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Shattered	By : Koori Category: +S through Z > World of Warcraft Views: 8001 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own World of Warcraft, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 12
- 13
- 14
Chapter Thirteen – Ebon Knight Foster Conway
Two Years Ago …
“By the Light, I hate the snow!”
Foster looked over as Nathaniel appeared from behind some bare trees, the snow the elf was cursing went up to his knees. Sliding his gauntlet off, the cold wind bit into the exposed flesh, Foster reached out and placed his palm against Nathaniel’s reddened cheek. The Holy Light from within him reached out, warming his brother and chasing off the telltale sign of frostbite. “You’re not dressed for this weather,” Foster growled. With his free hand he unhooked the clasp of his cloak and wrapped it around Nathaniel’s shoulders.
“I can’t scout wrapped up like a child,” Nathaniel retorted, though pulled the cloak more snuggly around himself.
“Report, elf!”
Foster saw the flash in Nathaniel’s eyes at the tone and gave him a look of his own, warning his brother silently to hold his tongue. Shrugging away from Foster, Nathaniel turned toward the man, who had spoken. “Captain,” Nathaniel said with a slight bow, “To the east of us is a small tribe of hostile, dog like creatures … they are aggressive … further east is the shore where Arthas first landed … nothing but derelict remains of ship and …” his brother hesitated.
“And what?” Captain Knox demanded, “Something of use?”
“Nay,” Nathaniel said softly, “nothing but the damned that haunt the shores.” Shaking himself, the ranger continued. “To the north I could see a scourge necropolis, has to be …”
“Naxxramas,” Captain Knox said, “what about scourge activity closer to the camp? Anything?”
“Nothing I could see,” Nathaniel replied, “but we are being watched, I can feel it.”
“You spook too easy, elf,” Captain Knox growled. “Lord Fordragon sent us here to scout before the Alliance forces arrive. I need more than tales of the boogieman to take back!”
“Sir,” Foster said, heavy flakes had started to fall from the sky. They landed on top of his brother’s bare head melting as they settled. “I’ll put extra men on watch tonight; however there is little we can do this evening. I suggest we scout more tomorrow in larger parties. My brother is only one man, his eyes can see a lot but many eyes will see more.”
The Captain snorted and shook his head, “he’s no man … he’s just an elf.”
It was Nathaniel this time that put a hand on Foster. “Not worth it,” his brother hissed softly as the older man walked back into the small camp.
“Damn it, Baby Brother,” Foster sighed as he reached over and pulled the hood of the cloak over his brother’s head. “Are you trying to get pneumonia? I set our tent up, go get into some dry clothes and for goodness sake something a bit warmer.”
“Is that an order, Lieutenant?” Nathaniel asked with a playful smirk.
“Damn straight, it is,” Foster replied, pulling his gauntlet back on. “I’ll set up a rotation for tonight and join you in a bit.”
A couple hours later after patrolling the perimeter of the camp for his duration of his watch, he woke up his replacement and then found his way into the small tent he shared with his brother. As he stripped out of his armor, his eyes adjusted to the darkness. There was a small magical stone that heated the air in the tent, just enough to chase away the chill. Leaving his cotton legging on he joined his brother under the heavy blanket, of their shared bed. “Cold,” his brother whispered sleepily as his bare back pressed against the blanket warm Nathaniel.
“Very,” Foster agreed. “Go back to sleep, I got your back.”
“And I yours,” Nathaniel replied with a yawn.
Listening to his brother’s steady breathing, Foster tried to fall asleep himself. But found his mind drifting to the past. After escaping with his family after the Culling of Stratholme, those that had survived had eventually found their way to Stormwind. Where roles were reversed, in Darrowmere Forest, the Paxtons had worked for their pa. Now an old deed got the Paxtons back their farm and Ma and Pa worked for them, though it was in all ways a mutual relationship. Foster and Nathaniel had helped build a small house for their parents and Sara before joining the Stormwind Guard. Once again his brother was treated as a necessary nuisance but together they were a force to be reckoned with.
