Young Writers Society

The elf swiftly and silently climbed up the towering oak, using even the pettiest of branches to elevate him up. Two small silver scythes hung around his waist, covered in a long black cloak. A hood covered his long, platinum hair. Piercing yellow eyes, like a cat’s, rolled across the elf’s face calmly, almost lazily. He was near; the elf could feel it. The elf had to find him.

The elf finally reached the top, his head just barely sticking out of the receding branches of the immense oak. His eyes scanned the horizon, trying to receive a glimpse of what he was in search of. His eyes confirmed his suspicions. A shadowy silhouette moved in the dark cover of the trees. The elf smiled coldly, and followed after the figure, leaping from tree to tree with all the agility of an elf. His black robes fluttered behind him, whipping back and forth from the amazing speed of its owner. The figure came closer and closer, until its face came into view.

A young man slipped amongst the trees, honing his skills with the blade in his hands. The young man had a look of clear looks of youth on him as he continued to swing the blade. This appalled the elf. Was this boy truly one of them? It could not be so.

Suddenly, the young man burst into flames, his body searing with extreme heat as the flames danced around him. The young man let out a loud yell, and the fiery power shot away from him, flying into the sky in a flaming red sphere. The flames slowly dissipated, and the young man was alone again. Except for the elf.

The young man lifted up his sleeve, exposing a birthmark that crawled all the way up to his arm and onto his shoulder. It burned with a red glow. The young man swore, and quickly covered his arm again. He looked around suspiciously, and quickly started out of the forest.

The elf chuckled, holding tightly to the branches.

“Well now, my little warrior,” he said, “Time for us to play!”