by Kate C

Under the cover of magnolias, all was at peace. It was quiet, cool, and calming beneath the giant pink blossoms, and Oak loved nothing more than to just lie there and sleep the day away. The night was when she did her living, anyway. Patches of sunlight sprinkled like pools across her body as she stretched, her muscles creaking and bones popping; she had been lying around too long.

Looking upward, hand resting on the hilt of her blade, which had grown warm from the sunlight, Oak found herself blinking tiredly. She had managed to outrun the trainer, this day, and yet, sitting here in the grass, she was as tired as if she actually had been training since dawn. She let out a disgruntled breath before forcing herself to stand. No matter what she kept telling herself, she did have business to do.

As she stood, her long, auburn hair tumbled to her waist in cascading, waving strands. Her light brown eyes scanned the surrounding trees with longing, but before she could change her mind about returning to the village, she strapped her blade to her waist and started back through the maze of magnolias. Oak was clad in her daily wear: a light, pale cloth tunic, embroidered in browns, greens and gold at the very bottom in an intricate pattern. Beneath that, she wore a pleated leather skirt, which reached to her knees, with golden tips that twinkled like bells when she moved. Finally her feet were covered by leather boots that stopped just below her knees, adorned with a pattern of tiny amber jewels. Gold was, after all, simply a trinket in her country. It was pure amber that was desired and a sign of wealth. And as daughter of the High Priest of Arbole Village, her family was extremely well-off.

As Oak was walking back she noticed something was a bit peculiar about her walk. Normally, on her trip back to the village, she would come upon at least a couple of villagers, but today there was no one to be seen. The hair on the back of her lithe neck stood up as she sensed that something was amiss and she rushed in the direction of her village.

Oak stopped short, bristling at the sight of her home: smoke plumed in thick clouds about her village, reaching to the sky like fingers. Her breath caught in her throat as she surveyed the scenery afore her, but the tremors of fear and indecision lasted only for a moment. Running with much haste, Oak made it to the village in record time. The gates loomed up ahead, a natural barrier made of tightly intertwined tree trunks and branches. Foreigners clad in thin cloaks of dark colors rushed in and out of a gaping hole that used to be the village gates.

An intense and ravaging anger consumed Oak as she drew her sleek and slender long sword, crafted particularly for her by the finest blacksmith in the village. Engraved on the steel was a small oak leaf, and the hilt was carved from the finest of the oak trees in the forest, and covered with the best leather one could buy. It was comfy and perfect for her size, which was smaller than most people. She came up behind one of the foreign invaders, his back turned to her as he stooped to pick up a large, golden chalice. Oak brought down the long sword and-

“Ah!”

            Oak let out a startled cry, sweat trickling down the side of her neck as she sat up from her makeshift bed. Breathing heavily, she looked into the small camp fire in front of her, trying to draw comfort from its presence, and the presence of the boy sitting across from her. The boy simply made a face, raising a dark eyebrow at her exasperated state. His reaction caused her to glare.

            “Bad dream, dearie?” Ruffe grinned, his large eyes squinting from his smile.

            Oak held in a sting of profanities as she brushed some dust from her clothes, trying to calm herself. It was very frustrating- he thought he was so mature just because he was three summers older than her own 22 summers.

            “Shut up,” she managed to growl, drawing her knees up to her chest and leaning her chin in the niche between her them. It was a bit chilly, and keeping close helped keep her warm.

            “Quit your bellyaching,” Ruffe chuckled, “Everyone has bad dreams,”

            Trying not to blush, Oak grumbled something about sleeping in the presence of others. Luckily, the night hid her red tinted cheeks. Beneath her lashes Oak studied the rather handsome, rugged young man before her. His hair, despite its short length, stuck out at various angles, a shade of green so deep it was nearly black. His eyes had pupils of nearly the same color, and his face was covered in myriad freckles. He was strong enough for all that he was small. He had certainly proven that.

 Ruffe looked up to the sky, now turning a majestic purple as the sun just barely breached the horizon.

            “It will be dawn, soon.” He commented, then looked over at Oak and rolled his eyes. “Stop brooding and get your things together, now! Come on, girl, we want to catch this thief, don’t we?”

            Oak sighed, “Fine, fine, let’s go.”

            It had been three days since her village had been raided by the Birds. They had taken anything of value, but it seemed that their main goal was the sacred Red Wood Text. It had belonged to her father, the high priest, before the attack.

            “Please stop daydreaming, Oak. Who knows what could transpire at the Air of Birds while we sit around here dawdling.”

            “I already said fine-“ she retorted, but when she looked up she saw that he was completely packed, whereas her belongings were still scattered about the camp.

