Saga of a New World - (Audiobook Available)

5. A Mage's Mind: Hard Love

The dream is fuzzy.

She's in a place she associates with joy. A clearing in some forest. Smoke and the smell of alcohol and roasting meat fills the air.

The young she-elf is still in her armor. Now that the fight is done, the sweat-drenched clothing is starting to feel cold. Blood and mud covers the linen-like material of her pants. With a sharp exhale the woman drops the bag of loot she's carrying. For the first time since yesterday evening, her quivering fingers grab the helmet on her head. They find grip on the metal feathers coming out of the side, and with more effort than it should take, her hands lift the helmet of polished bronze off her head. With a quiet dong, the helmet that marks its wearer as a healer is dropped on the floor. Her mother would kill her if she saw her drop this priceless family heirloom from the good old days on the floor like that, but the young elven woman doesn't care. Her nose hurts where the helmet rested on it, and with a dull thud she drops onto a fallen tree. It feels good to sit. She opens her belt and loosens the straps that hold her leather armor onto her body. A crossbow bolt is still stuck in the leather, right over her left lung. The leather stopped the sniper's missile, though just barely. She can feel the iron tip brush against her skin as she peels the mixture of leather and fur off her body. The thin shirt underneath is drenched in sweat and as the cold wind blows against it, a shiver runs through her body. She quickly pulls it off, exposing her naked skin to the chilling winter wind. Next, her sore feet are dragged out of thick and stinking boots, and finally the blood-soaked pants lose contact with her legs. What was once a human woman's green wedding dress now acts as a towel, wiping away the mud and sweat that clings to the elf's pale skin. Without another thought, she drops the garment on the floor.

She stumbles past her friend, Tili, who is slowly unwrapping the black bandages that make up most of her scouting armor. On a nearby tree, the auxiliaries have prepared fresh clothes. As a healer, she is one of the last to leave the battlefield, but tradition, and basic decency, dictate that the best clothes are to be left for those who come home last. The Patriarch of her house watches his warriors undress, bloody hammer still in hand. His pale face is covered in mud and blood, but his eyes are still alive with the unnatural vigor of the Golden Invocation. As she passes him, a hand slams into her shoulder. "Well done out there. Your mother taught you well."

The young woman's sensitive skin burns from the impact, but she just stumbles towards the fresh clothes without a reply. Unlike his, her body is not infused with powerful magic and she just wants something to wear. The armor was like a prison, but walking around naked is still a bit weird. As she grabs a simple white dress that smells of soap, she hears him praise the next warrior behind her. The elf quickly pulls the garment over her head, puts on a pair of leather slippers, and steps into the camp.

She's been through several skirmishes, helped burn down a village, and nearly knocked herself unconscious healing the wounded, yet the pounding in her chest infuses her body with new energy. Her eyes fall onto a fallen tree that has been turned into a makeshift bench, and with quivering steps, her legs carry her to it.

She waits, anticipation coursing through her veins like fire.

The reason for her excitement is a man named Fohr. A male elf from House Lorthan. The village they attacked had ten Black Ones there. The group of human mages helped the villagers and soldiers in the fight against their attack. The elves ultimately won, but it cost them. A few were killed and even more wounded, Fohr among them.

She's not sure exactly how it happened, but he must've gotten too close to one of the human fire mages or one of their fireballs. She's not too familiar with fire magic, aside from the fact that it easily overloads force fields and that the wounds it causes are hard to heal. The Black Ones' fire mage blasted Fohr with flames and turned most of his front into charcoal. Novi spent most of her time healing him. When he woke up, he looked at her all starry-eyed. They talked a bit and he promised to challenge her tonight.