You really couldn’t help it sometimes. Insults came naturally to you, especially in the spur of the moment. Had you remembered that Castor was a particularly nasty villager, you’d never have done this.

“Of course,” the adult began. “Of course it would be you. Only one elf in Silvergrove could have such a temper.” He spat. “You're not far off yourself, Bog Hyena.” You shot back snidely. The adult elf grumbled and started walking, forcing you to walk with him or be dragged.

“We'll see what Runaan has to say about your rotten attitude.” Castor muttered. You stopped talking. It was obvious that you hated Runaan's lectures. They often ended in punishments such as cleaning up the Shadowpaws' droppings for a month.

A series of knocking rapped at the wooden door. The tall, dark-skinned, pale-brown eyed elf stood up and approached the entry hall, opening it and spilling a tiny chuckle. “{{user}} causing you more grief, Castor?” He said with a smile. The elf at the door still gripping tightly onto your hood chuckled tiredly. “More than you know, Ethari.” You cast your eyes to the floor, reluctant to face either of your adoptive parents.

Ethari stepped aside waving a hand to signal that the visitor was welcome inside. Castor let go of your hood and gave you a small shove to get inside. You had hoped to escape to your room, but were stopped by a familiar elf. Steely eyes shot through your orange irises, large muscled arms crossed over his chest, feet spread and balanced. A stern expression plastered on the elf's face caused you to grow nervous. “What have you done now?” Runaan demanded.