Her body limp in his arms, he threw his head back and looked to the heavens. He could still feel her blood, moist against his skin. She was warm, her grip still firm on his arms. His heart ablaze, he held her closer, pressing her face against his chest. He allowed her name to escape his lips one last time. “Kailyn…”

******

“My love for you runs deeper than the sparkling oceans, Menenzuul,” she said in her melodic voice, her arms around him. Her angular face with those shining emerald eyes looked up to him, glowing brightly and beaming beauty. He smiled softly as he studied her, brushing a strand of her raven hair behind a pointed ear with his rough hand.

Around them, the forest was serene. The wind blew softly through the trees, their leaves rustling as the sunlight filtered through with a green tint. Here and there, birds were singing sweetly. The stream that ran through the woods was flowing strong, it’s noises caressing the ears. He angled his head down, thick brown braids of hair falling to either side of his face, and pressed his lips against hers. She hugged him tighter and returned the kiss.

Her hand moved up to his cheek, rubbing it softly. She chuckled as the stubble upon it scratched and pulled away from him. “This hair is becoming a hazard to my health,” she joked.

Menenzuul chuckled softly, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. She smiled to him, her eyes sparkling. “The more I shave the worse it becomes, you know,” he explained with a slight smile of his own. “I know you elves are not used to it, but with time it will become commonplace.”

She did not reply, but rather slipped her arms around his neck and pulled him close, pecking a kiss upon his lips. He wrapped his big arms around her, holding her against his bare chest as she placed a hand on the back of his head. Their cheeks together, she whispered to him softly. “Our love being forbidden only strengthens it.”

He held her closer. “For you, I would fight the gods,” he whispered into her ear.

******

He looked down to her face, crimson blood speckled upon her pale skin. Gritting his teeth, Menenzuul gently placed her lifeless body upon the ground, the stream running slower as though in mourning. A hand moving up to his face, he stroked the stubble upon his square jaw, his deep brown eyes misty. Shutting them tightly, he hung his head. “I don’t know why you took her from me,” he muttered to himself, “but I will see to it that her death will not go unpunished…even if it is you I must slay.”

He rose slowly as he opened his eyes, looking down to his hands. They were stained with her blood. He clenched his fists, veins bulging on his forearms from beneath the black tattoos. Finally, he let out a shaky breath and began to gather wood to construct the funeral pyre.

******

The cleric looked to Menenzuul with soft blue eyes, undiscriminating eyes full of benevolence. Menenzuul nodded solemnly. He was dressed in his finest kilt, black with red plaid designs upon it. His chest was bare except for the sash over his shoulder. His finely toned body was adorned with tattoos in various tribal designs, all of them black and abstract save for the skull upon each shoulder. With a smile, he turned back to Kailyn, whose hands were in his, their blood mixing.

She was wearing a lovely white gown, reaching right down to the forest floor. Her emerald eyes shone with a new light as she smiled back to him. “With the blessings of Lady Cirynn, Goddess of the Woodlands and all its inhabitants, I declare your spirits one. May you live long and happily with each other,” said the priest. The cuts in their hands pressed together, pain meant nothing. They were bound to each other now.

From beneath the sash, Menenzuul produced a small scarf that matched his kilt, taking her hand and using it to cover her wound. She smiled softly and took out a white cloth, binding his cut with it. Their lips met in a kiss, arms slipping around each other. With a smile, the cleric began off to allow them time alone.

“Menenzuul!” the shout rang out through the trees, a deep and coarse voice filled with anger. Menenzuul pulled away, his eyes darting to the source of the disturbance. There stood a large man, his long beard of brown braided. He wore a kilt much like the one Menenzuul had on, with tall fur boots. The man’s brown eyes glowed with fury. The glint of steel caught Menenzuul’s eye, bouncing off the head of the axe in the man’s hand.

Menenzuul took a step back as he father approached, his boots thudding against the floor. Several more of his tribesmen appeared from behind trees, all of them with looks of disgust. As they neared, Menenzuul instinctively moved in front of Kailyn, a hand held up to ensure that she stayed back. His father stomped right up to him, speaking through grit teeth. “My son…the one who is to take control of the tribe when I pass…with an elf?”

