From Silver and Chaos

After dawn.

Chapter One: After Dawn.

In the hours following the battle of Aoak. 

Embers sparked amongst the blackened wood. My purple-mottled fingers shook as I smothered salve onto my bruised skin. Dried grass itched at my exposed skin and the afternoon wind whistled as it rushed overhead, blocked only by the out-crop of rock we sheltered behind.

My body wept for rest.

My mind, though darkened by exhaustion, knew that I couldn't.

Instead, I watched the flaming haired Elf as she moved around the camp to ward it. It wouldn't do much to help against a direct attack, but it would give us a fighting chance.

Asha'da. Asha'da.

It couldn't be – it couldn't be, but it was. Her depictions in our art had always depicted the hair as a wreath of flames, but her face had always been captured. Harsh and angular, with a deep cupid's blow and a brow that always made her look as if she was frowning. She held the beauty of the Elves, but there was a cruel ruggedness that had robbed the Elves ancient exquisiteness.

"Hold the salve to your ribs," She knelt in front of me swiftly, hold hands hoisting my own up. "I don't have the cloth to spare so you may use your hands."

"Of course." I watched as she checked the fire. There was a grey pallor over her skin, with veins cracking like the surface of dried, cracked earth. They reached the line of her jaw and stopped, melding into sun-tanned skin. She handed me some dried meat and sat opposite me, her eyes on the land around us.

"Tell me how do you know my name?"

"You're Asha'da," Giddy disbelief bubbled in my throat. "There isn't an Elf alive who doesn't know your name!"

She stared at me, eyes shadowed by exhaustion. "They know my name?"

Channelling a calm, unaffected manner was difficult. Especially when I had spent the previous day fighting for my life and saving one of my closest friends from death. "You are painted on the walls of Dratlan Keep. You're told in stories at dinner and your name is whispered in reverence before battle. I spoke your name when I arrived – because... well, I wasn't speaking to you, but the idea of you. For bravery. For resolution Some chose Valdur. Strily. Finnan. The countless others who have lived brave, wonderful lives. You would know that."

I had never expected to see Asha'da standing before me, but I couldn't place whether I was disappointed or amazed. She moved with the self-assuredness of someone who often spent her days travelling across rotten land.

"Dratlan Keep," She plucked a stalk of dried grass. "Another victim."

My jaw tightened. "Of the Insurgent."

Her attention flashed to the silver marks on my body. The ebbing silver up my veins – a faint pulse that would quieten once I recovered. The doorway had ripped through my sense of balance, sense of self. If she had been an enemy, that would have been a close fight for my life. "Is that what you call him?"

"He goes by many names, but most are pompous and ridiculous titles."

She gave me a shadow of a smile. "Pompous perhaps, but dangerous. Though, I doubt I have to tell you that."

"What can you tell me?" Salve seeped through my fingers.

She caught that, grimacing. "Not now. Not here. You rest.