“Hi, Elys! Happy twentieth birthday.” Ievis, the village butcher, smiled as she entered through the back door of his shop. Hauled on a wooden sled, was a drained, gutted and skinned buck, ready to be sold to Ievis.
     Lyrael didn’t even blink when he called her by her middle name. Growing up in their humble cottage, Anwel instilled in her the importance of concealing her first name. Whenever they were outside the four walls of their cottage, she became Elysande—or Elys for short—and it was a name that held deep significance for her. Not only was it her middle name, but it was also the name she shared with her late mother.
     Even if they were out in the woods hunting, Anwel only ever called her Elys, which he always claimed was for her ‘protection’. However, she never quite understood why she had to hide her first name or what exactly she needed protecting from. But, as always, she was an obedient child, who always listened to her father.
     With the help of Ievis, she hauled the buck up and onto his scale. “You scored a big one today, Elys.”
     Lyrael smiled and nodded, clasping her hands behind her back as she waited for him to assess her catch of the day. She watched him balance his scale with different size weights, letting out a small laugh. “Yeah, I got lucky with him, honestly.”
     Ievis smiled and went to where he kept his safe, returning a moment later with her payment, which was calculated on the weight of the buck. She and Anwel were one of the few hunters in the area and one of the main suppliers for meat for Deerwood, their small village.
     “Here, a gift as well.” Ievis held out a pouch of coins as well as two familiar-looking packs of his specially made venison jerky. “Happy birthday, again.”
     “Oh, thank you so much, Ievis! It means a lot.” Lyrael beamed and accepted the pouch and the jerky, tucking them into her bag.
     She waved goodbye and exited his shop, grabbing the sled’s rope and heading toward the tanner’s shop to sell the buck’s hide. Hides were a coveted item, as the other hunters in the area were not as precise as she. Only her hides were usable by the village tanner, and he paid her a handsome number of coins for them.
     “Papa, I’m home!” She exclaimed, swinging open the front door of the cottage ten minutes later. Removing her bow, she placed it next to the front door while her leather rucksack landed on the kitchen counter. Strapped to the right side of the rucksack was a thick bedroll, and on the left side was her quiver full of arrows.
     Opening the flap on top of her bag, she undid the drawstring holding it closed and began pulling its contents out. A bag of apples, cheese, crackers, carrots, celery, potatoes, a small slab of meat, and the two packs of Ievis’s venison jerky. She had plans of dicing everything up and making a stew this evening, which was Anwel’s favorite.
     “Papa?” she called again, looking up at the small loft where his bed was located.
     No response.
     She glanced out the window and a wave of relief washed over her when the door to the smoke shed swung open, Anwel stepping out of it. She pushed off the odd feeling she felt and smiled at him when he entered the house a minute later.
     “Oh, you’re back already?” Anwel seemed surprised as he fiddled with his cloak. For some reason, she felt like he seemed a tad nervous, his eyes darting back and forth. “I thought you’d shop around the market for a bit. I didn’t expect you to be home so soon.”
     “Yeah, I was going to, but after I sold the hide, I decided to just come home so I could start on dinner.” Lyrael beamed and began filling up a large pot with some water. She hung it on the hook that hung over the fire. “I’m making your favorite.”
     “Stew?” He inquired, smiling widely when she nodded.
     She added some wood to the fire and stirred the embers around with the metal poker on the wall, waiting until some of the wood caught fire before standing. She moved back to the table and began dicing up the vegetables and slab of meat.
     He paced a bit in front of her, glancing toward the front door and then up to his loft. She eyed him with concern. “Are you okay, Papa?”
     His gaze snapped toward her, and he just smiled again, nodding quickly. “Yeah, of course, sweetheart. I’m fine. I’m just going to... go up to my loft for a minute.”
     “Okay,” she responded and watched as he climbed the ladder and disappeared into his loft, hearing him rustle around a moment later. Brushing it off, she focused on dicing vegetables to make a stock.

⋆˙⟡ ☾ 𖤓 ☽ ⟡˙⋆

     The following day, she returned to their cottage after a few hours of not being able to find anything besides a few small animals, which she had skinned and cleaned on the walk home. She paused in the smoke shed to hang them up and then headed for the house, opening the door.
     “Back from hunting, Papa!” she shouted, figuring he may still be upstairs in the loft again. He had been up there all night after dinner, and she only saw him briefly this morning when he went outside to use the bathroom.
     No response, again. This time, there was no chance he was in the smoke shed.
     “Papa?” she called again, looking up at the loft.
     Still no response.
     She sighed and placed her boot onto the bottom rung of the wooden ladder Anwel climbed every morning and night. She was not allowed in his loft, so the act of placing even a toe on the ladder felt like she was disobeying every rule he had established for her.
     After hesitating for just a moment, she began climbing, ignoring the weird feeling in her chest that something was amiss. As she reached the top, her eyes widened as she saw his room for the first time. Everything inside was broken or torn to shreds. His bed, his blanket, and his clothes were in tatters, straw was strewn across the floor. What used to be a wooden chest was now broken, splintered and in shards, its contents destroyed.
     The window that overlooked the woods was shattered, with shards of glass that littered the floor and the thatched roof of the house. Based on how the rest of the cottage was in perfect condition, Lyrael could only assume whatever did this came in and exited through the window.
     Where is Papa? Did whatever do this take him?
     She hurriedly climbed back down the ladder and ran out the front door of their cottage, closing the door. She shut her eyes and inhaled, searching the breeze for his scent. It took her a few moments, but she eventually found it.
     As she followed his scent into the woods, the first thing that immediately caught her off guard was the disturbance of the undergrowth and the broken branches of nearby trees and bushes. It resembled someone dragging something behind them. Or someone. Whatever, whoever it was, they didn’t care to cover their tracks.
     Fear was driven directly into her heart when she noticed the second thing, the specific scent mingled with her father’s. The scent that floated from the west in the evening, across the plains from the Border. The scent of an Elf.
     She followed the path for an hour and the longer it took, the more anxious she became. She realized something harrowing about five minutes into following the path. It was leading directly to the Border, the invisible barrier that separated the human land from the Elven land.
     Growing up, Anwel always warned her that no matter what, to never cross the Border into Elven land. He told her that due to the magic that erected it, it would make her never want to cross the Border anyway, as it warded off humans from wanting to cross. Any human that even got within a hundred feet of it, would immediately turn around, their minds suddenly changed, and their curiosity gone.
     However, as she neared it, she felt nothing.
     No push back.
     No magic keeping her from getting closer to it.
     She felt absolutely nothing.
     Despite that, she turned around and began running home. Should I follow the trail across the Border? Or should I stay home and wait? Papa never told me what do to in case he disappeared. What scares me the most is the thought of him never returning.
     No, she decided. She had to go. She had to rescue her father from whatever or whoever took him. That much she was aware of.
     The thought that it might already be too late to save him struck her mind painfully. She ignored the thought and pushed it deep, deep down.

