized it, but Martel had been on her feet, without stopping for food, since this morning. The sun had long ago sunk beneath the horizon.

"It's not tea, but it's better than nothing." Mithos said, holding out a canteen.

Martel accepted the water gratefully, washing down the sandwich. "Have you eaten?" Had she been so wrapped in being a Healer that she'd forgotten to be a sister?

"I'm fine. I have some shred of common sense left."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "When was the last time you ate?"

"An hour ago."

"Oh really? And who, exactly, dragged you from those books of yours?"

Mithos flushed and Martel made a triumphant sound. He'd been immersed in the tomes of magic that the mages had given him for weeks. Mithos had already declared himself more than useless at Healing—something about how his mana had too much zing in it. Martel hadn't fully understood, unable to see magic in the way that Mithos and a few others here could. She could only sense its presence, could feel its flow—but he seemed to have a knack for every other kind of magic. And no one was willing to allow Mithos to get anywhere near a battlefield, so he was stuck with the mages.

"The cook. She came to check if one of the mages was still in there—'parently, he spends a lot of his mealtimes there and then she was horrified that I hadn't eaten supper yet, so…"

"Where's Noishe?" Kratos and Yuan had been sent out to help with the fighting and Noishe had been torn between staying and going—after all, Mithos and Martel were his to be protected too—but Yuan and Kratos had glanced at each other, having another one of their wordless conversations, before telling him to stay with the Yggdrasill siblings.

Mithos blinked and looked around. "Dunno. He was followin' me all day, except when I was inside—that's when he likes to go check on you—but I don't know where else he'd go."

Martel felt something in her stomach drop. There were only two other people that Noishe would go to. She stood abruptly and started walking quickly towards the entrance. "Come on, Mithos."

He jogged up to her, slightly confused. "Where're we going?"

"I'm willing to bet that Kratos and Yuan are back."

Martel knew that, if she were to look at her brother, she would be able to see the pieces click together in his eyes, on his face. "So soon?

"That's what worries me." Martel lifted her skirts, relishing the ability to really stretch her legs and run. Most half-elven women didn't much care about ladylike behavior and such things, but Martel had been raised among the elves and things like that tended to stick.

She could hear Mithos on her heels as they sprinted through the streets of the lower city, searching for a flash of blue hair or the wide berth that the half-elves still gave Kratos. She only stopped when she didn't hear Mithos' loud steps behind her.

"Mithos?" Martel turned to see him staring at a crowd gathered in front of a medical tent. "What is it?"

"I can see Kratos."

Martel frowned and craned her head to try and see over the crowd. Mithos was so much smaller than she was; how could he see anything? "Where?"

"Inside. He's…" Mithos' nose wrinkled as he tried to explain what he saw. "His mana…it's in chaos."

(Mithos sees mana dance behind his eyelids sometimes. The colors—subtle to neon shades—create dazzling effects. Sometimes, they're so dazzling that they make him sick. And it's only gotten more common the older that he gets)

"Stay here." Martel instructed. She tried to push her way through the crowd. "'Scuse me, pardon." She managed to get through a few people, but she finally had to tell them that she was Healer and to please let her through.

Her spine froze when she saw Kratos. He was lying on a cot, looking altogether too pale and he was only getting paler. A Healer was working on a gaping wound on his abdomen and it didn't look like it was getting any better.

Martel sought out Yuan, who was standing at the foot of the bed, looking just as pale as Kratos, and so small, even though he'd hit a growth spurt. He looked as afraid as Martel felt. "What happened?"

Yuan jumped a little, eyes wide when they looked at her. He was breathing fast and, for a moment, he didn't recognize her. "…Martel."

"Yeah. Yuan, what happened to Kratos?"

A shaking hand raked through his hair. "We-we didn't see him. He came out of nowhere and his ax was glowin' or something and he got Kratos and he-he won't stop bleeding. Didn't know what to do and I-I can't fix it. I can't even help." And that would be the worst part for him.

Martel went to the Healer. "Why are his wounds not closed?"

"Because they won't." The Healer said. "I've tried everything I know and it won't close."

"Stitches?"

"It's too large an area. Look at this. Only other time I've seen this is those weapons that the elves invented a long time ago. The magic ones that do real damage to humans."

"Humans can't use magic." Martel said distractedly, hands pressed to Kratos' stomach, trying to stem the blood flow. Yuan was right—it just wouldn't stop.

"They changed it—some kinda magitechnology. Don't think they've worked out the kinks just yet. 'S why it affects humans so bad."

"Elven blood can stop it, right?" Both Healers jerked around to look at Yuan. There was something desperate in his eyes, something that Martel knew could only be part of Yuan-and-Kratos. "The bleeding. You said it was meant to target humans."

"Yes. This sort of injury is treatable in half-elves." The Healer looked down at Kratos, who was shaking and sweating. "He needs a blood transfusion and I know there won't be many volunteers."

Yuan was already striding forward, rolling up his sleeve. "He can take mine."

Even Martel was shocked at the offer. The other Healer gaped at him before recovering. "He might not like that. He won't even be a half-elf, but something in between. A human with elven blood—it's unheard of."

"But he'll live." Any nervousness or trepidation in Yuan was gone; he looked utterly sure of himself.

(The idea that Kratos might not like elven blood in his veins never enters Yuan's mind because even if Kratos were to hate him after this, at least he'd be alive)

Martel looked at the other Healer. She didn't have the skill to do a blood transfusion, but the Healer did. "Please do it. If it doesn't work, he's dead anyway."

The Healer sighed. "Alright. You, try and keep his wounds as closed as possible and, boy, you come here. You're going to want to be lying down for this."