Young Writers Society

"Yes," she replies. "Been called such ever since a fallen angel named Raven dropped in to wreak havoc. Turned dark for a while, but since she was banished we've managed to return it to its natural state."

His eyes widened in surprise. "You have fallen angels?" he asked. He shouldn't have been so shocked to learn this, seeing that he was in the middle of talking to an elf, but fallen angels seemed like a different category of being than the ones that had already been mentioned.

She looks a bit surprised at his surprise but it doesn't catch her for long. "Yes, and we have angels, too. Demons, angels, and fallen."

The mention of demons made a small smile briefly flicker across his lips. Demons were something he was very familiar with, though he doubted their versions of them were the same.

That doesn't escape her, but she doesn't inquire. Instead, Rowan looks up at the sky, eyes flickering to gold for a moment.

He stared at her face. Had it just been his imagination, or had her eyes changed to a different color? He couldn't see why they would have, but he also were fairly certain that they had become gold for a brief few seconds. It wasn't the glowing eyes of a Goa'uld. That much he was sure about. Which was a relief - though he could have come up with some story as to why he had been acting the way that he had, he'd rather not pretend to be one of them unless he had to.

"Your eyes just became golden," Maahes said. "I'm sorry if that's normal for your kind and I'm making a big deal out of nothing, but most races from where I'm from don't do things like that."

She looks at him, studying him for several seconds before murmuring something in a foreign tongue, more to herself than anything else prior to answering. "When we see through the eyes of our bond our eyes usually change," she replies. "It's not a species thing, it has to do with whether or not we're linked."

"Oh," Maahes quietly said. He wondered what she had said in that foreign language. It was one that he hadn't heard before - which was an impressive feat, considering that he knew his fair share of them.

The chill, dark blanket of night slowly overtakes the ruins and the surrounding woods, leaving them in what feels like an eternal twilight until the sun drops just far enough in the sky.

As darkness overtook their little camp, Maahes' attention shifted the expanse of stars above them. His nonexistent heart ached for a home he sorely missed. He tried to recall how long it had been. One year? Two years? Possibly three? He had been away for much longer in the past, but the taunting of the stars made it feel like an eternity. The stars were a pale mockery of the chaos of his home, but it was all that he currently had.

If he had been the human he claimed to be, tears would have most likely been rolling down his cheeks. But he wasn't, so he instead stared up at the twinkling stars with a forlorn look of longing.

Her eyes tell a similar story of sorrow and yearning to return to her home - but no amount of wanting or wishing or praying will likely bring her there. She sighs and pulls a small, wooden flute from her boot, beginning to play a soft and beautiful yet haunting melody.

As the sound of the music reached his ears, he closed his eyes and listened to the sorrowful melody. Though no words were spoken, the moment felt intimate and sacred. Her song laid her emotions bare for him to see, and he felt as if he shouldn't have been privy to such a private thing.

The song slowly fades away through the wood as the eagle returns, landing nearby with a rabbit in her talons. The two exchange a look of mutual understanding as Rowan raises her gloved fist and the massive bird lands upon it, rousing.

"I should probably make us a fire," Maahes offered, getting to his feet. The thought of having to eat something made his insides squirm in disgust and agony. It wouldn't be the first time that he had to eat to conceal what he really was, but it didn't make the indigestion that would follow any easier to deal with.

He grabbed a bundle of sticks from the edge of their little campsite. When he returned, he kept his back turned to her. He couldn't let her know that he didn't have a tool to create a fire. A small flame appeared at the tips of his fingers. He carefully placed it among the bundle. Almost immediately, it burst into a glorious blaze.

"Damn, that was fast," she observes, skinning and gutting the catch.