Oak swore quietly as she began to collect her clothes and weapons and other such items. A few moments later, she was finally ready to go, a satchel strapped across her shoulders and hanging at her waist. Her sword was at her side, its weight comforting as it waited to be drawn.

Now Ruffe seemed contemplative as Oak made her way over to his side. He stood a few mere inches taller than her, which bothered the smaller girl. Most of the people in her family were tall, but for some reason she was the anomaly. The shortest person in her family, besides the children.

“We’ve got to get them back, Oak.” He murmured. “The Texts, our Texts… the villages will crumble without them.”

Oak nodded for she knew what baneful effects would follow once the Text went missing. It was the very foundation of their village. It was what informed the residents, the Tree folk, what their duty was, and it held untellable amounts of magic, both weak and strong. From the beginning of time itself, the Texts were written by the gods and given to the three villages. The god of the Trees, Red Wood, the god of the Birds, Eagle, and the goddess of the Fish, Orca, were the original rulers of the lands. Now there were many factions and many more gods, all of whom bestowed Texts on their villages, but those three were held the highest. If the Birds took all the Texts from all the lands, they would rule everything. Oak would do all in her power to stop that.

“Well, then, what are we waiting for?” Oak pumped a fist into the air, “Let’s get going already!”

“I was waiting for you,” Ruffe complained, but a small smile lit his face again.

They set off from their camp, stamping out the fire, and heading north towards the Air of Birds.

Oak was rather glad that he was accompanying her. The village was going to send their greatest trackers and hunters after the Text, and while that was all fine and good with her, she felt she had a better chance at it. So she set off late the same night of the raid, taking with her only her sword, the traveling clothes on her back, a spare set of lightweight armor, a few short throwing knives and some rations. While she had been walking through the woods, only vaguely aware of where she was going, she ran into Ruffe, unconscious and wounded by the stream. Oak had been checking on him, her fingers finding a pulse on his neck when he awoke madly, drawing his sword to slay her. She simply stayed where she was and explained as he panted, never dropping his sword. Finally, once everything had been worked out, he lowered his weapon and fell back on the ground, giving his own story to Oak.

“Watch out for the rocks, Oak,” Ruffe called back, now, drawing Oak away from her thoughts. “They’re slippery.”

“’Kay,” her lips barely moved as she murmured, tentatively stepping onto a damp, moss-covered rock while the crossed the stream.

She barely recalled walking that far, she had been so caught up in her memories. And now she found herself falling back into them, a dangerous thing considering she was still trying to cross the river by way of slippery rocks. Oak looked at the back of Ruffe’s head as he wobbled dangerously, hopping from one rock to another.

Oak thought about his story. His Text was missing too, and since his village was still in absolute disarray, Ruffe had made it his own mission to travel with Oak and retrieve the Text of the Sea of Fish.

Standing now on the last rock, cold water lapping at its base, Oak stared straight ahead of her. The space between her rock and the shore was a bit longer than she had thought, and she wondered if perhaps she could make it if she jumped. Oak startled as a rough hand came into view.

“Come on, Oak,” Ruffe chided, his tone light hearted. “I’ll catch you before you hit the water,”

“Shut up! I’m not worried about that,” Oak grumbled, embarrassed.

Her arms swung back and her knees bent then elongated as she pushed off the rock. Oak held her breath, but her toes just barely reached the shore. Ruffe put his hand on her back to steady her while Oak flailed her arms. He chuckled, then pushed her forward teasingly.

“Let’s go. We’ll be there soon. We’ve just crossed the river that borders the territory of my lands and separates the Sea of Fish from the Air of Birds.” Starting after her, Ruffe let his hand fall on the hilt of his sword and swiftly walked North.

            Through stretches of trees and fields, the two walked towards their final destination. Oak’s heart thudded with apprehension, and a peculiar feeling of nervousness and excitement. She knew of the battle that lay ahead and that they still had a few kinks to work out in their plan.

            “Do we even have a plan?” Oak found herself asking, looking up at the sky as she easily made her way through the trees.

            Ruffe was having a harder time with the trek. “Of course. The plan is to retrieve the Texts.”

            Oak stopped and deadpanned, “You’re kidding.”

            “Does it look like I’m kidding?” Ruffe replied, severely calm expression on his face.

            Oak sighed miserably, “Oh gods, we are royally screwed.”

            Shrugging, Ruffe simply replied, “I figured we would wing it.”

            “I can’t believe this…” Oak continued to trudge through the forest, barely watching where her feet were taking her, since they knew the forest better than her eyes did.

