Vinter looked at Krint in surprise, and after a moment, he calmly moved a few metres away from his friend and took a fighting stance to try out a few techniques he had learnt from Zertera over the past two years.

Bending down and grabbing the sword with both hands, he made a sharp lunge forward with the blade, followed by a sharp diagonal upward movement and a not so sharp sideways strike.

- Ha-ha, you've outdone yourself again! After shouting these words, he looked at the blade and then at his hands, which were trembling for some reason.

- It's still far from a masterpiece, but even so, in the right hands, it will do a lot of damage, but I think you've noticed that these aren't your hands.

- It's hard not to notice, especially when after a few movements my hands started to tremble.

Looking at his hands and then at the sword, he exhaled, walked over to Krint and handed him the sword.

- As much as I wanted to take it, it was too risky to fight those elves with something that could fail me.

Hearing this, Krint exhaled calmly and walked into the house with the same steps, after which the sounds of falling objects began to come from the house, and a moment later various objects began to fly out of the door, and sometimes even a pile of stones.

Krint, have you finally decided to fucking move or what?

Without receiving an answer, Vinter cautiously approached the door and looked inside, and thus noticed various objects flying out of Krint's chest, and a moment later Krint himself came out with a rusty sword.

- You can't even imagine how hard it was to get it.

- Wouldn't it have been easier to just forge a simple sword?

- ...

At that moment, there was such silence that you could even hear Vinter's rapid heartbeat, and then Krint's loud cries of cursing, which made even Vinter feel sick.

And after about 20 minutes, he finally calmed down and said calmly, looking at Vinter.

- I could have told you earlier.

- I'm sorry I didn't stop you, not knowing what you were going to do.

- I should have known that you could only talk, not think.

Deciding not to continue the argument with Krint, he simply nodded and opened the door for him to leave the house and go to the forge.

Krint clutched the rusty sword to his chest and quickly left, and when he was at the door, he lightly stabbed Vinter in the stomach with the hilt of his sword, causing him to cough slightly.

- That's for all your goodness.

He then continued stomping to the forge, where in ten minutes he had turned the rusty blade into a perfectly shiny one, but now you could see the bend and all the irregularities of the blade.

- Hmm, is there any way to straighten it?

Hearing this, Krint slowly turned towards him, and his fur bristled a little, causing Vinter to reflexively take a few steps back and apologise to the ball of fur.

- It's just one of my silly jokes, so let's not do it!

He stopped picking up the wool, but with a sharp movement of his hand, he threw his sword towards Vinter and hit him right in the forehead, causing him to fall on his back.

- Be glad I'm still kind today, or I would have thrown the blade at you!

Shouting, he quickly went into the hut and slammed the door, followed by the sounds of cleaning and a bit of swearing as some things didn't want to go back into the chest they had flown out of.

Ha-ha-ha, good old Krint, but it's good that he gave me the sword, even if it was in this way.

After lying there for a few more minutes, Vinter got up, shook himself off, and then headed for the familiar battlefield where he hoped to meet the elves who had caught him.

****

Having spent almost two hours on the road, he finally reached the place and, in his foolish manner, began to sneak towards it. However, coming closer he saw only the bodies of wolves, while in the places of the elves’ bodies strange greyish sprouts had appeared, and at the place of the Elf-girl there was nothing at all.

“Why the bloody hell have their bodies disappeared? And yet the wolves remain. Could it be that I am late and those pointy-eared bastards have done this? But then why is there nothing at the place of that bitch? So many bloody questions and almost no answers!”

While Vinter sat in the not very thick bushes, pondering, behind his back there came the sounds of rustling and then footsteps. Yet due to his peculiarity he did not hear them and so did not react, until a hand was placed upon his shoulder and a blade pressed to his neck.

“Whoa, whoa, careful with the weapon, or you might just kill me!”

Shouting, he slowly raised his hands upwards and continued to look ahead, so as not to provoke the unknown enemy behind him.

– ᚺᛟᛗᚢ ᛏᛁ ᛏᚢᛏ ᛞᚢᚱᚾᚢᚹᚨᛏᚨ ᛚᛁᚢᛞᚢᚾᚨ? ᛁ ᚲᚺᛟᛗᚢ ᛉᚨᛒᚢᚹ ᚾᚨ ᛋᛗᛖᚱᛏᚾᛟᛗᚢ ᛟᛞᚱᛁ ᚾᚨᛋᚺᛁᚲᚺ ᛒᚱᚨᛏᛁᚹ ᛏᚨ ᛋᛖᛋᛏᛖᚱ!?

