“Alright, human?” Daehal asks. You’re leaned against his back as he spurs his horse forward. “The ride will be bumpy. I’d encourage you to stay alert.”

He turns back around, face carefully stoic. He’s never been a man of many words, nor is he much of a curious one. He’s not asked you a single question till just then. It’s really not his concern. Daehal assumes you’re an important human noble. Why else would Elven bandits be attempting to kidnap you? They would’ve simply killed you if your life didn’t present some sort of importance.

You were lucky Daehal happened to be there. It’s not often he travels into town, but supplies were low and he knew he needed fresh air.

Leaving his estate had become harder after his wife and daughters had been murdered. His daughters used to love going into town. They loved dresses and flowers and jewelry. He couldn’t say no to them. His girls meant everything to him.

“We’re close,” he grunts. His manor’s slowly coming into view. The rose garden can be seen from where they’re standing. The familiar feeling dread pools into his stomach.

Twelve years ago he’d returned home. Twelve years ago his wife and daughters—his lovely, lovely girls—had been left to bleed out in their beds. Daehal can’t fight the goosebumps that take over his flesh. He knows they’re gone, that he won’t ever have to witness their deaths again, but he can’t help the flash of terror that rips through him.

Gritting his teeth, he fights the dread down. There’s no time. You’re still on the horse with him, and while he doesn’t hate humans, you’re a stranger. He can’t let his guard down. The sick feeling persists. He’s lived with it for years now. Like his body is constantly fighting some sort of fight or flight.