As the days went by, Snaga started to exhibit an unsettling change of appearance. The haggardly and sickly orc slave that Elaenar had captured a couple of months prior was looking healthier by the day. Snaga had gained a significant amount of weight to his skeletal frame; that change alone had made the orc's appearance much softer on the eyes. Baby fat filled his cheeks, which helped his eye-sockets to appear less sunken; his dark circles had begun to fade, as well as lines of stress and anxiety which had been so prominent on his face. His skin was looking immeasurably better and healthier, even though Elaenar still wasn't used to that unusual, dark complexion.

His hair grew back with a vengeance; when Elaenar had first captured Snaga, his scalp was a mess of brittle, thinning hair that left him mostly bald at the front. But now, at two to three inches in length, his receding hairline was renewed. Snaga's bald forehead vanished; now he sported a quirky cowlick that wisped and curled to the left side of his temple. No matter how much Elaenar stared, he couldn't decide if Snaga's hair was black, dark grey, or dark brown; most likely some color in between all three. His brows grew in thicker than before, which gave his face much more character (and allowed him to better exude that self-pitying, whipped dog attitude that Elaenar couldn't stand) and Snaga's eyelashes grew thick and long (did he even have eyelashes before?).

But the most stunning transformation was in Snaga's eyes. His eyes, which had been so badly jaundiced, were completely clear now. Looking Snaga in the eye used to make Elaenar feel sick, but not anymore; now that the yellow was gone, his sclera's were normal and white. His eyes were still unusually large (Elaenar demeaning-ly referred to them as Snaga's "neoteny eyes"), but they fit much better now in his skull. His brown irises framed by large black pupils were endearing, even though they were huge and unnatural (much bigger than a man's or an elf's).

All of these changes put together made Snaga look extremely…young. It was as though their orc prisoner had aged in reverse. It was unsettling, to say the least. Elaenar tried to put aside the disconcerting realization that they might not have a fully grown adult in their custody. Elaenar was sure that he wasn't alone in his observation; he could see it in the suspicious glances and scandalous looks that people gave the orc. At times he could over-hear the gossiping whispers made behind his back. For some reason, Elaenar found it very distressing to know that everyone else also suspected that Snaga wasn't as old as everyone had previously thought. Elaenar did his best to pretend not to notice this uncomfortable reality, but the situation couldn't be ignored any longer when Aeründal approached him as he was sharpening military swords at the stone wheel outside of the armory.

Elaenar almost didn't notice his friend approaching him as Snaga handed him a bucket of water that he had fetched for the elf, and Elaenar exchanged it for an armload of dirty rags that he gruffly handed to Snaga and ordered him to go and wash them.

"Elaenar, how old is he?" Aeründal asked in a perturbed voice when Snaga was out of earshot.

"Who?" He replied sharply.

"Your ward,"

"What's the matter, can't say the word orc?" He spat. Elaenar knew better than to talk so rudely to his closest friend, but he couldn't help but lash out because the question made him feel intensely uncomfortable.

"Don't you find it odd?"

"I don't know what you mean." Elaenar lied, refusing to look Aeründal in the eye.

"Elaenar, tell me honestly, how old do you think Snaga is?"

"How should I know?" He cried with indignation, as if the question were ridiculous.

"Have you ever asked him?"

"Of course not."

"…aren't you curious?"

"Am I supposed to be?" He shot back.

Aeründal paused and said nothing for a moment.

"Elan, you need to ask." he said very seriously, before turning and walking away.

"Why don't you ask him, if you're so curious to know?" Elaenar grumbled underneath his breath. But the truth was that the same question gnawed at his own mind.

The days were growing shorter and colder as fall slowly rolled past its midpoint. Winter was the worst time to be a soldier stationed at an army base; the days were cold, hard, long, and endlessly boring. The tedium of life on base during the winter could be very depressing; the least amount of fighting occurred between January and February. In preparation for the coming months, it was important to stock up on wood; the furnaces would be burning constantly during the winter months to keep the frigid, stone fortress inhabitable.

Elaenar and Snaga were outside of the barracks gathering and stacking firewood that had been cleared from the surrounding forest. Snaga wasn't allowed to chop wood (that would be unthinkable to give him an axe) but he could at least haul it.

It didn't escape Elaenar's attention that Snaga was in a particularly grouchy mood that day. A couple of months ago, Elaenar might have been irritated and perhaps even a bit disgusted by that sulky, malevolent look on his face. But now, thanks to Snaga's pedomorphosis, Elaenar couldn't help but be amused by his pouty, grouchy attitude.

"Having a good day?" Elaenar asked ironically, with a smirk on his face.

"Hmph." Snaga grunted, without answering.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue?" (It wasn't very mature of Elaenar, but he thought it was terribly good fun to antagonize him).

Snaga simply huffed and continued to stack wood without looking up at him.