Suddenly the elf in question sat up, letting the cool air under the blanket. Foster’s protest was lost before it was spoken by the look on Nathaniel’s face. There was only a couple times in his thirty years he’d seen such terror on his brother’s face. “How many?” he whispered, reaching for his sword. Nathaniel’s frightened eyes found his, at least they were for a moment before resolve settled in. He lifted his right hand and opened his palm. “Five,” thought Foster, “that isn’t so bad.” Then the elf’s hand closed and opened again, and again and again … Foster wrapped his hand around his brother’s stopping the count. “Where?” he asked. Nathaniel made a circle motion with his hand. The camp was surrounded. “Are they human?” A shake of the elf’s head made Foster blood run cold. “Are the guards still alive?”
Nathaniel seemed to be staring out into nothing. Foster quickly got dressed; charging out into the field naked would do little good against the odds. “Brother?” he asked, tossing the Ranger his own clothes.
A small shrug of the shoulders was the answer he got. “I don’t know,” his brother whispered. Suddenly Nathaniel whipped around his bow appearing in his hand, an arrow nocked. He let it go through the tent wall and an unearthly scream erupted from the still night. Something large crashed into the side of their tent and Foster unleashed a blast of holy energy knocking it away.
“Out!” he shouted. Still half undressed Nathaniel scrambled for the doorway. Shouts and screams erupted from the night.
“What is that?” Nathaniel cried as he readied another arrow.
Foster glanced the way his brother was looking; the creature looked like a nightmare in flesh and blood; a giant spider creature. “No idea … kill it!”
“It’s already dead,” Nathaniel said, as his arrow flew true striking the beast in the face. The spider screamed and pulled the arrow out, tossing it to the side. It roared at them, venom dripping from its fangs. Nathaniel quickly nocked another arrow. This one missed the angry foe and instead severed a web from a second creature that had wrapped around one of their men’s legs.
Foster chanted and the mace he held started to glow, at the same time he brought his shield up.   “Fasten that tunic, Baby Brother,” Foster said, as he rushed toward the attackers, “Ma will skin me alive if I let you come down sick.”
His enchanted mace slammed into the chest of the injured spider-beast, whipping around his shield bashed into the creature causing it to lose its footing. It hissed and then screeched as a flaming arrow struck the uninjured eye. The fire quickly caught and the spider slammed into one of its companions, spreading the flames. Glancing over he saw Nathaniel kneeling by an open flame, dipping another arrow into some pitch he ignited it and shot another arrow into the dying creatures. It crumbled to the ground catching one of the tents on fire.
“You’ll burn the camp down, elf!” The Captain shouted, he was bare chested his sword and shield in hand.
“The camp is lost, Sir!” Foster said. “We’re surrounded, we have to make our way back to the boat … they have bigger guns.”
“We will not retreat!” Captain Knox growled.
“Sir!” Foster said alarmed as he cast another blast of holy light into a new spider. “We’ll die if we stay.”
“If we’re lucky,” Nathaniel said haughtily. “These creatures are undead, servants of the Lich King; he’s not known to let heroes rest in peace. Sir, with all due respect, if we do not retreat not only will our scouting excursion had been a failure you’ll add strength to the Lich King’s army.” The elf nocked two arrows into his bow, dipping them into the flames he left them go. The ground beneath them shook and exploded. Foster shouted as Nathaniel and he were knocked in separate directions. Out of the earth crawled a bug, it was larger than most houses.
“RETREAT!” Foster screamed, “back to the boat, men!”