            “Okay, here’s the plan. We… sneak into the city and then… sneak into wherever the Texts are being held… and then we take the Texts… and return home!” for each pause Ruffe had stopped to make sure he wasn’t tripping over anything.

            “Let’s stop for a minute and think about this. It’s about time I put my armor on, anyway.” Oak stopped in her tracks.

            Ruffe paused beside her, noticing that they were standing in an open field. “Alright, I guess. Why didn’t you have it on before?”

            “It’s just cumbersome, is all.” Oak replied, dropping her satchel to the ground and kneeling beside it.

            She removed, first of all, her shoulder guard and chest plate, plus a light chain mail shirt to go over her traveling clothes. Oak shook out the chain mail and drew it over her torso.Her shoulder guard was a light but strong metal, covering her left shoulder, lengthy spikes jutting out away from her face.Ruffe helped hook that around her back, along with her chest plate and the matching guard for her back. Finally, she stood up.

            “Great, I think I’m all set.” Oak said, rotating her arms and shifting side to side. “Everything feels alright. Thanks for the help.”

            Ruffe shrugged, “No big deal. Let’s keep going.”

            “Okay, but I’m going to work on a plan while we walk since you seem too incompetent to do so.”

            “Hey! I had a great plan!”

            Oak merely shook her head, rolling her eyes and moving back down the path. They continued on for a time, Oak grumbling here and there about the incompetency of her fellow traveler. Finally, a mere handful of minutes after their last bickering match, the two made it to the foggy area that surrounded the Air of Birds. They stood outside of the billowing clouds of dampness for a moment before exchanging a look with raised eyebrows and stepping into the cool fog. It wasn’t long before Oak heard Ruffe let out a growl of frustration.

            “What’s the matter?” she asked, wary but trying not to seem too worried.

            “I can barely see an inch in front of me.” Ruffe rumbled, obviously unused to not being able to see.

            Oak, on the other hand, was used to not using her eyes to see. She let her feet do the wandering and before long she found herself in a clearing, the fog waiting right behind her, breathing heavily and shifting in place. Oak turned to face it, confused by its presence- it felt as if it were being held back by a giant, albeit invisible, force field.

            “RUFFE!” she shouted into the fog, and the sound echoed right back at her.

            ‘Peculiar.’ she thought to herself, ‘Very, very peculiar.’

            “OAK! Gods damn it all, I am so lost,” Ruffe shouted from the fog.

            “Can you even hear me? WALK TOWARDS MY VOICE!”

            “Huh? What’d you say?”

            “I SAID YOU’RE AN IDIOT WITH TERRIBLE HEARING!”

            “Hey! That’s not very nice.”

            Oak paused. His voice was coming closer, towards her. After a few more teasing shouts, Ruffe made his way out of the fog, damp and looking particularly perturbed. Oak couldn’t help but to chuckle at his state of being. He continued to grumble as Oak turned back to the little dirt path afore her, leading straight to a large and illustrious town.

            “Kinda weird that they’ve got this little path leading straight to the town,” Ruffe commented, heading down it as he spoke.

            “Not really.” It really wasn’t all that odd, either. The Air of Birds had once been a place where everyone gathered and celebrated being the chosen clans of the gods. It was actually rather common to see roads stretching from all directions towards the grandiose town. The town glowed warmly in the noon-day sun, making for a rather beautiful vista, whereas Oak had been waiting for something drab and gray. Perhaps the evil of the new leader had not spread to the lovely town, yet. She prayed it never would.

            They reached the outskirts of the town, a low-rising wall surrounding tall buildings with wide doorways. The moment they stepped into the village, trouble found them.

            “’Scuse me! Coming through!” a voice shouted over the din.

            There was a crowd all throughout the town but a small pathway followed in the wake of a buxom young lass now pushing her way towards Ruffe and Oak. The young lady burst forth from the crowd, running straight into the outsiders. Oak let out a small yelp of surprise as the other girl knocked her off balance and they both fell.

            “Oak!” Ruffe grasped her wrists and hauled her to her feet, away from the other girl.

            “Sorry,” the other, more voluptuous young lady groaned, hopping back up of her own accord.

            Oak, rubbing her head, looked the lass up and down, studying her without trying to hide it.

            “Terribly sorry. I’m Pipit, and I could really use your help, right now.” she said, appearing rather put-out about being studied the way she was.

            With bright blue eyes and vibrant blonde hair, the bosomy lass was rather tiny with short legs and narrow shoulders. Her face was heart shaped, and her hair was cut short, falling straight to her shoulders with bangs hanging just above her eyes. She fidgeted as Oak continued to observe her.

