New Race
"Run! Run faster! Run, Saeros, run!" Saeros' little sister screamed enthusiastically from the tree she clung to as the five young ellyn raced beneath, kicking up dust and leaves in their wake.
Saeros ran on, encouraged by her words, overtaking the elf before him, legs pounding, racing forward.
The cheers from the many elves perched above them in the trees rang in his ears, many different voices with many different words.
But they all boiled down to one word alone.
Run.
He listened, running and running and running, making his sister proud as he finished first, long legs serving him well yet again.
0o0o0o0o0o0
"Run! Run faster! Run, Saeros, run!" Turin yells, swinging his sword at Saeros as the elf runs for all he is worth, long and naked legs pounding up the dust and leaves like they had so many times before.
Except this time there is a fatal difference.
This is a new sort of race.
A sort of race Saeros isn't sure he can win.