He raced toward the area he saw his brother last, cursing as he came upon the elf still on the ground. Blood trickled from his forehead down his pale face and into the snow. An unearthly roar came from behind him. There was no time for gentle, grabbing the limp elf’s arm he hefted Nathaniel over his shoulder so he head and arms dangled down his back and legs tucked under one arm leaving his sword arm free. Channeling a shield of light around himself and Nathaniel he raced toward the shore line, praying the sailors wouldn’t panic and leave without them.   The cries of dying men and women came from behind him as he ran. There was a loud blast followed by another as he approached the beach, cannons from the “The Infinity” trying their best to reach the undead attackers.    Two long boats were already halfway back to the ship, one only half-full. A third was just starting to pull away, he could see no others. “Wait!” he screamed.
“There is no room!” A sailor hollered back, and unlike the other boats that had already left, this one looked full to capacity.
“Please, take my brother,” Foster begged.
“Take them both,” Captain Knox jumped from the boat. “The elf is small; he won’t require much room.”
“Sir!” Foster said.
“Go, that’s an order Lieutenant!” the older man shouted pulling the shield from his back. “I’ll give them hell for you, tell Ellen I love her.”
The still silent form in his embrace urged him on. Foster nodded and as the Captain charged into battle he placed Nathaniel in the boat, and pressing his weight into the bow, pushing the boat into the water. He quickly jumped in and looked back at the beach as the oars rowed them away. The battle was lost, the Captain managed to take down a trio of spider creatures before he was caught in another’s web and dragged out of sight.
“Why did the Captain give up his seat for a corpse?” One of the men said angrily.
“He’s not dead,” Foster said, matching the tone. Pressing his hand against Nathaniel’s chest he sent a bolt of holy energy into his brother, kindling the small flame still burning. The elf let out a loud groan. “It will be okay,” Foster said, gathering Nathaniel close. “It will be okay, we’re safe now.”
“I hate the cold,” Nathaniel whispered, his senses still dull.
“I know,” Foster answered, “no more snow for you, Baby Brother, we’re going home now.” He continued channeling his healing magic into his brother as Nathaniel once again slipped into oblivion. Healing the concussion and stopping the swelling he found beneath the skull. The smaller boat pulled up alongside “The Infinity”, gentle hands helped him get Nathaniel to the deck. Kneeling down beside his brother, Foster continued to heal the hidden wounds.
“Lieutenant!” a young soldier walked over and saluted, “what are your orders?”
Foster frowned, was he truly the last officer left? He glanced around at the men watching him. “We return to Stormwind, we will mourn our heroes later. Quarantine the wounded I’ll check them for taint and heal them.” As the men dispersed to do as he asked he added quietly, “and tell me the names of the men that left in the boat half-full and doomed more to the fate of the servants to the Lich King. Cowards like them have no place among us.”
Angry shouts answered him, with cries of wanting to see their loved ones again. Foster ignored them and ordered the dozen men into the hold in shackles. Gently picking Nathaniel up, he moved him into the officer quarter and laid him down on a cot. His brother was sleeping peacefully, aided by magic. “No more,” Foster growled softly, “no more will you be in harm’s way, Baby Brother, I swear to you.”
Sadly it was another promise made to be broken.

As the Deathspeaker fell to his death cursing, Foster urged the bone griffon to follow. He could tell the necromancer was chanting a spell. Taking the rune blade from his back, Foster leapt from the mount and fell on the man, sword first. Vance looked up at him, his mouth open in surprise. “Say hello to your father for me in hell,” Foster said. Grabbing the reins of the griffon flying nearby he was pulled up as Vance hit the ground with a satisfying crunch, the rune blade still buried in his chest.
Landing the griffon, Foster walked over to the still form on the ground, lying in a puddle of blood. The Death Knight longed for more suffering and a dark smile crossed his pale lips. Pulling his sword from the body he started to chant, skin fell from bone as his unholy energy wrapped around the corpse. With a jerky movement the ghoul of Vance Dixon stood up, for one brief moment he allowed the thing to realize what had happened and it screamed in denial before losing all will but that of its master. At their side was the shattered urn, Foster kicked it with his boot scattering the ash into the wind.