            “Oak?” Ruffe nudged the tall brunette.

            “Alright, but we need some information.” Oak compromised, drawing a large cloak out of her pack.

            A moment later, guards ran past, clad in lightweight silver armor, intricately adorned and engraved with small holes in the back for their pure white wings to stick through. There were three, and while two ran by, one strayed behind, staring intently at the three outsiders.

            “Hey, you three.” He addressed them; hand on the hilt of his blade. “Have you seen a young girl, blonde hair, blonde wings with black and white spots?”

            Oak and Ruffe exchanged a look and shrugged. Oak then turned to the guard and smiled, “Can’t say that I have. If I see her, shall I let the guards know?”

            He nodded, then ran off after his fellow guards. Behind Ruffe and Oak, Pipit let out a sigh of relief from beneath the hooded cloak, looking out from within it.

            “Thanks, you guys are life savers.” Pipit started walking in the opposite direction of the guards, hood still up and cloak still covering the rest of her.

            “Why were you in trouble anyway?” Ruffe inquired, following after her.

            Oak rolled her eyes, grumbling, “That’s not important. Just ask her where we’re supposed to go!”

            “They’re always chasing after me,” Pipit replied, completely ignoring Oak, causing the brunette to grumble all the more. “I’m a thief, you see.”

            Ruffe grinned broadly, “You are, are you? Well, we are looking for something very important. You wouldn’t happen to know where the Texts of the gods are being kept?”

            Pipit stiffened at his question. She looked down at her feet as if pondering her reply. Finally, she answered, nodding her head as she spoke, “Sure I do. Up at Leader Crowe’s place.”

            “Don’t you care that we’re going to take the Texts your warriors fought for?” Oak asked suspiciously

            “What do I care what happens to this crummy old town? It’s so boring here.” There was something hidden in Pipit’s voice, but the girl had obviously been a thief for a long time and kept the emotion from her face as she spoke. Oak narrowed her eyes. “But! I have a condition!”

            “Condition? We already saved you. We’re square now.” Oak retorted.

            “I wanna come with you guys!” Pipit, putting her hands on her hip, “There’s something in there I want, too. Not to mention that you guys are the opportunity I’ve been waiting for! You can finally help me hightail it out of here!”

            “Nuh uh, nothin’ doin’.” Oak growled menacingly, exchanging a pointed glare at Ruffe, warning him not to say anything.

            “Why not? We’ll just be going back to our villages, though.” Ruffe looked back at Oak, just barely catching a glimpse of her frustrated face before she looked away, her dark hair cloaking her expression.

            How did everything get so complicated, so quickly? Oak sighed, scratching her head. “Just take us to this Crowe’s nest and we’ll see what happens from there.” She amended

            Pipit looked ready to argue but she seemed to realize that she shouldn’t push her luck with Oak and simply nodded. “Follow me!”

            The Leader of the Air of Birds, as Oak and Ruffe soon learned, had recently died and was replaced by his only son, an evil sonuofgun with a majorly bad personality and a penchant for messing up and destroying everything he tried to do. The only thing that had gone right so far was his stealing of the Texts, but Oak and Ruffe hoped to foil that for him as well.

Crowe lived in a large home at the outskirts of the village. There was a small clearing between the last few homes belonging to villagers and Crowe’s nest. It was a tall building, its zenith reaching towards the heavens. Atop its spiraling point was a small bird resembling the animal form of Eagle, their ruling god. The moment they set foot on the dusty earth separating the village from Crowe’s home, Oak sensed that something was amiss. The sky darkened as if by some spell, and a thick, purple and gray smoke streaked across the ground. Oak shivered and looked quickly at Pipit and Ruffe, flanking her left and right.

The hood of Pipit’s cloak (well, Oak’s cloak) had fallen around her neck as she stared grimly at the mansion before her.

“The safety mechanism was triggered,” Pipit whispered. “He must know what we’re here for.”

“It’s okay. It’s just a little smoke,” Ruffe looked over at Pipit, confused at her worry.

“There’s something else, though, isn’t there, Pipit?” Oak growled, looking over at a particularly large cloud of fog, rolling in towards them.

She did not answer, but there was no need to as the creature hidden within the fog exposed itself.

Oak stood in the midst of chaos. Black and purple smoke blew around her bare feet, which were covered in the black, black dirt that stretched across the land. She shivered, whether it was from the cold or from the excitement, spreading like a drug at the prospect of battle, she could not tell.

Before her stood a creature- the kind of abnormality that appeared only in ancient lore and children’s nightmares. It was grotesque- long, snout-like jaw unhinged on one side, causing acidic-looking saliva to drip over its curled, black lips. Its nose was as black as the earth she stood upon, with shocking, ridged lines of pink scar tissue cutting through the soft flesh.