“Elves! Bloody hell, I could have guessed. I… ne… wo… roh…”

– ᚺᚨᚺᚨ ᛏᛁ ᚾᛖ ᚹᛟᚱᛟᚺ? ᛈᚱᚨᚹᛁᛚᚾᛟ ᛒᛟ ᛏᛁ ᛉᚨ ᛋᛚᚨᛒᚲᛁᛁ ᛋᚺᚲᛟᛒ ᛒᚢᛏᛁ ᚹᛟᚱᛟᚺᛟᛗ ᛚᛁᚢᛞᛁᚾᛟ.

Continuing to hold the blade at Vinter’s throat, he began to laugh, whether at the pronunciation or at the fact that those words meant “I am not an enemy.” Yet even in such a situation Vinter tried to devise a plan to kill this bastard.

– ᛏᛁ ᛋᛗᛁᛋᚺᚾᚨ ᛚᛁᚢᛞᚢᚾᚨ! ᛏᛟᛗᚢ ᛉᚨᛒᛁᚱᚨᛁᛋᛁᚨ ᛉᚹᛁᛏᛋᛁ, ᚨᛚᛖ ᛋᚺᚲᛟᛒ ᚾᛁᚲᛟᛚᛁ ᚾᛖ ᛉᚨᛒᚢᚹ ᛗᛟᛁᛖᛁ ᛞᛟᛒᚱᛟᛏᛁ, ᛁᚨ ᛉᚨᛚᛁᛋᚺᚢ ᛏᛟᛒᛁ ᚾᛖᚢᛖᛚᛁᚲᚲᚾᛁ ᛈᛟᛞᚨᚱᚢᚾᛟᚲ

Having spoken these strange words, he shifted his blade into a more convenient position and with a sharp movement left a scar upon Vinter’s cheek which could no longer vanish without trace. At the moment this happened Vinter cried out from the sharp pain, and no longer restraining himself struck the elf in the stomach with his elbow.

He then fell to one knee and spun quickly towards the elf, after which he struck him again in the stomach, snatched a small dagger from his hands and, without a drop of pity, stabbed it under the pelvic bone, pulling it out sharply, which led to a loud scream and a great deal of blood.

The wounded elf clutched at the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but the enraged Vinter kicked his hands away. Yet because of that scream Vinter did not hear the arrow that struck the blade from his hands, nor the one that pierced his shoulder.

At that moment, through burning pain, Vinter again kicked the elf lying on the ground, then simply leapt to the earth, for he did not know where the damned archer was.

He then fell to one knee and spun quickly towards the elf, after which he struck him again in the stomach, snatched a small dagger from his hands and, without a drop of pity, stabbed it under the pelvic bone, pulling it out sharply, which led to a loud scream and a great deal of blood.

The wounded elf clutched at the wound, trying to stop the bleeding, but the enraged Vinter kicked his hands away. Yet because of that scream Vinter did not hear the arrow that struck the blade from his hands, nor the one that pierced his shoulder.

At that moment, through burning pain, Vinter again kicked the elf lying on the ground, then simply leapt to the earth, for he did not know where the damned archer was.

Vinter glanced at the wounded elf, and then at the arrow that had fallen a few centimetres from him.

“Bloody hell… again!”

And once more, after the cry, came the sound of an arrow, but this time it fell a few centimetres from the place that made Vinter a man. Because of this he could not bear it and struck the elf directly upon the wound so that he would no longer cry out.

But even so the arrows continued to fall near Vinter, and one even struck his backside, which besides pain caused agonising discomfort and limited his mobility. And while he, thanks to all the luck in the world, somehow dodged the arrows, the elf finally bled out, and silence followed.

After a moment he realised it was better to feign death in the hope that the other would come either to finish him off or to make sure, as his “brother.” Unfortunately for him, the elf did not approach even after ten minutes, nor after twenty. And all this time Vinter lay on his stomach on the ground, stifling cries of pain.

No longer able to endure the pain and the discomfort of his body’s position, he began slowly to crawl towards thicker bushes, to finally bandage his wounds and at least break the arrows that were still lodged in his body.

When he finally crawled away, he first tried to break the arrow in his shoulder with his hands, but due to the awkward position it did not work, so he decided to do the most foolish thing possible in such a situation namely to pull it out.

Grabbing the nearest branch with his hand, he quickly put it into his mouth and with all his strength pulled at the arrow. Through the pain he pulled it out and, without thinking long, pressed his hand to the wound to lessen the bleeding.

Continuing to press the wound, he with a less painful movement broke the arrow that stuck out of his backside.

Having finished this not very successful self-treatment, he crawled back to the elf he had stabbed and began to search him for anything valuable or useful in this situation. Yet apart from armour and two glass bottles with bright red liquid he found nothing.

“Bloody hell, life certainly did not prepare me for such a situation, especially for an arrow in the arse and lying beside a damned elf who even died without suffering! Vinter, calm yourself, you will manage, you will survive and kill that damned bastard, just wait a little longer.”

