Tim dreamed.

In his short life of eleven years, he never experienced sheer terror. He never felt that a present moment would be his last. Never felt that soon he would be experiencing a slow and very painful death.

His mother, as is the custom of mothers, would tell stories to him and his brother to frighten them into behaving. There were countless stories of Bogeymen; ones that lived in the walls, others in the dark of the cities. He could recall a few stories that she told that happened in a forest. Then there was the story of the Faery of Glennis who lured children away from their parents and brought them to the ClearingWay, only to remove their hearts while they slept. But none of the stories prepared him for the evil that confronted him as he slept.

Atop the Watcher Gallery, amidst the old stone ruins, Tim faced death. His back was to a wall of stone that extended around him and formed a nearly complete circle. In the circle were four of the creatures that haunted his day. Their putrid smell made Tim nauseous, and their cacophony tore at his very soul. They were wolves at their very heart, he knew, but they stood on their hind legs without any thought of getting on all fours; and on two legs, they towered over him. Their dark gray fur, splattered with bits of dried blood, was mangled and mangy. The heads of these beasts were indeed more frightening; dark, hallow eyes, inset into a large face; ears erect, as if listening for his cries; snout protruding with teeth bared and the beast’s saliva dripping from the canines. They paced side to side and back and forth not two meters from Tim. Uneasiness tempered their steps but not their bellows.

Tim’s legs began to shake. He placed his hands on the wall behind him, and shuffled his feet out from the wall. Slowly, ever so slowly, he leaned his back on the wall and slid down to the ground. He looked up at the sky and noticed it was getting darker; night would soon come, and his parents would start looking for him. But he knew they wouldn’t know where to look. He looked out beyond the Beasts and saw some lights in the village. And he began to cry. A tear fell as he thought of all things he should have said and done today. And at his feet he saw a medallion, a necklace trinket, a prized possession. And he wondered how he got into this predicament. And he realized it was them. Those creatures he met just a few days ago. Like the one that stood behind the Beasts and watched without fear or pity.

The Elfkin.

And he awoke. Streams of light entered his room and lit his face; the smell of food wafting in from the kitchen where his mother was quietly singing. His father and brother outside making a fuss.

It was Tim’s first day in the Crossing. And he was scared.