Unknown by Poppy

perfection.
She found herself gazing at him as he hunted. He had come to a tree, where he reached for a dagger at his belt. As he turned to glance round to the deer, she noticed how his chest and neck muscles tightened, rain dripping from his face and down his chest. She felt surprised at the new sensations she could feel rippling through her body, and yet, in some way she didn’t understand, she liked it. Her breathing had quickened, her heart was beating faster, and there was new warmth inside her that had nothing to do with the fire.
Then, quick as lightning, a dagger whipped through the air and pierced the deer deep into its neck. It gave an inaudible cry and fell flat, motionless, its death quick and painless. Villid rose upright and turned to Aya, his hands curved to fists. He gave her a small nod, the rain sliding down his skin, his eyes burning into hers as if they were penetrating her very heart.
    “I’ve never had deer before,” said Aya, as she chewed on the large piece of roasted venison. She was trying hard not to look at Villid, who hadn’t put his tunic back on.
Villid didn’t know what to say in response. This E lf woman confused him slightly. All his life he had been taught that he should hate his enemies, hate everything and anything different to the bloodthirsty Tyrans he knew so well. But somehow, he couldn’t bring himself to hate this Elf – Aya. She seemed too fragile, too innocent to deserve to be hated. He knew how she’d watched him as he had hunted the deer. But he couldn’t talk to her about it – how could he?
“Thank you,” said Aya, wiping her lips carefully with her fingers. Villid jumped slightly and his piece of meat slid out of his fingers and onto the cave floor. Feeling foolish, he scooped it back up and stared at it.
“You’re welcome,” he said eventually.
There was a silence, where Aya nervously edged closer to the fire to warm her hands. The storm outside roared, and an early darkness was starting to fall. It felt strange that only a few days ago, she was walking along the field of wheat with Neecrid.
Neecrid... it hadn’t yet seemed so apparent, so obvious, that everything Aya had known about life was now gone. Aya’s hand suddenly flew to her mouth as she choked back tears. Everyone she knew was dead. Neecrid, her father, her brother, all the Elves she ever studied with, worked with, loved ...
“Aya,” said Villid softly. He couldn’t fight the guilt that welled up inside him as he watched the E lf girl. Tears fell down her face from her emerald-green eyes. Sadness tore at him like never before – never had he felt compassion or empathy for a single creature, much less an Elf woman...
He touched her arm and she flinched, sniffed and turned her face away. Villid felt he must fill the silence, break the barrier that he could almost physically feel between them.
“You... you can do magic?” he asked, gesturing towards the crackling fire that flickered at the cave’s entrance. Aya wiped her cheek with the sleeve of her dress and looked up at him. “You can’t do magic?” she asked.
The response surprised him; he couldn’t think of anything to say so he shook his head. Aya half-smiled and turned to face him properly, her slender legs tucked beneath her. “Really, magic has been forbidden for a long time,” she said. “But some of us learn for survival. Forest Elves aren’t known for brute strength,” she whispered the last two words, as if they scared her, and glanced at the weapons that lay on the ground, their shadows leaping up the wall in the firelight.
“What about you?” she found herself asking. “Don’t Tyrans know magic?”
Usually, Villid would have found this level of ignorance amusing, but he found nothing funny about this situation. She seemed so interested.
“We rely on physical weapons,” he said. “When we are born into a tribe, our number is branded on our chest to mark our position in war,” he gestured to the place above his