A Spark in the Wind

Chapter 09: The Gates to Oblivion

Meneldir opened his eyes to all his companions sleeping: both wood-elves and high-elves, not even the watchers. The night was silent, enchanted by the soft hum of voices from the deeps.

The wood-elves slept in a random fashion, their armour and belongings scattered around their sleeping blobs. The high-elves organised themselves in a grid, sleeping within their bedrolls, most of them with their arms and armour on, with their shields covering their bedrolls.

Vil slept in a corner, curled up like a kitten between Vareth and Aeresil, his bedroll resembling less of a bedroll and more of a bun. He might've been a mythical warrior, but he looked as harmless as a child whilst asleep.

Mey walked up to him, carefully taking steps to not wake anyone up. He was there: a couple inches from his lover's face, looking down and smiling as Vil slept carelessly like a child. "Sleep well," he wished him, planting a kiss on his cheek, thereof removing himself from the scene.

The withdrawal of Meneldir's presence woke Vilyánur from his trance. As his eyes regained light he saw his lover walk off into the darkness of the cave. "Mey, wait," he whispered, grabbing his blade and helm and heading off into the cave as well. "Mey!"

He ventured into the shadows; passing through the dark curtains to meet in one of the narrower caverns. "Mey," said Vil, "what are you up to?"

"Just scouting," he answered, "nothing more."

He tried to remove himself, but Vilyánur had him pinned to the wall, looking down with a sinister smile. Mey stared back, almost challenging Vil, placing his hand on Vil's shoulder and waist. Vil pulled Mey's waist closer, their bellies touching, and softly bit his partner's lips.

Mey answered with a stronger bite, his wolfish canines leaving a scar on Vil's lips, his sharp claws digging into Vil's hands as he grappled his hand, but Vil couldn't care less – he felt the immense aura of Meneldir enchanting him, the flowery scent of his hair beguiling him, only to realise to his horror that the aura he felt was not only Mey's.

...

"M-Mey," he stopped, placing a finger on Mey's lips, "do you feel that?"

Meneldir sniffed the air, his eyes widening in horror to smell the stench of a bear. They both could hear heavy footsteps on the ground, and worse: beside that came the noise of hooves on the ground.

"What was that sound?" asked Garamond. "It sounded like two ghouls were feasting on the flesh of their victim."

The two crept to the wall and cast a cloak to hide their scent and aura, even though they knew that Vareth could see them in their invisible forms. Looking out through one of the cracks, Vilyánur looked at Vareth and Garamond as the two of them strolled about, looking for their ghouls. It seemed like Vareth had almost seen them, but luckily he did not.

"Where are your ghouls, Garamond?" asked Vareth, "I smell nothing."

"I am sure I heard the noise of something gnawing."

"And you think I wouldn't have smelt them?" he said, turning his eyes towards the two elves. "You're being paranoid, Satyr King. Or perhaps it is the caves: perhaps in some remote corner there are ghouls, but too far from us to be a bother. Caves do that sometimes."

"Aye . . . maybe you are right. It seems as if old age is beginning to affect me after all."

"Yes," said Vareth with a small chuckle, "now let us scour the other sides of the caves."

With that uttered, the two of them walked away, letting the two young elves breathe a sigh of relief. Vilyánur tried to walk away, but Meneldir grabbed his shirt and pinned him to the wall. "From next time onwards, ask my consent ere you do something like this," he said before planting a last kiss on his lips before departing for the caverns. "Good night."