It snarled at her, and for that moment she stood, completely frozen. The unsightly abomination in front of her, staring her down. Sure, she had seen werewolves before. From a distance. Not to mention that none of them had happened to want to kill her. Or be undead.

A thought raced through her head: RUN. Her clouded brown eyes flickered back and forth, landing on her backup. Strength renewed, she looked at the creature’s legs, finding them lean and strong, looking ready to pounce. She was a fast runner but it would appear that this creature was faster.

It growled menacingly and she flinched, then quickly looked down at the blade in her hand. Primal instinct had drawn it at the first sign of danger, and the leather hilt in her stiff grip cooled her thoughts and eased her mind. She smirked, ready now. Ready to fight.

The creature in front of them twitched, and Oak quickly looked back at it. Tightly gripping the hilt of the sword, its normal, silver gleam covered in a purple haze. Oak knew that in order to survive this, she would have to attack, and fast. It was undead, and so, would not feel pain as easily as another opponent. It would fight to the bitter end, and Oak wasn’t sure she had the time for that. But she did know, in the back of her mind, that she would have to try.

If not, why had she even bothered coming in the first place?

Suddenly faced with the decision, Oak brought the gleaming blade to her side, and took a deep breath.

“I’ll take care of this,” she said to Ruffe, already deeming Pipit unworthy of battle.

She didn’t wait for them to reply, she simply acted. The monster roared as Oak pursued it, running as fast as she could at its decaying body. She leaped into the air and brought her sword down upon its head. It blocked, its fur-covered arm covering its face. Oak leapt back, landing on one knee, preparing for her next attack.

She let out a yell and sliced at its legs. Oak’s eyes widened as its lower limbs were replaced by air, and her muscles ached with her miss. She let out a yelp as the creature stomped the ground next to her, dust flying into her hair and eyes, and purple haze temporarily blinding her. She rolled out of the way and stood, breathing heavily, lifting her sword in front of her once again.

“I might need a little more help than I originally thought,” Oak admitted, a little embarrassed at her miss.

Ruffe rolled his eyes, “Apparently.”

“Okay, there’s no need to rub it in,” Oak dodged another attack from the undead fiend, rolling across the dirt and hopping back to her feet. “Because you are being so mean to me, you get to be the distraction. Now, run around in circles and start screaming.”

“Are you insane? I’m not gonna do that!” Ruffe had drawn his sword but now looked at her, wide eyed.

“Do it or else!” Oak screamed angrily, shifting out of the way of another wide-arced strike from the demon wolf.

“Fine, fine,” Ruffe ran out in front of the wolf before it could attack again. “Hey, over here!” he shouted, waving his hands in the air.

The creature turned its attention towards Ruffe and Oak took the opportunity, leaping once more and jumping over the abomination, landing behind him. Swinging out her sword, Oak deftly sliced through his tendons, and a grayish-red blood splattered onto her face and onto the dirt.

The wolf howled as he fell to the ground, unable to stand for the moment. She jumped into the air and landed hard upon the wolf’s grotesque skull. Dust and haze swirled about them as Oak was thrown from the wolf’s head, landing on her bottom. She rubbed her own head, silently feeling for any abrasions. She found one, lightly bleeding. It stained her white garment pink as she stood back up, ready to fight again.

“Man,” Oak grunted, dragging the tip of her sword in the dust, “The undead are harder to kill than I thought.”

            “Can’t I do anything else than just distract him?” Ruffe shouted.

            Oak looked over at him, barely catching Pipit roll her eyes. Growling, the brunette replied, “Fine. But you’re following my lead.”

            “Whatever.” Ruffe held his sword out in front of him and circled the growling beast, a grayish froth covering its mouth.

            Pipit smiled now, “I’ll just stand here and look pretty.”

            “Don’t get in the way,” Oak snarled with an expression that matched the creature she was fighting.

And with that, she prepared to attack. Running towards the creature with her sword raised high, she brought her weapon down, just narrowly missing the wolf as it dodged. IT swung at her, claws slicing through air and hair. Auburn strands flew into the air as Oak ducked, eyes narrowed in concentration. She swung at its belly, trying to gouge out its innards. It hopped back, making a guttural growl and then-

“Oh! Gross!” Oak yelped as the monster spat up a large wad of…gods know what. She attempted to move out of the way, but the wad of mucus attached to her left foot, and pinned her there.

Oak was frozen in complete and utter disgust, “Oh, ew. This is just…ew. I’m so grossed out right now.”