As he watched the dark soot sail off, he glanced over at the ghoul waiting patiently at his side. “You are to collect the ash and place it on this stone here,” he used his foot once more to tap a flat large rock.
“Brains?” the ghoul asked hopefully.
“Once your task is complete,” Foster said, darkly. The ghoul shambled off after the ash and the Death Knight returned to his griffon. “You deserve so much more,” he said, “but then again so do I.” He looked up at the dark necropolis looming overhead. In the past weeks he had slowly been gaining his own mind back, too damn slow. Now that the Lich King’s hold had been shattered all of his deeds came crushing down on him. It was almost too much to bear, but endure he must. There was someone that needed him before he could join Highlord Mograine and take his vengeance on the Lich King.
The thought of his brother spurred him to urge the featherless griffon to fly faster, there was fighting in the halls of Acherus. By the order of the Highlord the Ebon Knights were cleansing it from those still loyal to the Lich King. He knew the small blockade he put in front of the door would do little to delay his fellow brothers of the Ebon Blade should they try to enter. Landing on the balcony once more he walked in to find all as he had left it. He frowned at the woman sitting on the bed, her face was marked as a Cult of the Damned, and Vance had said she was carrying his child.   By her dazed look, she had already drunk from the cup that stole her will and bound it to the Lich King. It would be best if he just killed her now and freed her from his grasp. One more taint on his soul. As he took out a small dagger he studied the woman again and his hand froze.
“By the Light … no,” he cried kneeling down in front of her.
“Sara?” he whispered, he glanced over at his brother. “It’s our sister?”
“She was chosen by the Master,” Nathaniel said sadly.
“No …” Foster growled, “no … no … NO!”
At his shout the woman sitting on the bed blinked and her eyes seemed to come into focus. She glanced up at him and let out a scream. It was like music to his ears as he took off his helm and tossed it to the side. “It’s me, Little Sis,” Foster said kneeling. “By the Light, how did he … I’m so sorry!”
Sara’s hand touched his cheek, it trembled. “So cold … like a …”
“Corpse,” Foster finished for her, “I’ve been just as dead inside for a long time, Little Sis, but the hold of the Lich King has been broken. I’m free …” he glanced over at the elf on the bed. “Free to pay for my crimes. I’m so sorry, Little Brother.”
Nathaniel looked through him toward the balcony. “Master is gone?” he asked, his voice distant.
“Yes,” Foster said, standing. Both of his siblings were nude, he walked over to the wardrobe he had used to blockade the door and looked through it for clothing. “He’ll never hurt you again.”
The lithe, nude elf joined him at the door and Foster thought he had come to aid him in finding clothing but, to his alarm, started to move the furniture aside. “No, stop!” Foster commanded. “The others are in a frenzy, it’s safer for you to stay here.”
“Master gave me an order,” Nathaniel said.
Foster remembered the dark command. “He’s dead, Little Brother, you don’t have to do anything he said, you’re free … we’re free.”
“Master said …” Nathaniel was pleading now, tears spilled down his fair cheeks.
Foster wrapped his arms around his brother and the elf tensed. “Damn it,” Foster growled. “Sis, hold him, please, my armor is colder than my blood. What happened to you, Baby Brother?”
Nathaniel let out a laugh that sounded bizarre; he gestured around the room in a futile attempt to communicate and then collapsed onto the carpet. “I shattered,” he whispered.
Sara moved over to him, and wrapped her arms around the elf. She patted the top of his head and spoke to him like she would a wounded animal while looking at Foster for direction. “I don’t know, Sis,” he said. “Let’s get the hell out of here, we’ll figure it out once we’re free of this place. Maybe that will help him.” He reached down and traced the violet tattoo on her face. “Did they make you drink anything?” he asked.
“Just some water when I was in the cell with the other women,” she frowned, “the others we have to save them!”
