The forest was even more foreboding at night.  The new moon and the few visible stars cast little light on the mist that swirled around Catlia’s feet.  The silence was only broken by the occasional snap of a twig under her companion’s boot.  

            Catlia hadn’t been able to help herself.  Even if Xillmeth was hunting her personally, she wouldn’t let someone else get hurt.  The only reason that the demon hound had been in the woods was in search of the deserter.  

            She tried to feel anger at the events of the last few days, but a black void in her core swallowed all feelings that presented themselves; except one.  Determination.  A determination that no one would die because of her.  She would slink off into the darkest corner of the world to be forgotten by history.

            Until then, she would do better.  She had been taught to do better.  The thought of her mentor caused her muscles to tense, making the tear in her wing protest its abuse.  He would be out there somewhere looking to end her.  Realizing she was a liability to their safety yet again, Catlia resolved to get them out of the woods that were looking increasingly like a deathtrap.

            This forest was a massive no man’s land.  Even though the human empire had extended its domain over the majority of the land that the dragonkin had inhabited, this extensive forest had resisted all efforts at settlement.  After a time, they had lost interest in such an unprofitable venture that resisted their every move, leaving the forest as a gaping hole that swallowed the majority of the eastern half of the empire.  Over time, even its name was forgotten and now it was simply referred to as the Eastern Forest.   Aside from the few remaining villages on the edges of these woods, the only things that lived out here were the trees and the animals who called it home.

            A few steps behind, Emmeran cursed his new body as he stepped on another twig.  He had known how to live in the woods since he was a child, but now his body betrayed his best efforts at silence.  The mist collecting in the dark corners of the forest looked like phantoms, waiting to spring from their alcove when he least expected it.

            He doubted he could repeat his performance from yesterday.  Though the succubus had encouraged him to rest back in their muddy haven, he hadn’t been able to trust her enough to close his eyes.  

            His eyes turned toward the pants, bunched up on top of his oversized boots.  How he managed to run from that monstrosity was beyond him.  He paused to roll the cuff of his pants again, then sped up to return to his position behind Catlia, catching his wings on several branches as he rushed by.  

            Catlia couldn’t believe that someone who grew up as close to the forest as the village of Eastbourne wouldn’t know how to move silently through such a familiar environment.  Hearing yet another *crack* behind her, she whirled around, bristling.

            “Do you not know how to be quiet?”

            Emmeran froze.  After a pregnant pause he lied. “I never had the occasion to need to.”

            Catlia’s eyes narrowed.  “Then I will teach you,” she sighed as she resigned herself to this new chore.

            They continued to walk in silence.  Emmeran wondering how he could hide his background and the succubus wondering what god she had offended to give her such bad luck.  

            They passed the darkest hours of the night in their ponderings and as the sun began to rise on a new day, Catlia broke the silence. 

            “Ilandru, when you walk through the forest, the most important thing is observation.  If you don’t notice the things that alert others to your presence, then you won’t stay hidden.”

            This wasn’t something new and Emmeran struggled to keep an annoyed expression from crossing his face.  Catlia turned and stared at him.

            “You think you know this already.”

            Emmeran thought back to the birds from yesterday.  Obviously he knew how to tell if someone was coming.  And besides, what could this creature teach him?

            Catlia took on a professorial appearance as she instructed, “As you think you are observant, what has been following us for the last half hour?”

            Emmeran stopped.  Looking around, a cold feeling rose from inside him.  Was it their hunters? Had they caught up to them at last?  It couldn’t be.  The demon was too casual for that.  So what was it?

            Catching back up to Catlia, Emmeran glanced around nervously, but didn’t answer.

            She glanced over her shoulder and saw his fear.  A victorious smirk crossed her face and with a shrug of her shoulders, she stated,  “There was nothing, but it is just as important to know what isn’t there as what is.”

            “Let’s play a game.  We point out any signs of life around us…”

            Emmeran paused “Where are we going?” he interjected.

            Catlia continued on, waiting just a little too long before replying.  “West.  Away from anyone hunting us.”

