Just so you know, every time there's a big long string of random keyboard mashing, that's Fritos' actual name, but since it's completely unpronounceable, everyone gets it wrong every time. That doesn't stop some people from trying, though.
"Ono eru néiat velkommen hawn, Feruisfbjryfgvefvksfhvgwkfg, you are not welcome here," Pelrin, the third elf guard by Isenstar, cried in the Ancient Language. He was standing on the limb of an oak tree, undisguised hatred on his face.
"I merely come for news," Fritos responded, gazing calmly at Pelrin. It was slightly after noon of the day when, although he didn't know it, Grimrr had been rescued. "Tell me what I wish to hear, and I will leave."
"Swear it in the ancient aanguage, and I will speak to you for a bit longer," Pelrin hissed.
"If that is what you wish," Frjals said. "Taka eka du hugin eka lysta eom hávr un eka atra eitha, give me the knowledge I wish to have and I may leave."
Pelrin's eyes narrowed. Fritos had said it so quickly that he hadn't heard it properly, and he wasn't sure whether Frjals had said atra, may, or wilae, will. Finally, he decided that it had been wilae and nodded slowly.
"Was there a human girl here sometime in the last two days?" Fritos asked.
"Yes," Pelrin said stiffly.
"Where is she now?"
"Rillon and Loshar to her to Ellesmera this morning," he said, then turned away, refusing to even look at Frjals for another second.
"Ah." Fritos seemed to ponder this for a moment, then dipped his head politely to Pelrin and set off at an easy pace back to the lake.
The boy was still there, lying on the shore with his eyes closed. He looked up when Fritos' shadow fell over him. He had only come back to his senses that morning, but Fritos had told him everything that had happened after he had been captured. The elf had carried the boy from Uru'baen to where they were now without stopping, sprinting the whole way. He didn't look tired at all.
"Was she here?" the boy asked. He hadn't yet decided on a name for himself.
"She was," Fritos confirmed.
The boy stood up, his red lamarae clothes and bright ruby wings glinting in the bright sunlight. His scales stood out much more than Dusk's black ones, and Frjals had to turn his face slightly so as not to blind himself.
"What do we now?" the boy asked.
"She was taken to Ellesmera this morning," Fritos said. Without waiting for a reply, he began walking the quarter mile back to the forest.
A pond. It was still and clear, about ten feet deep and maybe twenty feet wide, more of an oversized puddle than a pond. Small silver fish and tiny black tadpoles frisked about beneath the surface. Lotuses and and lily pads dotted the far side, and reeds waved gently in the breeze. A dragonfly darted over the the water in pursuit of a mosquito.
The pond had a forest surrounding three sides. The fourth collided violently with a barren stretch of yellow rocks and dusty grey sand, and beyond that, the ruins of Doru Araeba stood, silent and forlorn, a skeleton of the mighty city it had once been.
Something gently tapped the face of the water. A giant ivory claw, three feet long. A ripple spread outward from where the claw made contact with the pond, lime-colored ripples that wavered and shimmered beneath a sun that stood in the center of the sky.
Where the waves vanished, the green remained. Two figures were in the center of that green expanse. An ebony wall with a castle of the same color looming above it materialized behind the figures. A low rumble came from above the pond, from the thing that had called the animated image into existence. Laughter.
The figures, one a wolf, the other a large black cat, were running away from the great castle behind them. There was another thunder-like sound, and the claw once again prodded the surface of the pond.
Swells billowed out from the point where the talon made contact with the water, but this time they were black. The inky water overlay the previous green and formed itself into jet-black bricks. A room appeared, quivering on the water. Two dark silk cushions stood in the center of the cramped room. On each was an egg, one red, one green. They were oval, large, and brilliantly colored, even in the dim lighting of the place, and thin silver lines spider-webbed across them.
The image vanished. There was a sudden gust of wind that blew across the pond with the force of a gale, flattening the cattails, sending great surges and waves out over the normally calm water, tossing the insects and floating leaves to the side, causing the weaker saplings in the forest to bend over and yield to the fury of the blast. A fox that had been drinking at the pond flew back and hit a tree, snapping its spine. Something huge brushed against the water. Then it was over, and the pond and its surroundings were undisturbed, masking the events that had just occurred as if they had never happened. Well, except for the dead fox, but that doesn't count.