The war between Elves and humans has been raging for a hundred years, but has dwindled to just a few sparse battles being fought between the two factions.
Will anyone come to merge the two?

The new dawn rose over the peaks of the green mountains, spreading rays of glimmering sunlight over the quiet valley below. It was serene, everything silent. 

Wolves padded among the tall oaks and cherry trees, looking for a place to rest before the dawn truly spread, welcoming the day. A rabbit skittered by, but they paid it no heed, walking onward. 

A boy sighed, sitting in a tree above the wolves, watching them quietly, his dark eyes cold and hard, not wearing a shirt but dark pants that tied around the tops of his boots at his ankles. 

The wolves looked at him, blinking slowly, then padding onward toward their dens. One stayed outside, sitting in a patch of sunlight, guarding the others.

Very peaceful. 

Very quiet. 

Elf towns were always this quiet. 


"By my blade I swear I have seen this tree ten times in the past hour!" he grunted, muttering curses under his breath.

"Ay, will you shut up!" Arve growled, his grey-green eyes sharp under his red brows, his hair with a small braid by his face, his jaw broad and defined, his hair long, nearly brushing his shoulders. 

"We have seen this tree now eleven times!" Garik snapped, his senses frayed by the endless trees, not used to seeing nothing but green for so long. He frowned, frustrated, adjusting his pack, making his armor clank in his anger. 

The End

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