⋆˙⟡ ☾ 𖤓 ☽ ⟡˙⋆

     Pausing at the tree line on the edge of the clearing their cottage sat in, she watched as a hunched figure stood at their cottage, knocking incessantly on the wooden door. Its grating voice carried across the clearing, loud and raspy. “Hello? Is anyone home? I’m absolutely starving. Do you have any spare food?”
     Lyrael rolled her eyes, the expression on her face turning into one of frustration as she tore through the trees toward the house. She yelled, her voice a loud growl, “Leave this place, monster!”
     The figure spun toward her, towering over her by multiple feet, its orange glowing eyes were the only thing she could see beneath its hood. Only five or six of these creatures, famously known as Wanderers, roamed the forests of Mahlon.
     They looked human, sounded human, however, they had that uncanny look about their face that made them too perfect. They had perfect features, perfect teeth, no freckles or moles, no acne or scars. Wanderers were easy to spot. If you were to come across one in the woods, they would run away, and they are especially frightened of loud noises.
     Wanderers avoided villages as they were loud, but whatever home they wandered upon separated from the village, they would ask to be let in. They would deceive the occupants by pretending to be hungry or cold, and once someone opened the door, they would consume anyone inside. Rumor was that all they left behind was a pile of bones, licked clean of flesh. So long as you refrained from inviting them inside or opening your door, they couldn’t harm you.
     The Wanderer turned and headed for the trees, and she kept it in her line of sight until it was gone.
     “Foul creature,” she murmured beneath her breath and opened the door, entering the cottage. She worked quickly, gathering items into her rucksack.
     Stepping into the small room that consisted of her small cot and a chest that was falling apart, she grabbed the few personal items she had. The silk pajamas she bought for herself last year, and the few spare pieces of clothes she owned.
     Climbing back up the ladder to her father’s loft with a broom in hand, she began cleaning his room, sweeping the broken glass and splintered wood into the wooden dustpan her father carved. Once his room was clear of debris, she began searching, hoping that whatever searched his room hadn’t found whatever her father had.
     It didn’t take her long; only about five minutes of shifting things around and inspecting everything, but she finally found something of interest. A board beneath his bed was lacking any nails and had been worn down on the edges, as though a sharp dagger had pried it open countless times. Unsheathing the dagger strapped to her thigh, she dug it into the wood and pried it up, peering into the darkness underneath.
     Her eyes took a moment to adjust, and after just a few moments, she found her gaze caught on something tucked into the furthest corner. Sheathing her dagger, she used levitation to pull it out of the corner until it landed in her hand. She dropped the board back down and sat on the wooden floor beneath the window.
     With a quick pull, she dumped the contents of the pouch into her palm. A chain, black as night, slid from the pouch first, and a moment later, a heavy pendant thumped into her hand. It had a teardrop shaped gem that was as red as blood, with two black snakes coiled around it to keep it seated in place, the chain threaded through their coiled tails. Both snakes had tiny, red gems in place of their eyes.
     She stared at it for a long time. Her vision twisted. The room seemed to spin.
     The snakes almost seemed to blink up at her.
     Darkness encroached on the edge of her vision.
     And finally, when all that remained was a small pinhole in her vision, a small voice in the back of her head hissed 'look away'. It took some real, genuine effort, and it felt like hours, but when she finally tore her gaze away, the darkness disappeared with a snap.
     She sat there dazed for a few moments before slipping the necklace back into its pouch, tightening the drawstrings. She knotted it twice and placed it into one of the secret pockets she had sewn into her clothes.
     Lyrael climbed back down the ladder and collected everything she needed.
     She shrugged on her rucksack once she had everything for needed and aimed for the door, grabbing her bow on the way out. Hooking it over her shoulder, she walked out, making sure to close the door behind her. She didn’t need the Wanderer returning.
     Stopping at the edge of the woods, she turned to look back at their small cottage. For some reason, she had this nagging feeling that this would be the last time she saw her home. She turned back around and kept walking before the sadness completely overwhelmed her.
     I’ll see you soon, Papa.