“They are already saved or dead,” Foster said looking through the clothes. He tossed a dress at her but it was Nathaniel that grabbed it. “No,” Foster said but the elf pulled it to him. “Vance had peculiar tastes,” he told his sister with a sigh, “it will be best if we deal with it later.” He found another and as the others dressed he turned away, he’d deal with the wounds he saw later, none looked life-threatening, the only thing that mattered was to get as far away as quickly as possible.
“Is it a bad thing that my brother looks better in a dress than I do?” Sara asked.
Foster glanced over his shoulder; his sister was struggling with the bodice. “Damn these things hurt,” she mumbled and with no thought of modesty she took out her left breast and pulled a piecing out. Quickly turning his attention to his brother, he saw Nathaniel standing with a light blue dress on. The death knight shook his head, his heart aching. He went back to the wardrobe and found a couple of pair of cotton pants and some silk shirts, these he tossed into a bag. Finally he found a couple pairs of slippers which his sibling slipped on.
“First shoes I’ve worn … in a long time,” Nathaniel mumbled to himself.
Just then there was a loud crash outside the door. Foster made a quick glance around the room; he was relieved to see Nathaniel was wearing his Sunwell Ring, one less concern. “Let’s go,” he said.
Sara hurried to the balcony; his brother stood still and seemed lost. Foster had a thought and hurried over to the small apothecary, a quick glance he grabbed two familiar bottles and added them to the bag, which he hooked over his shoulder.   “Forgive me, Baby Brother,” he said as he lifted Nathaniel into his arms and carried him toward the undead griffon.
“Can it carry us?” Sara asked, eyeing the boney creature with doubtful eyes.
“Aye,” Foster nodded, swinging into the saddle. Adjusting Nathaniel to sit across in front of him, he offered his arm to his sister who swung up lightly behind him. “Hold on,” he said, and felt her arms slide around his waist. With a light pull on the reins the beast took to the air. A moment later the screams started. For a moment Foster thought a banshee had found them, and then he realized the noise was coming from the elf in his arms.   And he was the reason why.
In his first weeks of captivity, Foster had pretended to help Nathaniel escape, once on the griffon he had enjoyed dropping his brother from great heights, only to save him before he crashed into the ground. It had been one of his favorite games and a wonderful threat in the days that followed. Soon the mere mention of flying had sent his brother into shakes. Foster cursed at his cruelty and shouted to be heard over the horrible noise Nathaniel was making. “It’s okay, Baby Brother, we’ll be on the ground soon.”   He had wanted to make more distance, below he caught sight of shambling corpses, he needed somewhere safe.    Knowing there was little chance of that he landed on a rocky ridge and slid off sitting down on the ground with Nathaniel on his lap. “Shh …” he said rocking the now silent but sobbing man. “No more flying, I promise.”
“Brother?” Sara asked.
“We need to keep moving, think you can ride him on your own?” Foster asked, standing and speaking words of power a gate appeared before them. Out of it stepped a horse, feet and mane aflame.
“Knight?” Sara gasped.
Not wanting to explain the details involved in resurrecting his old horse, Foster just nodded. Swinging up into the saddle he once again adjusted Nathaniel to rest in front of him. “Let’s go, stay low,” he told his sister urged the bone griffon to take flight. The odd party raced across the plagued lands of their birth. An ex-servant of the Lich King, a woman marked as a member of the Cult of the Damned and an elf injured in ways no healer could mend.   “You’re safe, Baby Brother, you survived, you can heal …” Foster mumbled every encouraging word he could think of as they rode into the lilac scented hair nestled against his chest.
Sara screamed and Foster saw a gargoyle dive at her, the mount she rode was war trained and easily dodged the attack. “Hold tight,” he shouted.
The look she shot him almost made him laugh. “Excellent advice, Big Brother,” she shouted, “any other words of wisdom?”