Elaenar was annoyed that he couldn't get Snaga's attention, so he took his antagonizing a step further and said:

"You're looking prettier and prettier every day; at this rate you'll turn into an elf soon." He teased, and tussled Snaga's hair.

Snaga scowled, clearly not amused.

"Oh come, don't be so moody with me, why are you so grumpy today anyways?"

"It's the sun. It's too bright outside, I hate it!"

"Oh, don't be such a baby. Can't you just tolerate it?"

No!" He pouted. "It gives me a headache."

"You give me a headache, but I still tolerate you."

Snaga returned the comment with an expression that was something between a scowl and a pout.

"It's just a joke, don't sulk. You act like such a child sometimes, you know that Snaga?" Then he paused and thought a moment before saying:

"...Snaga, how old are you, anyways?"

"Sixteen..." he muttered, looking off to the side.

Elaenar's jaw dropped.

"You're what?!" He exclaimed.

Snaga, being very startled, froze. He was unsure what he'd said wrong to provoke such an outburst and he immediately assumed that he was about to be in trouble.

"Snaga, why didn't you ever tell me?!" Elaenar exclaimed.

"What'do you care?" He snarled.

Elaenar shook his head in disbelief. He thought about every horrible thing that he'd ever done to Snaga in the knowledge that he had done it all to a sixteen-year-old; he felt like he was going to be sick. It was shocking news but, when he thought about it, not necessarily surprising; in all honesty Snaga looked more like he was fourteen than sixteen years old. Elaenar paused for a moment in stunned silence fore before saying:

"I would have been a lot less heavy-handed with you if I'd known you were a child."

"I'm not a child!" Snaga cried in indignation.

"Oh yes you are, and you act like one too!" He replied. But a pang of skepticism tugged at his heart, and Elaenar wondered if perhaps he was being lied to.

"Now wait a moment, how exactly do you know for certain how old you are? How can you be sure?"

"I'm not stupid." Snaga growled. "I know my own age."

"Alright then, when were you born? What's your birthday?"

Snaga blinked at him and looked at him confused. "What's a birthday?"

Elaenar shook his head and rolled his eyes. "Do you anything about the day that you were born?"

"I don't know…I was born in late summer…they said the night that I was born was under an elvish curse."

"What the hell does that mean?" Elaenar snorted.

"The night that I was born, an elvish star flashed across the sky."

"Oh, so you orcs are scared of stars, is that it?" He asked mockingly. (It was commonly known among all races and peoples; whether they be dwarves, man-folk, elves or orcs and all other creatures in-between, that stars and their constellations are a religion to elves; studied by them and worshipped by them. It was only natural, Elaenar supposed, that orcs should detest everything that elves loved.)

"They said that it was a bad omen," Snaga tried to explain. "And it meant that I would bring bad fortune."

Elaenar snorted.

"That's ridiculous; orcs are so primitive with their stupid superstitions." He scoffed, but then he thought further on it and realized, hadn't Snaga betrayed his ilk not once, but twice? Maybe Snaga really was a purveyor of bad fortune for orcs.

Elaenar pondered what Snaga had said about being born under an elvish star and he realized with awe that Snaga wasn't mistaken. He actually remembered that exact night from sixteen years ago because the astral event had been so spectacular; an enormous shooting star had blazed across the sky and burned for hours. It had been observed all over the world and left elvish astrologers mystified.

"You're certain that you were born in late summer? And that you're sixteen years old?"

"…I think so…" He muttered, clearly not as interested in this as Elaenar was.

Elaenar realized that not only was Snaga only sixteen years old, but he was barely sixteen years old. His birthday had occurred a mere few days before Elaenar had captured Snaga when they slaughtered the orc camp in early September.

"I remember that night that you're talking about. It was August, August twenty-eighth. That's your birthday."

Snaga shrugged.

"Doesn't that interest you at all?"

"No." He said nonchalantly, but then he thought for a moment, a look of curiosity came into his eyes and he asked the elf: "How old are you?"

"Six hundred and thirty-seven."

Snaga's jaw dropped, and he looked at the elf in awe.

"Elves are immortal, didn't you know?"

Snaga shook his head.

"Snaga, do you know what day it is?" Elaenar asked, trying to reign the conversation back to the previous subject.

Snaga shook his head no.

"It's October thirtieth. Your birthday was only two months ago, right before we…well, you know." Elaenar felt a flush of embarrassment; it was quite awkward to discuss that episode from a couple of months ago now.

"Slaughtered the entire orc camp and captured me?"

"Yes, Snaga." He answered flatly.

"Can I ask you something?' He asked timidly.

"What's that?"

"Do elves eat orcs?"

"Snaga, that's disgusting!" Elaenar exclaimed.

"So it's not true?" He pressed.

"Of course not! How could you even think such a thing?"

