A Headstrong Youth
Part 3
“You’re right not to want to go inside,” said a voice beside him so suddenly that Joren nearly tripped turning around. Where no one had been merely a moment ago there now stood a man leaning nonchalantly against a tree, picking at something from which he pulled dark pieces that he threw to the ground. Something small and furry that left his fingers slick and red.
“Who are you?” asked Joren, as calmly as possible. All these sudden appearing acts were making him feel high-strung.
“Did the village send you?” asked the other in return, neither looking up nor answering. The young man frowned.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I said,” drawled the other, over-pronouncing as though he thought the youth dim-witted, “did the village send you?” With this, he looked up and Joren stared into a set of completely pitch black eyes. Joren’s whole being became as focused as a drawn arrow.
“I was not sent by the village,” he said slowly.
“It’s not the season for men yet, you know.”
Joren frowned, beginning to feel frustrated with the unhelpful answers. “What?”
“Mind you, for a strapping specimen such as yourself, an exception might be made.” The other pulled himself away from the tree and cocked his head. Joren cocked his own in incomprehension, his fingers inching towards his blade as his instincts surged wildly against the other’s unsettling stare.
“Who are you?” he asked again, his hand nearly touching the hilt.