“Duck!” he shouted as he raised his gauntlet hand and chanted. The living stone beast was no match and his spell obliterated it. The undead creatures they rode needed no rest and were able to carry their riders at an incredible speed. Twice more he had to defend them from attacks but for the most part, the undead that lurked in tainted forest left them alone. He gave credit to the dark aura around them; they took him as one of their own still. They went around the ghost town that had been once known as Corin’s Crossing, Foster remembered growing up in that town and he also recalled how it ended. Cursing he urged Knight to run faster, away from the memories.
Sara dove down beside him, the griffon easily keeping pace; he could feel wind from the featherless wings. “Think our … the homestead still stands?” she asked.
Foster shook his head. “Burnt to the ground,” he said, not mentioning he had done it himself. “This forest is damned, we keep riding.”
Sara glanced at the elf curled up against his armor. “Is he okay?” she asked.
Foster glanced down; Nathaniel hadn’t spoken since their escape. He half expected to find the eyes closed in slumber and would have preferred it to the dead sapphire orbs that seem fixated on something Foster couldn’t see. “No,” he answered truthfully, “he’s not okay, when it’s safe we’ll tend to him.”
Sara nodded and urged the griffon up to fly overhead once more. Foster watched as she flew her ebony hair, thick and curly like their mother’s flowing out behind her.   He flinched like he had been hit when he thought of his parents. “If you ever strike your brother or any of sisters again, I’ll return the favor tenfold. You may not like it but you are to protect them from harm, not inflict it upon them.” Foster knew he would never be able to return home, the shame of his deeds was too great. He continued chanting words of encouragement to his brother. The moon was high in the sky before he allowed them to stop. On the east coast of Darrowmere Lake, the cursed city of Caer Darrow could be seen in the distance. However, they had not come across any manner of beasts or undead in an hour, and by the way his sister slumped in the saddle she would not be able to ride much longer. He let out a whistle and the griffon circle gracefully and landed as he slid off the horse. Setting Nathaniel down on the ground, he took the canteen off the saddle and handed it to the elf. After his brother sat there holding it for a long moment, Foster sighed and uncapped it. “Open,” he whispered, the lips parted as he knew they would and he poured the liquid into it. The elf drank greedily. “Good,” Foster said, “the will to live is still there.” He tossed the flask to his sister who took a deep drink herself.
“Will to live or habit?” Sara asked kneeling down beside Nathaniel she brushed back the loose blonde hair. “Let’s get this up and out of the way …”
“No!” Nathaniel screamed, “Master likes it down, whores should have long hair …”
“You are no one’s whore,” Foster growled, taking out his dagger he grabbed the long blonde hair and sliced it off. Sara gasped and Nathaniel screamed. Foster tossed the unattached ponytail length hair onto the ground; leaving his brother with tresses that now barely reached his shoulders. “I’ll cut it shorter if you mention that word again,” he threatened. Nathaniel looked up at him, for a moment the pale blue eyes held life once again, but they were filled with fear and Foster cursed. At the same time to his dread he felt the darkness within him feed off the grief he had caused. Free of the Lich King, he still possessed an addiction to inflict pain.   If denied it would cause him to go mad and sink into a mindless, blood-seeking hysteria. As much as he hated to continue to use his brother to nurture that desire, the alternative was even bleaker.
“Stand up,” he commanded, “not you,” he growled to Sara as Nathaniel struggled to his feet.
“What are you doing?” Sara asked.
“This is the only way he’ll respond right now,” Foster said, “I need to do this, for more than one reason.” He gestured to the bag he had dropped on the ground. “Inside you will find a couple of flask, use them to treat your wounds. I do not trust the water, so don’t attempt to bathe. Please, believe in me, Baby Sis … don’t interfere, it will be okay, promise.”