“But I swear, bastard, you will not die as quickly as this creature!” Finishing his muttering, he removed the elf’s breastplate and put it on himself so that the damned arrows would not wound him again.

Putting on the breastplate, he slowly rose and with all his strength kicked the elf’s corpse, and having gained a little moral satisfaction he headed in the direction from which the arrow that struck his shoulder had come.

After ten minutes the limping Vinter finally reached the place where traces of the elf who had jumped from the tree were visible, and several broken branches. Following them, he limped further, hoping that the elf was somewhere waiting for him or for the other elf.

After a few more minutes Vinter felt a sharp blow to the chest which knocked him onto his back, and when he looked he noticed an arrow protruding from the elf breastplate. Raising his head he saw the elf standing atop a tree, and another arrow gleaming in the sun flying towards him.

Reacting instantly, Vinter rolled to the left, but even so he did not manage to dodge completely, so the arrow struck the edge of the breastplate and glanced off, wounding Vinter’s left arm.

Because of this he cried out in pain and rolled desperately into denser bushes so that the elf would have worse visibility. “Bloody hell! I nearly died again from this bastard, and I bloody forgot with that Krint that they had a bow.”

“Think, Vinter, think how to take down that scum who only knows how to shoot arrows!” Thinking of his plan of action, he lightly slapped his cheeks with his palms, after which, as far as the arrow in his backside allowed, he rushed towards the elf in the hope of being faster.

Running, he immediately heard an arrow above him, and a moment later a sharp blow upon the shoulder armour. After this Vinter abruptly stopped and leapt into the bushes, realising that this tactic was certainly not the solution.

Having thought it over again, he found no better decision and tried once more to reach him. So he made another painful dash, but this time he did not feel arrows, for the elf had begun to descend to the ground to finish Vinter.

And when he descended, an arrow perfectly aimed struck Vinter in the leg, and another followed which hit the other leg. Because of this Vinter, unable to bear the pain, fell to the ground and groaned from the burning agony which only grew.

Bleeding and gritting his teeth in anger, Vinter looked at the Elf, who with all his appearance screamed that he would not let him die easily. So with his last strength Vinter grabbed the elf’s leg and tried to strike him between the legs, but the Elf simply pushed him away and kicked him in the face.

After this blow the Elf struck Vinter again as he lay on the ground, and then slowly began to pull the arrow from his left leg.

– ᛋᛈᛟᛞᛁᚹᚨᛁᚢᛋ, ᛚᛁᚢᛞᚤᚾᛟ, ᛏᛁ ᚹᛁᛞᚲᚺᛁᚢᛖᛋᚺ ᚹᛖᛋᛏᛁ ᛏᛟᛁ ᛒᛁᛚ, ᛋᚺᚲᛟ ᛉᚨᚹᛞᚨᚹ ᛏᛁᛗ ᛖᛚᚠᚨᛗ.

After Vinter’s incredible scream, the Elf thrust his finger into the wound and pressed to cause even more suffering.

– ᛈᚱᛖᚲᚱᚨᛋᚾᛟ ᛒᚨᚲᚺᛁᛏᚤ, ᛁᚨᚲ ᛏᛁ ᛋᛏᚱᚨᛉᛞᚨᛁᛖᛋᚺ ᛉᚨ ᛏᛖ ᛋᚺᚲᛟ ᛉᚲᛟᛁᚹ. ᚨᛚᛖ, ᛗᚨᛒᚢᛏᛁ, ᚹ ᛏᚢᛟᛁᛁ ᚺᛟᛚᛟᚹᛁ ᛉᚨᚱᚨᛉ ᛞᚢᛗᚲᛁ: ᛁᚨᚲ ᛗᛁ ᛞᛁᛉᚾᚨᛚᛁᛋᚺ ᛋᚺᚲᛟ ᛏᛋᛖ ᛏᛁ?

Not understanding a word the Elf said, Vinter screamed and writhed from the pain caused by the damned creature’s actions. Yet even in such a situation he did not want to die at the hands of an “Elf.” So he did something very risky: while the Elf was shouting something, he snatched a bottle and drank it.

– ᚺᚨᚺᚨ, ᛞᚢᚱᚾᚨ ᛚᛁᚢᛞᚢᚾᚨ! ᛏᛋᛖ ᛉᛁᛚᛚᛁᚨ ᛞᛁᛖ ᛏᛁᛚᚲᛁ ᚾᚨ ᛖᛚᚠᛁᚹ!

From Vinter’s actions the Elf laughed so loudly he could be heard tens of metres away. Yet his laughter did not last long, for the wound he had so viciously tormented began to heal.

In a moment the Elf’s face changed from joy to a panicked look, completely unable to comprehend why such a thing was happening to a human.