The wolf came at her then, swinging its arms blindly at her head and chest. Oak ducked, starting to kick with her other leg. She let out a small cry as the substance on her left leg hardened, making it impossible to side- or sweep-kick without twisting her ankle.

As she realized this, a great, giant paw came out of nowhere, smacking her across the face. The hollow sound of its pad against Oak’s cheek echoed in the deserted area. Blood trickled down in tiny rivulets from her eyebrow and head. The tendons in her leg strained as her head moved with the paw, her foot still chained to the ground. Her knee dislocated, and then popped back into place with a sickening sound.

She would have stumbled if not for her frozen foot. She remained on her feet, panting and attempting not to cry out in pain, for she hurt in a million different places, and could find no way to ignore any of it.

            Oak blinked once and suddenly, a great gray shape was behind the undead wolf. A flash of steel and Ruffe’s sharpened blade cut into the creature, slicing easily through its decaying tendons and digging into its pure white shoulder blade. Meanwhile, Oak took her sword and stabbed it haphazardly into the hardened shell that encased her leg. It shattered and she quickly shook off any remnants stuck to her leg. Her knee ached as she shifted her weight back and forth, testing her strength. It would do, but she couldn’t take too much more strenuous fighting. They’d have to end it soon with this hellish beast in order for them to stand a chance against Crowe.

            Ruffe was having difficulty removing his blade from the demon’s back, tugging futilely. He looked over and saw Oak running swiftly towards them both.

            “Forget the sword for a minute, Ruffe, and step back!” Oak shouted, sliding in front of the beast, crouched down low, gathering her fading strength. Her body took over, and before she knew what she was doing, she launched the sword upwards, like a rocket exploding into space.

Except, in this instance it was her sword, and it was exploding horizontally through the werewolf’s mouth. The blood leaked onto her face as she drew out her sword and deftly leaped atop the wolf’s back. Lifting her sword above her, Oak slammed it down through the skull of the beast, willing every ounce of her strength into the blow.

It worked. The tip of the blade punctured both skull and brain matter, driving on through.

The werewolf collapsed to the ground, falling into the harsh, black dirt that would be its grave. Taking deep breaths, Oak rolled onto her feet, then maneuvered herself to the creature’s head. Putting her feet on either side of her sword, she pulled with whatever strength she had left. The sword slid evenly out from the wolf’s skull.

Oak shuddered. “Gross. I got brain on my sword.”

            Pipit chuckled from a distance, “You have a very peculiar way of fighting.”

            “Shut up!” Oak replied heatedly.

            Ruffe silently sidled over to the corpse of the wolf and tugged out his own sword, holding it high then slicing it through the air to clean it.

            “I’m a thief. I don’t do fighting.” Pipit shrugged. “That’s why you guys are here.”

            Oak shuddered, fighting back her anger. Not exactly sure why his new teammate seemed to detest Pipit, Ruffe said nothing but observed closely.

            “Let’s just go. I’m sure Miss Thief has a side entrance we can use to get in since I doubt the front door would be a good idea.” Oak turned and looked to the aforementioned bandit, who shrugged.

            “Follow me,” Pipit chirped, leading the way across the barren grounds.

            The trio slipped through an open window, entering the household with an ease that unsettled Oak and Ruffe. Pipit seemed not to mind, but such was the carefree way of a robber. Swords drawn, Oak and Ruffe followed Pipit as she led them through the cavernous hallway they had entered into.

            What little light was inside the room came from the windows, and even then the light was dismal and gray. Even Oak had a problem without her sight, since they were no longer walking on the earth but on cold gray slabs of rock. Pipit seemed to know her way, though, and she guided them through hallways, each one looking the same as the last. Finally, Pipit slowed down and silently waltzed towards a grandiose set of doors. Oak could sense her excitement and apprehension as they approached the twin doors of mahogany.

            “He’s in here. He’s always in the library,” Pipit whispered, turning her head back to Ruffe and Oak.

            “How do you know all this?” Ruffe inquired now as they stopped a few feet from the doors, speaking as quietly as she had.

            “I’ve been trying to break in here for a really long time. I’ve got the blueprints completely memorized, his routine down pat, and I know everything about this place. There’s something I’ve been trying to steal here. I just needed someone to take care of the damned creature you killed. Everyone else who had tried was brutally slaughtered.” Pipit explained.

            Oak barely believed her, but the younger girl exuded honesty and soon Oak found herself nodding. “What are we waiting for? Let’s just go in there already,”

            “Right,” Pipit copied the motion and the three moved swiftly towards the doors.

