Ravagog

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"Now, where could he be?" Tamir searched the forest.

A bush rustled as someone inside of it giggled.
She smirked and snatched a seven-year-old boy from the brush with a clawed hand.

The boy's shaggy black hair had leaves sticking out of it and his royal blue eyes were alive with mirth. "You found me, Tamir." He laughed.

The ogress set him gently on the ground. "When your hiding, you're not supposed to make noise, Gren."

He gave her a crooked smile and cocked his head.

She rolled her eyes. "Come on. We should get back." She opened a burlap sack.

Gren made a face. "Do I have to?"

"Do you want to be seen?" She stared him down.

He hung his head. "No."

She nodded. "Then come on. I'll be gentle."

He stepped into the sack and let Tamir pull the mouth up and tighten it over his head. The ogress hefted the sack over her shoulder and trudged back towards Ravagog. Gren was getting too heavy to do this. She'd have to find another way to sneak him back into the city.
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Tamir shoved Gren into a small cubby and moved to answer the door. She opened the door, meeting the hard gaze of a soldier. "How can I help you?"

The soldier simply growled and shoved past her. "We've been informed that their is a young elf in the city. We must search every house until we find him."

Tamir tried to conceal her fear. "Well, have at it. You won't find anything I assure you."

The soldier grunted and led two others into the room, pushing aside curtains and flipping tables.

Tamir bit her lip to keep herself from panicking.

The soldiers tore through the cupboards of her kitchen, coming dangerously close to Gren's cubby.

Finally, they left, leaving Tamir alone in her trashed living room.
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Gren crossed his arms. "We can't keep doing this." He held Tamir's gaze. "They're going to find me out."

Tamir rolled her eyes and mumbled something about teenagers. "You can't just stay in this house for the rest of your life."

"I know." Gren looked away. "That's why... I'm leaving."

Tamir dropped the bundled up sack she'd been stuffing into a closet. "What?!"

Gren took a deep breath. "I'm thirteen and I'm talentless. I need to find my own path. The King will never allow me stay here." He grabbed the clawed hands of the only mother he'd ever known. "I have to figure out my place in this world, and I know it's not here."

Tamir caressed his cheek, pushing some of his thick black hair behind his ear. "I couldn't be more proud of you." She pulled him into a hug. "And no matter where you go, you will always be my son."

He squeezed her tightly. "I know. Thank you."

They pulled apart and Tamir looked him straight in the eye. "I assume you're going after your father."

Gren smirked. "You know me too well."

Tamir had told him about what she had witnessed when his mother had left him in the woods. She'd recognized the woman as Allison Moone - an arrogant aristocrat who cared a lot about her image and spent a lot of time with then Councilor Fintan.

"He may not be happy to see you." She explained. "He may not even know you exist."

Gren nodded. "Well, he's about to find out."

There was a violent knock at the door. Three soldiers entered the house unannounced. They froze when they noticed the teenage elf standing with Tamir in the living room.

One of them growled. "I knew there was something off about you." He had searched the house six years ago, when they had first suspected Gren's presence.

Tamir stared wide-eyed at the soldiers. "Run."

Gren bolted through the house and out the back door. He could hear the soldiers in pursuit. Before he could reach the first bridge, four more soldiers blocked his path.
He skidded to a stop and turned, only to find the first three ogres approaching from the house. His heart skipped a beat and his breathing quickened.

One of the soldiers lunged at him. He threw up his hands protectively and squeezed his eyes shut. The ogre phased right through him.

He opened his eyes in surprise when nothing hit him, gasping when his hands were semitransparent. He was a Phaser.

Tamir appeared behind the soldiers, blood trickling down the side of her head, a broken table leg clutched in her hand like a club. She darted forward and bashed one of the ogres over the head with the thick wooden slab.
Soon, three soldiers were lying on the ground unconscious.

Gren dashed towards her as the remaining four guards chased him. They were gaining.

He jumped forward, but one of the ogres smacked his foot, knocking him off course.
Gren collided with Tamir's chest and they both went down.

He was disoriented for a moment. He felt the cold stone against his tingly hands. When the world stopped spinning, he could hear strained, gargled breathing. He looked down and his eyes widened. His hands had phased through Tamir's chest and his still solid arms had carved two holes through her body.
His breath caught in his throat as he watched his mother struggle to breathe, struggle to speak.

The soldiers backed away.

Gren slowly pulled his arms free of her chest.
A loud sucking, squelching noise accompanied the action. Blood covered his arms up to the elbows. His hands were no longer insubstantial. He slid to the cold hard pavement of the road, staring at his crimson-stained hands. What had he done? He was a monster.

He stood, backing away from Tamir's lifeless body, and bolted down the road, out of the city, and deep into the woods.

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