Sara found the flask in question and moved off to the side; turning her back to them she slid the dress off her shoulders. Foster focused on the elf in front of him. “Strip,” he commanded, keeping his voice void of feeling. Nathaniel only paused a moment before the dress pooled at his feet. Foster picked it up and with a spell cast it burst into flames. “No more dresses for you, Baby Brother,” he said. The elf looked stricken but stood before him naked, his hands at his side. “I don’t think you need to be told but don’t move,” Foster growled. Taking a moment to strengthen his resolve he took off his gauntlets, and set them on the ground. Finding the second flask he had taken he held it in his hand as he reached over and worked on the first piercing in Nathaniel’s left nipple. “Don’t move or I’ll freeze your ass where you stand,” the knight growled as he saw the elf flinch.
After he removed the matching piercing he threw the chained metal into the lake behind him. Taking the flask he dripped some on his finger and gently rubbed both sore areas until the holes closed, they left behind scars that joined the array his brother already bore. Knowing he had to stay in control, Foster knelt. Focused on the task at hand, he quickly started working on the piercings around and in Nathaniel’s genitals. The elf’s body trembled but thankfully remained mute making the difficult task marginally easier. Those piercings joined the others in the lake. Eying the bleeding Foster sighed. “I’m sorry, Baby Brother,” he whispered as he started to massage the healing salve into the multiple puncture wounds.   The flesh in his hand hardened and Foster cursed. “It’s not your fault,” he said as he stood, Nathaniel’s cheeks were red with shame, he took that as a good sign, at least he hoped. He tossed the elf a shirt, which he put on without complaint. His hand shook a bit at the offered leggings but again he slipped them on, without further prompting. Foster frowned at the looseness. He could tell from the hours he spent carrying his brother he’d lost a lot of weight, in the baggy clothes he wore now he looked positively skeletal.
“Brother … I need your help,” Sara said.
“Sit,” Foster commanded and the elf slunk to the ground.
Walking over to his sister he found her naked, and he averted his eyes. “Stop that,” Sara scolded, “I know you’ve seen a naked woman before, you are a paladin … probably healed a few.”
“I am no longer a wielder of the Light,” Foster said, “I’m one of the damned. As for naked women I have seen my share but I would prefer one of them not be my sister.”
“The bastard put some in my back and buttocks, they’ve been rubbing raw all day … please, I don’t see another woman here able to help.” Sara said, turning her back to him.
Foster quickly removed the offending piercings in question, moving as swiftly as he could. Afterwards he worked healing balm into the sores on her back, thankful she could reach her backside with ease to take care of the wounds there.   “I appreciate the dress,” she said after they were done. “But did notice you took two sets of clothing from our keeper … may I?”
Foster knew it would be impossible for him to blend in even if he did remove his armor, his long ebony hair was now snow white from death and his face … he sighed, his face was also marred with his first death.    Then there were his eyes, he remembered their first meeting, Nathaniel had called him star-kissed.   Shaking his head he handed his sister the last set of clothing before sitting on the ground next to the elf. He patted his crossed legs. “Sit,” he commanded. The elf moved into his lap and Foster wrapped his arms around the thin waist. “Sleep,” he said. “Once we are out of these cursed lands I’ll find us some food.”
His Sister now fully dressed moved to sit next to him, their backs against the rocky mountains that overshadowed their dark camp. “No fire?” she said with a sigh.
“Too dangerous,” Foster said wrapping his cloak around her. “Sleep if you can, Sis,” he said. “We’ll try to make it the forest of the Hinterlands tomorrow; there we can have a fire and food.”
Sara yawned and snuggled against him. “I could sleep in a briar patch I think. Thanks for saving me, Big Brother. You’ll always be my knight in shining armor.”
Soon the soft breathing from both told Foster they had given into their exhaustion. He too would need to rest, even more dead than alive, the small part that lived needed its repose. He whispered into the elegant ear of the elf that nestled into him, “it will be okay, you survived … come back to me Baby Brother … please …”
Nathaniel remained still in his arms and Foster sighed, giving Knight a silent command to stay watchful, he joined his siblings in sleep.
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