            Ruffe kicked the entrance open, standing in the opening with his sword straight in front of him. Oak quickly ran to his side, Pipit a bit behind the two but standing on Ruffe’s opposite side.

            Oak peeked inside the room. It was lavishly furnished, with warm autumn colors painting the walls and a few antique portraits decorating them. Next to the fire, blazing in a fireplace almost as tall as Oak was, sat a man in a velveteen, red armchair. He was young, probably five or six summers older than Ruffe, with hair like coals and eyes a tawny yellow that traversed across the pages of the corpulent novel in his hands.

            His odd eyes flickered up at the strangers standing in his doorway. He almost looked surprised at their presence, but hid it well behind a mask of boredom.

            “You made it past my guard.” He acknowledged, his voice quiet as he closed his heavy book with a thud.

            “We’re here to take back our Texts.” Ruffe growled.

            Oak’s nerves sparked and her blood rushed as she anticipated the battle. There was just something about fighting that made her so excited.

            “Take back the Texts? Oh, right, the sacred books of your crummy little villages. Those are the Texts I suppose you mean. Well, I’m quite sorry but I’m going to be needing those to help complete my quest.” Crowe replied amiably.

            “So help me, gods, then we shall kill you and retrieve them.” Oak’s grip around her sword tightened as she spoke.

            Now Crowe stood, “Feel free to try.”

            Oak took a step forward, looking over to Ruffe and noticing for the first time that Pipit had left them. She had probably run off after whatever it was she had wanted to steal, Oak supposed. Ruffe and Oak dashed into the room, standing on either side of Crowe, swords raised and ready to battle.

            “You underestimate me,” Crowe bellowed, raising his hands and speaking a word vaguely familiar to Oak.

            Air hurtled around the three, blowing caustically, throwing sheaths of paper across the room. The candles in the room flickered but remained lit by some feat of magic.

            Running quickly toward the man, Oak and Ruffe swung their swords, but the wind picked up and blew them both away, Ruffe hitting the wall and Oak skidding against the floor. They quickly jumped back up to their feet, angered as they inched back towards the magician, ignoring the aches. Oak hated using magic above all else: it had always seemed like cheating to her. Now she just had to find a way to defeat the magic wielder.

            A sudden plan in mind, Oak made eye contact with Ruffe and nodded. Somehow, they both understood to try the same technique that had used on the werewolf. Ruffe swung his blade widely at Crowe, aiming to slash him across the chest. While Crowe evaded the attack, Oak came around from behind, sword blazing as she aimed to lop off his head.

            At the very last moment, Crowe ducked and slipped out of the way. Oak and Ruffe stopped in their tracks, trying to figure out how to destroy the cretin who had taken the lifeblood of their villages, and who was obnoxiously hard to defeat.

            “Why did you take them? What quest, exactly, do you speak of?” Oak asked guardedly, her hands still firm around the hilt of her waiting blade.

            Crowe chuckled, “As soon as I became ruler of these lands, I decided it simply wasn’t enough. With the three books combined, the greatest of all the Texts granted by the gods, I could rule over everyone! I would be the most powerful man in the world! I will do whatever it takes to become such a man.”

            “You will never rule over my village!” Oak spat.

            Ruffe pointed his blade at Crowe, “We will defeat you and take back our texts!”

            “Well, what are you waiting for?” Crowe laughed again. “I’m getting tired of playing around.”

            “I can fix that,” Oak growled acerbically.

            With a shout, the brunette lunged after Crowe, ignoring completely the blowing wind. She was within mere inches up him when the wind violently tossed her outside the doors she had come in.

            “Oak!” Ruffe glanced back at his comrade before turning quickly to Crowe.

            Rubbing her head, Oak sat up.

            “Are you okay, Tree Girl?”

            “Huh?” Oak looked up and saw Pipit standing over her. “What the hell are you doing here?”

            “Helping,” the Bird replied, pulling Oak back onto her feet.

            Pipit pressed a weighty dagger into Oak’s hand. The hilt was plain with a round jewel at the very end, and the blade had been carved from amber, rather than steel.

            “What’s this going to do?” Oak asked warily. “It’s so awkwardly balanced-“

            “It’s just heavier than normal knives, is all,” Pipit interrupted. “This is one of the things I’m here for. Since he is an expert at wind control (he is from the Air of Birds after all, we spend most of our time on the wind) you’ll need something heavy and equally magical to kill him.”

            “And this is going to do that? Kill him, I mean?”

            “Right.”

            “This little dagger?”

            “Yes.”

            Still untrusting, Oak shifted the knife’s weight in her hand, her fingers curling around the firm hilt. “It’s heavy, you said, right? So am I, though, and his wind still knocked me away.”

