“Hey, kiddo.” The alfar scout-archer Fionella joins me as I wander. “What are you up to?” She’s speaking the alfar’s beautiful language. Since I’ve spoken little else for the past five months, replying in the same tongue is automatic.

“Looking for my bow again.” I reply with the first thing that pops into my head. I’ve always felt that truth is a nebulous, malleable thing. The best lies aren’t actually lies—they’re truths that might not have been truths a moment ago—but are now.

“Want some help?”

No. “Sure.” I actually like Fionella. She taught me to become an archer. She’s a good teacher.
“What area were you in when you lost it?”

I chew my lip, mentally retracing my steps. “The morning of the final battle, Halla and I snuck out of the refuge and went… west. Maybe southwest. Then we realized the twins and Sten had followed us. Naturally, the monsters showed up before we could convince the littles to go back to the refuge.”

“Is that when…?”

“Oh no. That came later.”


Discover more: fantasy  sci-fi