Again picking up from last week.
Dakkas was so focused on Kashrya that he didn’t notice when Pashevel stepped away, and was startled by the tap of a leather water skin on his shoulder.
“You sound like you could use this.”
“Thank you.” Dakkas took the skin and drank, just a sip, feeling his stomach cramp as the liquid poured into it. He took a second drink of what had to be the sweetest water he had ever tasted, and handed the skin back to him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” Pashevel replied. The warmth of his voice was soothing, and Dakkas felt himself start to relax, start to believe that everything would be all right.
He looked down at Kashrya again, and at the Paladin who was asking her God to heal her, and felt a wave of awe that these two strangers would tend to them in this way. “I wish there was something I could do.” He looked up at Pashevel again, a plea in his dark eyes. “I don’t know how to help her.”
Pashevel: a simple Elven Bard — and the Crown Prince
Marlia: a Paladin of Arithen, the Elven God of Justice – seeking vengeance for the destruction of her village
Dakkas: heir to the Drow throne — if his father and elder half-brother don’t kill him first
Kashrya: raised among a tribe of nomadic Humans, she is unaware of her true heritage — or of the prophecy that made her mother an outcast
Their goal: build a bridge between the Elves and their outcast brethren, the Drow, reuniting them and undoing the damage caused in a time so far gone that history has become legend and legend has become myth.
But first, they have a problem to solve: how do you stop a war that hasn’t started?
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