            Pipit shook her head, “You’re forgetting the magic part of the knife, dummy.”

            Oak was about to retort but she was suddenly reminded that there was a battle at hand when Ruffe let out a cry, having been thrown against the floor after trying to attack once more. Oak decided she would argue later and act now.

            Rushing back into the room, Oak held the dagger in her right hand, her sword sitting awkwardly in her left. At that moment, Ruffe came at Crowe once more, and while the magician’s attention was on the enduring Fish, Oak aimed and threw the knife with precision she garnered after years of practicing.

            Oh, please. Practicing. Like she ever practiced throwing knives. What she had done was practice throwing paper airplanes at people and attempting to hit the target. Knives were decidedly easier to throw, Oak realized, although very different. It was only pure luck that the knife struck its mark.

            Plunging into Crowe’s pulsating neck, the knife sliced through vocal cords and arteries alike, lifeblood spraying forth in great spurts.

            Oak made a face at the blood pooling on the ground and slashing across the walls and ceilings in arcs. Crowe sunk to the ground, unable to call upon some other element to save him. He twitched a few times before he finally shuddered and breathed his last, gooey-wet breath.

            “It’s over? That easily?” Ruffe asked, rubbing his back to the best of his ability.

            “I feel like I cheated,” Oak confessed, rubbing her wrist with the opposite hand, having sheathed her sword. “Pipit said the knife was magicked.”

            “It was. It still is, actually.” Shaking her blonde head, Pipit walked over to Crowe and checked his wrist for a pulse. She found none and moved her hand toward the knife embedded in his throat, pulling it gently out, avoiding whatever leftover arterial spray would come from any final pulsations of his heart. “Dead, dead, dead.” She declared.

            “Great,” Oak replied sarcastically. “Let’s get the Texts and get out of here. Who’s going to rule your village now?”

            Pipit shrugged, “Dunno, don’t care. I’m going to head back with you guys.”

            “You’re kidding me, right?” Oak had begun searching the bookshelves for the familiar spine of the Red Wood Text but now turned to face the blonde.

            “I’ve got what I wanted- just a few valuable trinkets and heirlooms. And that magic knife. I want adventure, and you guys seem like you would be magnets for such trouble!” Pipit was nearly jumping around in excitement.

            “You don’t even know how to fight!”

            “You could teach me!”

            “Not in your life-“

            Ruffe interrupted, “We’re just going to go back to our villages with the Texts and live out the rest of our lives in whatever peace we can attain.”

            “You’re just going to leave the other Texts here?” Pipit demanded, crossing her arms.

            “There are more than just our Texts here? From other villages?” Now they had completely stopped searching, and Oak stared open-mouthed at Pipit.

            “Sure. He wasn’t the only one with dreams of ruling over the others. Many of the people in the Air of Birds believe that they should rule over the other villages because we live in the air, above all the other creatures.”

            “That’s ridiculous! Everyone knows all life stems from the earth, so the Trees would be best to rule over everyone! Not that I’m promoting this totalitarianism thing,” Oak quickly said.

            “Fish are the people of peace,” Ruffe said, turning back to his search. “While we have well-trained warriors, we only use them to maintain the peace. The main reason I came with Oak is because my village would drown without our Text,”

            “And mine would wither away into nothing,” Oak agreed.

            “So would these other villages, then,” Pipit argued and, frankly, the argument made sense.

            They spent a few moments in silence, wherein Oak and Ruffe found their respective Texts and the Texts of many other villages. They set them all in a great pile, and the three stepped back in awe, surprised by how many sacred books there were.

            Oak sighed, “Fine, fine,” she said to Pipit. “Once we return our texts, we will travel and return the others. I’ve got nothing better to do.”

            “Me neither,” Ruffe laughed.

            “Great! Adventures, here we come!” Pipit pumped a fist into the air gleefully.

            Rolling her eyes, Oak gathered her specific Text and placed it in her satchel. She was glad that she had completed her quest, and also glad that she had apparently stopped some crazy man from trying to rule over all the villages. All in all, she supposed, it was a good day.

            While the three walked back to Ruffe’s home and Oak’s Arbole Village, discussing their plans for returning the Texts, Oak thought about her magnolias. It seemed as though she would not be able to visit them for a while, what with all the work she would be doing. Oak sighed, a growing habit. She hated working, but somehow it didn’t really bother her right now.

            It all seemed worth it to her. She was the stuff of legends. Parents would sing songs about her to their children, declaring her adventures and good deeds. The thought excited her and suddenly, she couldn’t wait to get back on the road.