            A short time later, they noticed a tower through the trees in a small clearing. The derelict building stood on top of a knoll that gave it a view over the trees of the surrounding forest. 

            Catlia stuck out her arm, holding Emmeran in the shadow of an extra large tree.

            “A mage tower.” She whispered in awe.  “I thought all of these were destroyed in the war with the dragonkin.”  When the Alliance turned on the dragonkin, they had burned much of the forest.  The villages of the dragonkin had been burned as the trees that grew between their homes torched the houses that their shade had protected for generations.  Though the forest had recovered, the ruins of the dragonkin had never been rebuild.  The only things that had survived the great conflagration were those things that were protected from mundane eyes.  

            This mage tower was one such thing.  The mage towers of the dragonkin were universally feared as a symbol of the elemental mages who lived in them.  All dragonkin had some affinity for magic.  The color of their wings broadcast their affinity to the world.  Blue for water, green for nature, brown for earth and red for fire.  Most only had a modest ability to manipulate the world around them and relied on the natural strength of their bodies, but the few who mastered their elements often isolated themselves in towers to further study the mysteries of the world around them.

            Their most famous creations were the Void marks- a magical language made up of flowing arches and strange symbols.  The precision necessary to achieve the desired effect made their use exceedingly rare.  They didn’t work like magic and seemed to exist outside of reality altogether.  Few other than the dragonkin would notice their placement and only those attuned to their element could learn to read them.   

            While magic could be fought, the Void would penetrate even the most powerful barriers.  The marks could not stop themselves once their power was unleashed.  The text had an eerie look to it and all who had the gift to see it knew it wasn’t to be messed with.

            Catlia cautiously left the protection of the woods, as if the tower itself held some malice toward the newcomers who disturbed its vigil over the forest.  As she approached the base, she unknowingly walked past the worn shapes of the Void etched into the stone apron around the tower.  In ages past this inscription would have protected the tower from inquisitive eyes, but through age and neglect, the marks had long ago lost their power.

            Crossing the clearing to catch up with his protector, Emmeran paused at the sight of the unsettling marks guarding the tower.  Reaching the door, Catlia pushed against it gently.  It fell from its hinges, falling flat on the ground with a bang that echoed through the interior of the tower.  Dust swirled up from the ground and filled the circular room, making Catlia sneeze at the irritation.  In the back, a stairwell led up to the rooms above, and the caves below.

            Taking the stairs to the top, Catlia led her companion into the structure.  Through the cobwebs, more marks could be seen - etched into the stonework of the walls.  Some still glowed with their forbidden power.  Emmeran shivered at the thought of the rumors of what they could do if treated carelessly.  Reaching the top, they found themselves in a room that looked like a study.  A bookshelf stood against a wall, though most of its books lay scattered over a rotten desk in the middle of the room.  A dusty chair was shoved back from the desk as if the last person to occupy it had been too busy to replace it properly.  On the cardinal points of a compass were four glassless windows, and out the window to the east, an angry plume of smoke could be seen rising above the forest from the direction they came.  

            Catlia walked over to the bookshelf and pulled a dusty tome from its place as Emmeran gazed out the window.  “Do you think anyone made it out alive?” the whispered query hanging between them like a presence that neither wanted to confront.

            “From what I saw, no,” her quiet response resounded in his head like a clanging cymbal, confirming his worst suspicions.  “It isn’t like my people to keep slaves.” Her doleful expression made her opinion of the practice obvious. “Let’s go.  There isn’t anything of use to us here, and if we found this tower, then they can too.”  Catlia added the book she had been examining to the desk and strode out of the room.

            Reluctantly, Emmeran followed Catlia down the stairs and into the morning sun.

            By the time the sun had reached its zenith, Emmeran was exhausted.  His dainty feet slid around inside his oversized boots creating blisters anywhere they touched the leather.  His pants were much too big and continually tripped him up.  Worst of all, his back was turning red where his wings had ripped his shirt in their thrust towards freedom.  He tried not to let his fatigue show, but as the distance between him and Catlia increased it became painfully obvious that he was in no shape to continue.  