Menenzuul took a deep breath. “Yes father, with an elf. We have been married, and she will be the mother of my children…of your grandchildren.”

His father growled, smashing the broad side of the axe into Menenzuul’s head, sending his son to the ground. Kailyn was immediately on her knees beside him. His father spat. “You are a disgrace to this tribe. Mixing blood with an elf of all things. You will learn boy, I will not have the bloodline tainted!” he shouted just before reaching out and grabbing Kailyn by the hair. He tugged her to her feet as she let out a whimper.

Menenzuul let out a growl and leapt to his feet, lashing out at his father savagely. Taken by surprise, his father fell backwards. The attack lasted for only a few moments, as the rest of his father’s party was quickly upon him, raining blows onto his body. He covered his head as he was beaten into submission, though his heart pressed him to fight back. His father pulled himself to his feet, blood in his beard and streaming from his nose.

“You lash out at your own father?” he growled in anger. “Now I will show you what elven bitches are good for!” He grabbed Kailyn by the hair again as she let out a scream. Menenzuul fought violently to save her, but too many men were holding him down. He could but watch as her gown was torn from her body, exposing her curvaceous figure to all of the onlookers. She covered her breasts with her arms and attempted to run, but a tug on her hair brought her right back to Menenzuul’s father.

Menenzuul’s breathing became heavy with anger as he watched his father beat her and rape her. Her screams echoed through the trees, but nothing could be done. His eyes glowing with intensity, lashing out every few moments in attempt to escape the hold and save his wife, he could do nothing. Nothing but watch as his own father took his wife’s virginity, as his father sucked her breasts and licked her face and slapped her when she screamed.

When it was over, she lay on the forest floor, curled up in a fetal position, bleeding from the savagery and whimpering softly. The light that he had once seen in her eyes was gone. With his eyes wide, Menenzuul looked to his father, who was straightening his kilt. “That, boy, is all they are good for,” he said with an evil smirk. His father turned to leave, but stopped. “Oh, wait, I just remembered another thing they are good for.” He reached down and took up his battleaxe, raising it over his head.

“No!” Menenzuul let out a shout that tore through the forest, a shout with such power that it would have blown the bark off the trees. With a moist splat, the axe had bit into her side deep. Her eyes widened, and she opened her mouth to let out a noise, her body rigid for a moment before falling limp.

“Killing…that’s what else they are good for,” his father said, spitting upon her body. He turned back to his son. “Now you listen. Don’t you forget this day, because your life isn’t going to be taken. This is a lesson to you boy, you don’t go against the tribe. We were your family, not some elven bitch. We are bound by blood boy, and that is the most sacred bond of them all. You broke it. Think about that while you’re in exile. And if you show your face around the tribe again, we’ll have your balls.”

When they released him, he simply fell forward, onto his hands and knees, and crawled to her body. He could not believe what had just happened. It had not yet set in. Perhaps it was a good thing that he did not realize it just yet.

******

The pyre burning brightly in the distance, casting an orange glow upon the surrounding area, Menenzuul closed his eyes and breathed slowly. She was gone now, there would be no long happy life together. There were so many things that she was going teach him, there were so many things that he wanted to share with her. He was learning elven from her, bit by bit, and she said he was doing very well for a human. She had begun to show him how to read, and write. The wonders of elven song, the melodic harmonies that it was comprised of. Elven clothing, elven weaponry, elven food; she had opened a whole new world to him and she was going to guide him through it. He would learn so much.

But she had already shown him the best thing of all, the one thing that he could not do without once he knew of it. Love.

In the tribe, there was no love. There was survival. In that sort of life, there was no room to love another. You had to work for everything, for every bit of food, for shelter and clothing, nothing came free. The only reward was a bit of sleep at night and the fact that you had made it through another day. The only love they knew was sexual. A man needed pleasure, and the women were there to provide it. So the men took it. That was the only “love” they had known.

She had shown him true love. She had given him the greatest gift in the world. But he was still from the tribe, he had grown up in the tribe. And there are things that do not change in men no matter how hard one tries to change them. He would not mourn her with tears, or with prayer. The gods had taken her away from him, they deserved no homage. He would mourn her death the only way he knew how.

His mourning would be rage.