The Cost of Life

The Human Enemy’s Land, Eleven Hundred Years Before

The human man remained in the farthest corner of the cell away from Thaelen, huddled in on himself, his skin growing paler and his shaking worse as the night progressed towards the morning. Thaelen sat, his elbows on his knees and his head resting against the wall, watching him through narrowed eyes and wondering at which point his hunger would drive him mad.

“Do you have a name?” Thaelen’s voice was a hoarse whisper, his mouth and throat so desiccated that speaking was painful. His breath steamed on the bitterly cold air.

“Not that it matters… Gera,” the human was shaking so hard he stuttered his words.

“Gera, you are dying,” Thaelen told him. “You know this, do you not?”

Gera’s moan was wretched.

“I need for you to live,” Thaelen said through his teeth. His clothing was starting to dry, but he was bitterly cold. The cold would not kill him, he knew, but it was very painful to endure. “If you die, I die also. You need me to live, as