"What about Gelmir's revenge? Is that not true either?"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"It's when you take us captive and cut off all our limbs and gouge our eyes out."

"Good God, Snaga! Who put all of these horrible thoughts in your head?"

"Grishnak told me that's what would happen to me if I fell captive to elves."

"Who's that?"

"The orc you killed before you decided to take me prisoner instead. Captain Thrandar cut his throat."

Elaenar's stomach dropped; he suddenly felt a pang of guilt.

"Was he your friend?"

Snaga shook his head adamantly, as if the notion were ridiculous.

"No, of course not. Silly question, wasn't it? Did you have any friends at all among your own kind?" Elaenar asked disdainfully.

"Don't make friends and don't make enemies." He replied, as though he were repeating a piece of advice given to him.

Elaenar snorted. "That's awfully cynical. Who gave you that advice?"

Snaga paused for a moment before answering softly: "My mother."

Elaenar felt his heart stop for a moment; the answer surprised him.

"The same mother who couldn't be bothered to give you a name?" He asked snidely.

A look of rage came into Snaga's eyes. "Don't fucking talk about her!" He snarled. The biting words came out of his mouth through snarling lips. Elaenar felt his own blood run hot, it was startling, frightening even, to see Snaga angry. He had never seen Snaga get offended like this before (except for perhaps that one time when he had insulted Snaga by calling him a whore.)

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend you." Elaenar said softly and sincerely.

Snaga's mini episode of being enraged disappeared just as quickly as it had come. He frowned and tilted his head away from Elaenar's gaze, staring at the ground. Elaenar wondered if perhaps Snaga had never been apologized to before, not once in his entire life. Perhaps, since he had never received an apology before, he didn't know what to do with it. Elaenar broke the silence with a question:

"Where is she now?"

"Dead." The word came out of his mouth course and harsh and bitter. Elaenar noticed the faraway look in Snaga's eyes and got the sense that although his body was here, it seemed to Elaenar that Snaga's mind and soul was somewhere else, somewhere very far away.

"I'm sorry to hear it." He said softly.

Snaga didn't say anything in response, and Elaenar sensed that he had made Snaga feel uncomfortable. He worried that perhaps he had overstepped his boundaries, and perhaps made Snaga feel violated by prying into something so deeply personal. Elaenar reasoned that if Snaga wanted to talk about it then he would, in his own time. He changed the subject:

"You know, that's another thing; I can't keep calling you "snaga" anymore, it's grotesque! You need a real name."

"I don't have a real name." He asserted, as if it were an immutable fact.

"Then I'll give you one." Elaenar thought for a moment before saying. "What about Úrimë?" (It meant late summer in elvish).

Snaga scrunched up his nose in disgust. "No!" He protested.

"Why not?"

"It's elvish."

"Fine…what about August?"

Snaga said nothing; he frowned, bit his lip, and cast his gaze to the ground. Perhaps he was thinking on it?

"Do you like it?" Elaenar asked.

"No." He replied stubbornly, but Elaenar wasn't buying it. He sensed that Snaga was just being obstinate just for the pleasure of being difficult with Elaenar.

"That's fine, Snaga. I don't need your consent. You're my ward, you're under my custody, and if I want to do you the dignity of giving you a real name, then I will. I suggest you get used to it."

"I'm tired of working," He pouted (not much of a one-tract mind; Elaenar was annoyed that he couldn't stay focused. Why wasn't this of any interest to him?)

"Can we go smoke?" He asked.

"No." Elaenar answered sternly.

"Why not?!" He exclaimed angrily. "What a little brat!" Elaenar thought to himself.

"You're too young to be smoking pot." He answered. "When I was your age, I wasn't even allowed to drink." (That hadn't stopped teenage Elaenar, but he didn't tell August that.)

"That's stupid!" He complained. "I wish I hadn't told you anything!"

"Well too bad, you did. In civilized cultures, children are subject to different rules and entitled to special protections from adults. It's for your own welfare and benefit, but I suppose such a concept is unheard-of among brutes."

"I hate your rules!" He pouted spitefully.

"And I'm about ready to spank you if you don't stop it with this attitude." Elaenar replied, but after the words came out of his mouth, he felt that perhaps he had been too harsh. But Snag-oh wait, August's sour attitude was getting under his skin, and he was beginning to lose his patience with him.

"Don't be so upset about it; we can still do fun things, like play chess. Come, let's go inside and play a game and get you out of this beautiful sunshine that you hate so much."

It was enough to pacify August, so they set their work aside for the day and returned to the barracks.

That night, Elaenar laid awake in bed all-night thinking about everything that Snaga had told him.


Author's note: Hey reader; I see that you made it all the way to Chapter 30. You must like this story if you made it this far. Would you like to leave me a review? I would love to hear your thoughts; thanks!