A yelp startled Joenek awake. It was Edileth. She was stiff in her bedroll, her face contorted and her breaths shallow.

Her skin appeared to have a sickly cast to it. Joenek scrambled to Edileth, pulled the blanket off her body, and immediately saw the ashen tint in her skin. She was shivering, too, as though they were camped atop a snow-capped mountain.

Why is she like this?

He felt no signs of internal damage on her arms or legs; she had a cracked rib on her left, but nothing serious enough to cause her deathly appearance.

Joenek startled. He noticed it now that he was so near – the odd stains blossoming around her tunic. All the places where the bekhron blood had splattered left upon it a putrid, purple stain.

He tore Edileth's tunic open. Joenek's heart sank.

Any open wounds that had been touch by bekhron blood had swollen to half the size of his fist. They oozed with a sickly substance, the skin around them discoloured black and blue.

Joenek gagged at the stench of rot.

Oh, Feridh, he thought to himself, calling upon the deity commonly worshiped by the elves of Gael-Narendh. I need help.

Joenek searched through their packs, but his waterskin was down to its last drops, and Edileth's had leaked during their skirmish with the bekhron.

He drew what little was left of his waterskin into a piece of cloth and dabbed Edileth's chapped lips. She gave a fevered murmur.

"Don't die just yet." Joenek rose to his feet. "I'll try to find more water."

He raced back to the center of the ruined town, where once a grand fountain had stood. It was now no more than a damaged circle of rock filled with the rubble of a once-statue, no trace of water left in its basin.

He scanned the underground town again. He doubted there would be any provisions left; the damage seemed to have been done centuries ago.

He scanned the underground town once more. He doubted there would be any provisions left; the damage seemed to have been done centuries ago. Perhaps the tunnels would lead to better luck.

He chose one closest to the niche where Edileth lay and hurried towards it, when something caught his eye.

A pile of twigs were resting in a corner between the remains of two buildings. They were black and charred. It was difficult to tell for certain, but it may have burnt two or three days prior.

There's been no other signs of life here. Hopefully, it was only a passing traveller, just as they were.

Joenek tightened his grip on his sword and continued toward the tunnel. He stopped at its entrance. Its walls were cool beneath his hand; its texture uneven and rough. The faint sound of water came from far within, pushed along by a breeze.

His rushed down the passage, his ears straining for the slightest hint of movement, his eyes piercing through the solid darkness. A strange scent rose and fell with the breeze. It was already gone before he could determine its source.

It smelled, at first, like the sweet fruit of the rendlin tree. Another waft drifted into the air, stronger this time, and now it reminded Joenek of the spices sold by merchants of Jemmik and Pemme-Rinne.

His stomach growled, his head grew light, almost giddy. His grip on his sword loosened. It fell with a clang on the rocky floor, but it hardly mattered – the smell was stronger now, entrancing, delightful, filling his entire body with numbness.

He came to a chamber, feeling as though he walked in a dream. The place was glowing with the light of the moon.

The moon? No, that could not be right.

Joenek tried to focus, to escape the fog shrouding his mind. But every time he fought, his head pulsed with a throbbing pain. It beat and pounded, only subsiding when he let his thoughts wander.

Joenek lowered himself to the ground, exhausted and befuddled. The floor was covered in great, wide leaves, curling at the edges like an assortment of serving platters. Thick vines trailed around them, over and under, in and out.

An acrid scent filled the air; bile rose in his throat. Pain tore through his arms, as though something was wrenching them from their sockets.

Joenek writhed in pain. He tried to crawl away, but could only manage to squirm.

Something shuffled – the sound of something heavy being dragged – and a rhythmic hiss filled the air.

Slowly, his head cleared, the blood returned to his feet, and he realized with rapid dread that he was the one being dragged. Someone – something – was hauling him by the arms.

He looked up at his captor. A cruel smile curled over an onyx-black face. Blood splatters dotted the surface – dark, hollow eyes. Why would his captor be wearing a mask?

They were short, but their grip was strong and unyielding. Joenek struggled and received a knee to his back for his efforts.

The impact pushed the last of the fog away. Joenek gasped. Edileth!

How long had he been gone? He needed to get back to her!

He threw the weight of his body to the side. His captor lost their grip, and Joenek lunged to his feet, pulling a knife from his boot in one fluid motion.

The movement proved too much for him. His head spun. His throw was off-center, slow.

The stranger darted toward him, easily dodging his poorly thrown blade. Joenek cursed and made a run for it, but he was sluggish, as though he were wading through dense water.

Something slammed against the back of his head. Pain ripped through him and he crumpled into a heap.

The mask leered over him just as a dark haze clouded his vision.

There was humming. It was a rothnak's voice, soft and sweet. She hummed an unfamiliar tune, low and almost melancholy. There was power behind her song – if she so desired, she could fill a vast theatre with her strong voice – and yet she hummed it with a precise quietness.

There was a throbbing at the back of his head. And suddenly, as a tide rises and swallows the shore, he remembered everything.

He sat up with haste and immediately regretted his decision. A fierce pain started in his head and coursed down his back to the ends of his arms and legs. He moaned. But before he could fully grasp the situation, a hand shot from behind and held the tip of his own knife against his throat.

"Tell me – and speak true; what is your name and your purpose for being here?" A warm voice spoke from behind him.

Heart beating rapidly, Joenek tried to turn to see the face of the one who spoke.

"Move not," she said.

"Show me your face, and I might answer."

Silence hung in the air, and Joenek wondered if the rothnak would slice his throat. After a long moment, there came a shuffling sound and soon a beautiful rothnak moved to stand before him.

It seemed they were somewhere near the entrance of the cavern. She stood now under the morning sunlight streaming around them in splotches. Her auburn hair gleamed in its warmth, framing her in fiery waves. She had an elegant look about her; high brows, bright, knowing eyes. She looked capable of piercing through any deceit, daring him to even try.