The Harrowed Half-Breed: A Tarnished Lands Story (Forgotten Woods Book 1)

The Pack

~Barne~

The bastard child was brought to the custodian, Nanis, whose duties included, but were not limited to, rearing the young. His cocked head exposed his concern as he gazed upon this mysteriously old child. Something was different about this one, he knew. Wondering if his old eyes were fooling him, Nanis grabbed the frightened child by the arm, taking a closer look.

Running his hands through the soft growth on the child's crown confirmed his suspicions. There were no buds sprouting where they ought to be. He wasn't a folk at all; he was an imposter.

"Excuse me," Nanis cried out to the guard.

"What's the problem?" the guard asked, annoyed that Nanis had interrupted him while admiring his blade.

"Where did this child come from?"

"The old chieftess. Why? Is it damaged or scarred?"

The little one's eyes looked up at Nanis; innocence defeated duty.

"Uh..."

"Well, spit it out. I'm already late for patrol, and my blade is getting hungry."

"Doesn't he have any belongings?" Nanis came up with the first acceptable truth he could generate.

"Of course not. The traitor hid this child slave inside her cleft, for...years maybe."

"Okay."

"That's it?" the guard asked, narrowing his inquisitive eyes.

"Yes. Thank you."

"Old bark. Wasting my time with his wasteful words," the guard said, watching his own lips move through his blade's reflection as he walked away.

The magic of young often penetrates the inner pits of the good. Only the truly wicked can resist their charms; and Nanis was no more evil than anyone else in the tribe.

"What have we got here?" he asked, using distorted glass to inspect the child closer than his tired eyes could.

It didn't take long for Nanis to realized that this was no imposter, it was a half-breed—half human, half folk. Never had he seen a half-breed reach this length of existence. In the past, any and all half-breeds were either executed on sight, or left outside of the confines of the forest. They never grew to such an age.

Half-breeds were born with the fundamental features of the folk, along with the blood of their other halves flowing freely through their veins, softening their bodies. This resulted in wondrous opportunities for their kind—not limiting them to the same restrictions the full-bloods had to contend with, though it also served as a detriment, blocking them from the inherently enchanting effects of being a pedigree.

"Can you walk?" Nanis asked, noticing that the child seemed to be standing on its own.

Not being an expert in half-breed affairs, the elder had no idea how old it was or how developed the kid should be.

Never having left the confines of his mother's spacious cleft, he felt alone and frightful. Reluctantly, he took a couple paces, and did a full turn on his heels, never taking his eyes off Nanis.

"Excellent. You understand me, don't you?"

The child's expression was unfazed by the question.

Nanis was intrigued by the rarity of his new-found subject. "What's your name?" he asked, wondering if the child was brought up outside of their customary methods.

The child thought about what his mother called him, and until this day, he had never had to say his label out loud. "Bar...nacle," he struggled to make it sound the same way his mother did.