Visions of torment flashed through her mind.
Stop… Don't go. Stop it. Mom. Daddy. Where are you going…?
"Where are you!" Lori lunged forward, heaving for breath.
She was in her bed. In her skivvies. With the boy standing next to her with wide eyes.
"I, uh," he stammered. "I got the eggs from the cockatrice hen house. I was going to make us breakfast."
Lori nodded.
"That's…" she sighed. "Thank you, Lincoln. I'll be along in a moment."
The boy scurried out of the room. He had changed from his own skivvies, back to the humble brown robes wrapped around his arms and chest. The trousers complete the look of a monk with free range of motion.
Actually, perhaps that subtle brown might be more of a different shade of a color Lori couldn't think to identify.
Honestly, the more Lori gave thought to the boy, the more questions she got. Every detail seemed to defy her puzzled mind.
Getting dressed was a short chore, and walking downstairs to the kitchen gave a sight of small delight.
"Almost done!" Lincoln called from the stove. He was stirring the green yolks into a fluff. "At least, I think."
"They're done," Lori assured the boy, looking over his shoulder. "Actually, you're burning them."
"Oh!"
With a little help, he managed to scrape the batch of eggs across the two plates. The two sat at the table across from each other, enjoying the meal in silence.
"So…" Lincoln disturbed the silence. "Whose house is this, anyways?"
Lori gave him a confused look, and eventually answered, but not without taking another bite.
"It's my house," she answered.
"No, I mean," he clambered. "This house is so big, with so many rooms that you don't use. Who built this place?"
Lori paused to think it over.
"It's my parents house," she finally answered. "I guess they wanted a big family."
"Where are they now?"
Lori didn't answer. Instead, she took another bite of eggs.
"These eggs are good," she complimented. "I hope you're not getting cabin fever while you're in here."
"Not really," Lincoln shrugged. "I mean, I was kind of hoping I'd get to go outside and see the town."
"Well," the woman answered, "If you opened up a little more, and tell me what your intention is, I could introduce you to the town slowly."
"Yeah…" Lincoln seemed to shy away. Then he changed the subject. "Oh, hey! I was reading the other day, and I was wondering: I know what elves look like, but I haven't seen any "dark elves" anywhere. Where'd they go?"
Lori made a disgusted sound. She had to let go of the fact he was dodging the question.
"If you keep reading that book," she warned, "Your brains going to start leaking out of your ears. Elves are extremely old, and even more vain. When they come across a fellow magical species, they immediately compare it to themselves. Who did they contact first?"
"The… dwarven dens?" Lincoln guessed.
"Right," Lori agreed. "And they live underground, in the dirt and darkness, right?"
"Right…"
"So if you're a vain Elf and you see this crystal mining cave dweller, with dark skin but just as much magical potential as you, then..."
"You'd call him a… Dark Elf…" Lincoln seemed to realize. "Oh."
"Yep," Lori nodded.
"That's really messed up."
"Uh-huh."
Another moment passed. Lori mulled over the information she gathered.
"So that book must have been published- or written- by the elves," Lori surmised, "And not recently. And not for public viewing."
Lincoln's face froze up. He expression asked, "How did you figure that out!?"
"Look," Lori set down her fork. "I like you, kid. A lot. And I don't mind helping you and playing den mother for you. But you can't stay in here forever. You can't just stay a secret forever. Someone is going to find you. And they might not be as morally obligated as I am."
Lincoln pushed around the little egg left on his plate.
"Let me help you," Lori implored him. "Give me…something. I know you're a half-elf, and I know you're running from something. Or someone."
"If I talk…" he timidly asked. "Will you teach me magic?"
Lori arched an eyebrow. Okay. He's a businessman. Must be that elven half in him.
"What little I know," Lori agreed. "Now spill."
Lincoln took a breath.
"I'm…looking for my parents," he answered. "I don't know anything about them, but..."
"They're an elf, and a human?"
"Right," He nodded. "I mean, maybe? I mean, I know some halflings are, like, second gen? Like, uh, what's the word for it...?"
"Legacy children."
"Right!"
Lori nodded in understanding. After the war with the Dark Lord and his Red-Eyed-Beast, the villain had one last trick up his sleeve. The beast's corpse rendered the vast majority of elves were rendered sterile. Of course, the elves- in all their compassion- banished the infected and started a repopulation program before giving any thought to restoring anything else. The result is a lot of "Halflings" and a lot of "Purebloods." Technically any Half-elf is treated with full elven citizenship and is mandatorily given the complete history of half of their people. Some humans still have a little elven blood in them, and it shows up in future children or grandchildren. People call them "Legacies."
Personally, Lori thinks all the elves should have been wiped out in that war. What good are they serving now that its over?
Back on subject.
"So you think its possible that both your parents are human?" Lori guessed.
"Yeah," the boy rubbed the back of his head.
"Any clues?"
"No," he shook his head. "All I got are their names."
He shrank in his chair. "And I don't even know if I can rely on that much."
Lori looked on at the dour boy. She stood, picking up her empty plate.
"Come on," she ordered. "Let's clean these up. And then I'll teach you some magic."
Lincoln sat hunched over a mess of ropes, trying to untangle them.
"How is this magic, exactly?" he asked his mentor.
"The way I see it," Lori lectured, "Every day you live out here is magic. Every trick or lesson you learn that lets you live another day is magic. Today, that's tying knots."
"Yeah, but…" Lincoln pulled at another knot. "I thought we'd be chucking fireballs or something."
"The first lesson is survival," Lori promised. "If you can survive 24 hours in the wilds of the Westlands, I'll teach you what I know about the mystical stuff."
Lincoln thought it over, before pulling the rope free of itself and sighing.
"Well," he said, "Sounds fair. When are we going out?"
"Not until I can get us some horses," Lori sighed. "Not to mention an iron for your hip."
A crash rang out through the yard, followed by the clucking of cockatrice hens. The two ran towards it, rounding the house to see a bright hound with four bright, bushy tails flipping about.
"You left the gate to the pen open!" Lori complained. She pulled her gun out and took aim.
"Sorry! I'll get it out!" Lincoln volunteered. He rushed forward in front of Lori.
"No, don't-!" she lifted her gun. She can't shoot it when he's in the way!
The boy entered then pen, spooked the fox, making it run away. He chased after it with a youthful, boyish vigor.
"Yeah, you better run!" he called after it.
"Easy, killer," Lori holstered her weapon. "He got the message."
Lincoln smiled at her and turned back to watch the fox look back at them, examining.
The boy spotted a rock, and had the obvious thought to throw it.
He ran out a little further, scooping up the stone and reeling his arm back to throw it.
Of course, the fox was long gone before the rock had ever left his fingers.
"Beat it already!" he called out again, still high off of the adrenaline.
He felt something. A pressure, on his leg. He looked down and saw the head of a viper over the leg of his pants.
"Lincoln!" he heard Lori's voice, however distant. The landscape around them seemed to fade, or swirl.
"Oh…" he muttered, as his legs gave out. The snake let go, and tried to slither away.
Lori pulled her pistol and shot it, leaving the animal dead in the sand.
"Dammit," she cursed. She scooped the boy in her arms. "Lincoln? Dammit, Lincoln!"
She turned around and ran. She ran with everything she had. She had to get back to town.
If it meant the boy would live, she had to get him to town.