Darkin sighed, knocking his bow again. He lived in a village near the northern boarder; but they were small and thankfully of no interest to the elvish parties. He released the bow, the arrow missing his target and flying into the forest beyond.
He cursed quietly; glancing around the village pens. An old field horse was the only thing that moved. He glanced around again, double checking before he ran toward the timber line. He moved through the shady under growth quickly, hoping he would disappear before anyone saw.
Everyone in the village avoided the forest. Not because of robbers or murders; they really didn’t exist in the Nassurian kingdom. Everyone was to focused on the real enemies, the war, and the elves.
He had been born during the war, it was what he had grown up bearing about; hearing about the glories of the Nassurian army. Their wise king Marcus leading movements of the armies from further south. His older brother, father and uncles had served under one of the female captains, Rose. He could not wait to join the ranks as well. But he was not old enough yet, and his mother would not let him leave a day before he came of age.
He looked around the forest floor as he walked, searching for his arrow. His only fear was that the arrow had landed in the creek nearby. It was not large, nor did it run into the village, but it was close enough for some one to find it. And since he was the only person with a bow in the village, every one would know it was his.
True, it was nothing serious, but he did not want to have to explain anything; especially to his mother. She did not like that he practiced with the bow and arrow so openly, and feared that if any elvish scouts slipped over the boarder they would attack the village because of him.
He heard the creek, moving toward the sound through the thick undergrowth. He made a face as his book sunk through the sod and cool water began to seep through the soft leather. He hissed sharply, withdrawing his foot quickly. The recent rains had caused the water to rise and turn the near by area into a marsh.
“Mother is going to kill me.”
“Uhhh…”
Darkin froze, looking up from his feet. He was close to the creek, on the formerly solid banks. What ever had made the sound was out of his view. He glanced around the immediate area with wide eyes.
“Um… Hello?”
He heard the ‘uhhh’ again. It was coming from behind a large tree near other opposite bank. Although the creek was swollen with rain water, it was not too deep. Deepen a rain puddle and you can still walk through it.
With slow movements Darkin began to wade across the creek; all through of his mother’s scolding forgotten. The water came up to his knees and held a chill. He shivered as he moved through the grasses of the bank to the tree.
The groan came again as the vocalist came into view. Darkin froze as he looked down at the tree’s roots.
An elf lay in the water, slightly propped up against the tree. His eyes were closed and his breathing shallow. The water had risen higher on this side, coming up around the roots and helping to support the body.
The elf was in full body armor and seemed to be on the edge of death. Two arrows rested within his torso and Darkin could see the stains blood had left on his armor.
The Nassurian boy felt as though he were looking at something he shouldn’t; something of another world. No trade existed between elves and Nassurians; nor had such relations ever been in living memory. The elves had made war on the Nassurians and the Nassurians had fought back.
The elf groaned again, his eyes opening slightly to look at the boy infront of him. His thin lips moved, a smile fluttering across his features before he coughed in pain and lightly held his torso. Of the two arrows only their fletching and about four inches of the shaft were visible. The rest of them buried deep within the elf. Darkin looked at the bale being within the muck and gloom of the creek.
The elf looked up at the boy. His mouth twisted again, but it was hard to tell if it was from pain or amusement. A chuckled rose in this throat but it quickly devolved into a cough.
“So this is how I end? In the company of a Nassurian boy.” The elf said in the common tongue. Darkin was surprised that the elf was even speaking; so had were his wounds. The elf looked at the boy, quite as he felt the arrow tips move against his innards; not long now.
“Well? What are you waiting for?”
Darkin frowned, “What do you-”
“Why haven’t you killed me yet?”
The boy’s mouth went dry. He was not a solider, not a warrior. He hunted and killed animals but not people. He could feel himself begin to shake.
The elf stared at the Nassurian boy, his blue eyes like ice; although they were hazy with weakness from blood loss. He was a warrior, and it was easy to see the boy was not. The boy was barely a man at all.
The elf slide down the tree trunk and into the water; coughing as he did. It was easy to see that the arrows would kill him soon, even if the boy did not move.
“If you aren’t going to kill me, than what do you want boy?”
Darkin had no answer. He wasn’t even suppost to be in the forest. This had all happened by chance. He wasn’t suppost to be here.
“Well?” growled the elf glairing up at the Nassuiran. He could feel himself weakening as the sky over head began to darken. Both biepeds knew rain was coming.
Darkin felt ill, and he slowly began to back away from the dieing elf. He sloshed through the knee deep water; his heart pounding in his ears as he reached the bank. He tripped as he tried to get out of the water, landing on the muddy earth before he curled over and retched.
He was not a warrior, he was barely a hunter. He had no skill for this, no stomach for it. He swallowed hard trying to get rid of the sour taste in his mouth as he got to his feet. Once upright he started running; running toward his home. As he ran he heard the patter of rain on leaves and felt them on his head and back.
He hardly heard his mother scolding him fore being late for dinner; or for the state he was in. For that matter he could not remember what he ate. All he could see was the image of the elf in the creek.
The image of the elf dieing.

* * *

A messenger from the Nassurian castle arrived two days after Darkin saw the elf. They brought news of the king, Marcus’, death. He was to be burned along with a captain of the army in two days time.
Many of the women cried and several of the families began to ready themselves to go with the messenger back to the castle; to honor their former king. Even as Darkin’s family readied to leave he felt no want to go.
Thankfully he did not get much grief for wanting to stay home; many were. And every one grieved in their own way.
The boy was thankful he would not have to fight the elves. With the news of the king’s death the messenger had also brought news of peace. The war was over. But… it also made him feel like less of a man. He had been unable to kill an elf; a helpless elf. He had failed in that.
He went out side, looking at the forest from the back wall of his home. The tall trees which had offered protection from attack, or had hid it all these years no longer seemed to frighten him. He could not be sure… but something in him did change that night. Something in him changed from boy… to man.

* * *

It was spring, and Nassuria was in need a king. The remaining captains had been voting and deliberating for months. Garbose, who had played ruler through the funeral rights of his king and comrade, was unwilling to continue.
As was the Nassurian way, any man or woman could become king or queen. They had to have public support and show themselves to be leaders, but any one could rise to that role. Darkin was not lobbying for support, but he had it.
Soon the coronation would be complete and he would ascend to the throne. To lead Nassuria into a new age.