            Looking over her shoulder to ascertain how far behind her companion had fallen, a look of pity crossed her face.  She paused and reached to one of the leather pouches on the belt around her waist.  Pulling a shirt and a small coil of twine from their hiding place, she held them out like a carrot in front of a horse's mouth.

            “If you want these, you can use them.” an uncomfortable look crossing her face.

            “I don’t want your charity.” Emmeran muttered under his breath, knowing full well that he couldn’t refuse it either.

            “Whether you want it or not, it’ll cover your back and hold up your pants, though I don’t have anything to help with the blisters.”

            The last comment earned an incredulous look from Emmeran.

            “Your limp betrays you.”

            Emmeran seethed at the thought of owing a favor to a creature such as her.  His aching body made his mood even more foul.

            “I said, I don’t want your charity.” he said, a hard edge creeping into his voice.  “I wouldn’t wear something that a beast such as you had touched.”  

            Catlia’s eyes narrowed at his words.  “You know anyone who saw you wouldn’t hesitate to put you in the same group with the rest of us ‘beasts’” she snapped in retort to his insult.

            Dropping the shirt and twine, she turned and stalked into the trees, coldly calling out behind her “You are more prejudiced than the dragonkin of legends,” the steel in her voice cutting into its target.

            Emmeran was stunned.  He was still human, even if his skin was different.  And he had wings.  And horns.  But you can’t make someone not human who was human.  Emmeran fumed as he picked up the shirt and threaded the twine around his waist, chasing after his tormentor.

            She was right though.  In the darkness, one would have been hard-pressed to tell the two of them apart just from their silhouettes.  Maybe it wasn’t the race that mattered, but the character.  No.  Who was he fooling, that was crazy talk.  The demons had killed his family, just like the Elves and the Dwarves were always trying to enslave the human capital of Brironwell.  They all hated humans, so it only made sense that he wouldn’t trust them either.

            It was only common sense not to trust people who lived to enslave them.  That didn’t make him prejudiced.  If he put any trust in that demon, he would be asking the gods to curse him with the fate he would deserve.  

            They spent the rest of that day in silence and when they finally stopped that evening, you could cut their tension with a knife.  

            There wasn’t anything to cook over their fire and water was hardly enough to relieve the hunger in Emmeran’s stomach.  Catlia sullenly lay next to a log, her back to Emmeran.  He watched transfixed by the light dancing on her form-fitting armor.

            “Why are the demons hunting you?”  Emmeran hadn’t been able to stop wondering why they were being hunted all day.  Back in the tower, Catlia had shivered as she mentioned their pursuers as if she knew them.  

            Catlia winced, refusing to meet his eyes.  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

            The only sound was the crackling of the fire and the crickets chirping their evening song.  Occasionally a predator would cry out in the woods, though nothing could scare her like the prospect of her unit walking in on them.

            “You get first watch.  I need to sleep.”  Her words left little room for discussion.

            Emmeran stared into the flickering flames.  Who knew what tomorrow would hold.  Or the day after.  They were at least a hundred miles from the edge of the forest.  But not only that, he was changed, and trying to return things to the way they had been would be a waste of time and almost certainly useless.  He was surprisingly okay with that.  Shouldn’t he be more upset about the fragile body he found himself in?  ‘I just haven't had time to think about it yet.  I'm sure it will hit me someday.’  Reassuring himself, he settled into his seat by the fire, letting the heat assuage his fears.

            ‘What was she thinking about?’ The blond succubus covered herself, using her wings as blankets to forming a barrier against the cool evening breeze.  How much did she suspect?  If she knew what had happened there would be consequences.  He found himself surprised that he cared what she thought of him.

            “Only a beast, huh Ilandru?” Catlia whispered.  

            Emmeran blushed, embarrassed at being reminded of his statement earlier that day and of the lie that he lived in front of her.  She had been nice enough, even reached out to teach him a skill, but he wouldn’t be accepting handouts from her.

            Emmeran’s breath hitched.  “I'm not going to apologize.”

            The sound of the crickets was the only response he would get.