Time limit: 1 hour
Type of Writing: Word Sprint.
This type of writing is where we have no prompts and we just write whatever come to mind first. I call this story, Tim and Tank.
Shattering trees and the groan of the icy river heralded the start of the coldest night of the year. Deep within a cave, three members of the sand-elf community waited, shivering. A small fire burned with a dying light as the elder of the sand-elves held a small bundle in his leathery arms. Rocking the bundle to and fro, the elder whispered small spells of fancy and wonder which produced floating pictures of trees, flowers, and shrubs, all in full spring bloom.
The third sand-elf, a small dainty figure, slowly added sticks to the fire. When she was not feeding the last of the fuel to the flames, she was wringing her hands together and rocking back and forth.
The cave was silent, save the soft crackling of the fire and the elder’s quiet spell murmuring. Everything in the cave seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for…something or someone.
Yet, the fire began to burn low, as the small sand-elf threw the last sick upon the fire, she broke the silence that had persisted for so long.
“Grand Elder,” she shivered, “we have run out of sticks.”
The elder never looking away from the small bundle he was carrying muttered, “He is coming Sun, He will be here soon.”
Sun wrapped her arms around her rubbing them vigorously to add a bit of warmth. She missed the sun-scorched sand of her home. Longingly, Sun remembered waking up in those endless sands to the brilliance of her namesake. She missed the feeling of the power and warmth of the sun coursing through her body, every day and late into the evening. She missed the sun parties and the little nomadic tents of her tribe opened to receive the most sunlight possible, but most of all, Sun missed her homeland.
But now it was all lost. All because of that child, she darkly thought glancing at the bundle the Grand Elder was enamored with. If only he was never born, I would have never needed to leave Sandgrula.
Sun suddenly stood and stomped her feet to bring feeling back to them. With her body cooling by the freezing temperatures and her soul freezing by distaste for the tiny sand-elf, Sun made a decision.
“Grand Elder I am going to go look for help. Our fire is almost gone and we are going to freeze to death. Whoever you are waiting for is not coming.”
The elder continued his spells, hardly giving Sun any notice.
Sun watched for any reaction from the Grand elder, when none came Sun was finally fed up, “Grand Elder, I am cold, our fire is about to go out, we are going to die along with that so-called “salvation of our tribe,” just leave the child here and we should leave.”
The elder looked up sharply at Sun, his eyes glazed white and unseeing. “The child will not die, as for us, to die for our tribe is a great honor. There is no greater honor than protecting the tribe and its savior.”
The angry retort of the elder caused the infant sand-elf to start wailing. Perplexed, the elder started whispering spells again, but the child only began to cry louder.
Clutching her ears, Sun moved away from the child and the elder towards the front of the cave.
Icy tears ran down her face in anger and frustration. Sun did not want to die for her tribe, she wanted to run across the sandhills and plains again. She wanted to watch the Lom lizards catch the night pests as they circled the campfires, she wanted to…
Sun froze. Chills of fear ran down her spine.
Just past the crying of the child, she could make out, something. Something was slowly but swiftly approaching the entrance of the cave.
Sun’s eyes widened as a figure appeared at the mouth of the cave. Her breath caught and she stood stalk still.
There in front of her was a giant Werebear, blackened teeth and claws. Its musky coat covered in skulls and bone fragments.
Poor Sun of the sand-elves barely had a chance to yell out a warning to the Grand Elder before the Werebear was upon her.
Spells flashed, teeth snapped, and screams echoed throughout the cave and into the night.
On that fateful night, in the deep dark blistering cold of winter. The last of the sand-elves were almost eradicated by one wandering Werebear.
All save a small bundle, hidden behind spell and placed within a nook in the back of the cave.
A small bundle which was crying so fiercely the next morning, a passing Orc named Tank stopped by to see what the commotion was all about.
Tank stepped over the remains of the dainty sand-elf named Sun and the elder sand-elf who had given the last of his life force to a spell to protect the last of his kind. The last of the tribe known as the sand-elves. The child named who would soon be named, Timaeus.
Tank picked up the small sand-elf who was now blue with cold while looking around.
“You are a small thing. Another minute out here in this cold and you might die. It seems your family has met a terrible fate.” Tank glanced at the remains, “Come with me tiny elf where it is warm and safe.” Tank’s rumbling voice soothed Timaeus who stopped crying to look at the giant orc.
Tank smiled a toothy grin, “That’s better small one. Come, let’s go home.”