Thosar swung with his blade at Eifiten. His opponent darted out of the way, laughing scornfully.

"Can you not do any better than a mere wizard, Thosar?"Eifiten taunted him. "Perhaps you should tear off your wings and ears and join them, rather than force your presence upon us."

Thosar felt raw anger at the faerie's words. He brought his sword up just in time to block a blow that would have killed him in real battle.

Wizard. One of the foulest and most degrading insults amongst their kind.

His eyes, which remained the same color constantly(much as wizards' did), had brought great suspicion upon him when he had entered through their gates on the back of a pegasi.

He would only learn the story of his unexpected arrival many years later.

He gritted his teeth, and pushed back against Eifiten's sword. The faerie tilted his head.

"Oh, might I have struck a nerve there?" He laughed.

He was currently fifteen, in human years. The faeries felt no need for long-spanning time, but recorded each mortal year dutifully as it supposedly went by. Yet while they acknowledged that it was necessary to keep a small time frame, so as to be able to keep things circulating,they were quite happy to let years pass by without any worriment over the next.

Thosar brought his sword around, nearly managing to clip Eifiten's neck in the faerie's surprise.

"I have to wonder what the others should say, Eifiten, should it be found that the words you speak are just that: Words, nothing more."

Anger flickered in Eifiten's shifting eyes. With a quick move, he disarmed him, and brought his sword up to Thosar's throat.

He had been taken in by an aged faerie who had been willing to teach him. From him, Thosar had learned many things, not excepting his entrance to the faerie world.

"You would be wise to avoid challenging me," Eifiten hissed. With a final glare, he stalked off.

"Why must you anger him every time you exchange words?" A voice called out.

He glanced behind him to find his companion, Lafethal, scrutinizing at him.

He sheathed his sword. "He insists upon belittling all those he deems to be beneath his status."

"Even so, it does not do your intellect good to insult one who holds such high favor among the faerie." Her eyes were firm.

"If he would not mock me so, I would feel no need to do so."

She sighed. "Eifiten is one who feels that difference automatically equals weakness. Do not allow your past to become a weakness, for many know it, and would be quick to exploit it."

Thosar grimaced. "Eifiten does just that already."

Lafethal shook her head. "The only action available is to ignore him. For now, however, perhaps it would be best if you went hunting, as it calms you."

Thosar brightened. "Of course. Thank you for the suggestion."

He walked off, her troubled gaze following him.

Thosar found his mentor in the library, as he was often. Thosar bowed to show his inferiority, and said, "Master, I go hunting for deer and elk."

He gave no sign that he heard. Thosar took this to mean that he understood, and sped to find his hunting gear.

He came upon his pouch hanging from a low-branched tree, undoubtedly placed there by a faerie who had recognized it as his. From it he withdrew his bow, string, and sling of arrows, which he secured around his chest. Taking the bow in hands, he bent it till he was able to slip the string's looped ends over its notched ends. He admired the complete bow for a moment.

He had carved the wood himself from a fallen branch from an ebony tree. He had meticulously crafted it, taking hours to finish. Then, he had been forced to ask for a bowstring from one of the older faeries, a task that assaulted his pride, for he had attempted many times to make one and had failed. They had produced it without any criticism, to his great relief.

The arrows, too, he had carved. The head had been tricky, for only the sharpest arrowheads would do. And they had to be barbed, so as to prevent it from falling out of the prey's hide.

The feathers he had collected from the remains of dead birds that had been killed by other animals. It was rare to find one, for predators preferred to eat the whole body, rather than leave it and attract scavengers.

Finished with his musings, he set off into the forest.

He moved silently, a ghost panther, stepping lightly, weightlessly through the foliage coating the ground. It was in this time only that he felt truly alone, away from others, just him and himself. It was here that he allowed his instincts take over, instead of doing what was required and expected.

Snap.

He whipped around, eyes scanning the area. There! A young stag, alone, drinking from a nearby pool.

He crept closer, stare never moving from the deer. He notched an arrow onto his string, preparing to shoot.

The stag looked up; both froze.

The stag's eyes, wide with fear, seemed to peer into his soul.

Thosar contemplated letting it go.

He then proceeded to shoot it straight through the heart.

It was a quick, painless death, a fact that he was glad for. He felt no inclination to stand there and watch the life drain out of the animal as it squirmed and cried out in agony.

Bringing out the knife he had sheathed next to his sword, he carefully cut the stag into pieces that he could carry. The faeries always used nearly every part of the animal, to show respect for the life it gave to sustain them.

Thosar had nearly snorted when he heard this; the animal had not valiantly sacrificed its life. No, it had but no choice in the matter of its life or death. That was the way it always was, for animals, Thosar saw as he hunted. In the forest, it was a chance game of live or die; you simply had to hope that the fates would be kind to you and allow you to live. If they didn't... you died. For where one gets to live, another must die in its place. Thus is the law of the wild.