Breaking Camp on the Moors

It\'s a glorious winter day. The sun is setting, casting a brilliant display of blue, pink, purple and gold across the sky that reflects off the pristine, indisturbed fields of white snow.

Inside the lone shelter on the moors is another case. Keldean has been getting progressively worse, his coughing endless and little rest finding the teen. He\'s slumped back against the cold stone wall, one hand pressed against his chest as each raspy breath brings him pain.

Silent as the snow, Elathrad sits on the other side of the fire, which is kept lively even though it does the teen no help. His normally impassive face is marked with small flickers of uneasiness: some in the eyes, others across the hard-set line of the mouth.

Without warning, the Elf stands and begins to untie the makeshift roof -- the only article of clothing that has not been wrapped around Keldean.

On the contrary, Keldean would probably be dead already if there wasn\'t the fire. He leans forward as another round of crippling coughing grips him, the congestion in his throat choking him as he hacks. When he pulls the corner of the blanket away that he was muffling his noise again, the cloth is stained with spots of blood. He stares at it, blinking dumbly for a moment until the realization sinks in. Then he looks up to speak with Elathrad and sees the elf moving about. \"What are you doing?!\" His voice is soft and crackly, his vocal chords tired and sore.

\"Be quiet you are merely straining yourself,\" Elathrad says, his answer almost a sigh. The cloth detaches, flapping in a slight breeze sent with the night. \"You should not walk, I suppose. Wrap yourself well.\"

Stooping, the Elf reaches to place the sturdy canvas around Keldean\'s shoulders, a troubled mien turned away from the youth\'s.

Keldean doesn\'t need to be told to wrap up in the blankets when that cold wind rips into him, unsoftened by the shelter\'s roof anymore. He stands slowly, one hand against the rocks for support. As Elathrad drapes the canvas around his shoulders, he begins coughing again, leaning against the stone to keep from falling over. \"Where..?\" He asks between fits, trying to focus on the elf as his lungs keep growing congested from the sickness.

\"Where?\" Elathrad repeats softly, eyes fixed upon the sunset behind the youth\'s bent shoulder. \"I am taking you to a place unknown I pray you do remember little of the path there.

\"We are leaving your foolishness behind,\" he says, standing between Keldean and the sudden wind.

\"My foolishness?.. I didn\'t know tha-\" Keldean is absorbed in more coughing and says nothing further. He\'s too busy concentrating on holding the thick layers of blankets around him. He looks out at the snowy landscape when he can breath again and real fear flashes across his face. It\'s a long, blank expanse of nothing.

Unresponsive to the teen, Elathrad eyes the new-fallen snow and prods it with his boot. It sinks deep.

\"I will carry you, for you cannot walk,\" the Elf murmurs, glancing down into the stony crevice. He reaches down a hand. \"It will not be far.\"

Keldean looks up dubiously at the elf, obviously doubting Elathrad\'s ability to carry him anywhere in the deep snow. He coughs weakly, leaning over and spitting phlem out on the ground. After a few heavy breaths, building his strength, he reaches up for Elathrad\'s extended hand.

[Elathrad(#14756)]

However deep the boot may have plunged, Elathrad does not sink into the snow. He stands atop it, leaving only a light depression as he pulls on the youth, bringing him out of the little crevice they have attempted to winter in.

Gazing down at Keldean, the Elf reaches out to carry him, cradle-wise. There is an impassive patience to his movements -- almost as if he were reconsidering this.

Just climbing out into the snow is weary business, even with Elathrad doing all the work. The full brunt of the icy wind hits Keldean and he begins shaking uncontrollably as his body temperature drops. The human teen sinks into the snow, almost losing his balance as he begins coughing heavily again, leaning into the elf when he feels him offering support. He tries to say something but can\'t get the words out as the chronic cough continues, aggravated by the colder air. Keldean is barely aware of what Elathrad is doing let alone any paths they may travel.

Dragging along a sick teenager is harder than the Elf expected. Watching Keldean patiently, Elathrad seems nearly ready to begin carrying the youth over his shoulder. The sun is setting soon, all warmth will be drained from the air.

With a sigh, the luthier stoops, attempting to scoop the other onto his back.

Keldean doesn\'t fight Elathrad\'s decision, little more than a lump of sick human in a thick wrap of blankets that makes muffled coughing sounds. It\'s the only indication that the youth is even still alive.

[Elathrad(#14756)]

\"You foolish child,\" mutters Elathrad, plunging on into the white landscape. And even as the sun\'s rays slip below the tall peaks, their camp is abandoned.