Erik finally landed, his feet hitting the marshy grounds on the dwarven regions. He had flown all night, struggling to keep himself, and the princess from falling out of the sky.  He knew, he a human, had no right to be covering the grounds of the dwarven lands, and the princess especially had no business, but he had known not where they were.

After the war on earth, the elves had taken over the human region, and along with it the dwarven mines. The dwarves, seeking more land, took the agricultural land of the monks, whom took over the gnomes marshes. The gnomes took shelter in the deserts of the highlands, where trolls and many a beast lived. 

Needless to say, not one race but the elves, had an upper hand in this. 

(Hey it's me, Cross. From here on WolfTheBookWorm and I will be collaborating on this chapter. Please follow Wolf! They're so awesome and have some amazing fantasy stories if they'd just publish the stories..... Please follow her!)

Erik shoved Aelya off his back, collapsing to the ground with a loud groan, the grass rising to meet him. They both lay there for several minutes, even the normally-talkative Aelya too exhausted to speak. It was not until Erik's rasping, heavy breathing slowed and Aelya's heart rate calmed to the slow, comfortable steady beating.

"What'd you do that for?" she whined, rolling over slightly to face him.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe relieving my back from being crushed for the past eight hours," he said, achy limbs refusing to move even enough to roll over. "Stop this bullcrap. Don't you wanna live? I could have left you back there to be captured."

"It would've been better than being carried with you halfway across Tyraan," she snarked, normal hard-headed, stubborn attitude kicking in.

"Whatever, Aelya.  This-" An elvish arrow whizzed past his head, and an eerie, long low hum sounded, like an ongoing drum.

"Elves!" she screeched.

Elves, formerly unnoticed by the oblivious, exhausted pair, seemed to pour out of the shadows like wasps from a hive. Their soundless, phantom-like steps not even heard by Erik's sensitive ears. Arrows shattered as they collided with Aeyla's stone blue shields, and war cries reached them as the Elves charged, swords raised as their onslaught continued.

Bones and muscles screaming in protest, Erik shoved himself up onto his hands and knees. "Run," he growled through his fangs , and Aeyla rolled her eyes and glared back at him.

"No. Let's stay and let the enemy get us." She grumbled, clearly not impressed by his wording.

He groaned, ignoring her sarcasm, and together, legs aching, they ran, Aeyla's long, elvish legs, pumping, carrying her farther and farther ahead. Erik's aching muscles shrieked in agony, and he knew he wasn't going to make it. But he ran on anyway, his path zigzagging, hoping and praying an arrow would not pierce his fragile bones.

That's all he could do, really. Hope and pray.

Without any warning, his legs gave out, first his right, then his left, until the ground rose up to meet him. Oh, how he wanted to just collapse. Settle into the comfortable grass and rest.

No. He wouldn't give up. He refused.

He pushed himself to his feet, ignoring his abused body's cries of protest. He stumbled on, and, relying on pure adrenaline and determination, he ran, continuing his Z-shaped path, amazed that an arrow hadn't already claimed his life.

Abruptly, a crushing weight crashed into his right side, blowing him over .  The next thing he knew, his nose was buried in the muddy dirt, the crushing weight on top of him. Strong, yet slim, hands grabbed his shoulder, and he was relieved of the weight and spun around until deep blue eyes clashed with striking, fierce ones.

He was oddly broad for an elf, with broad shoulders and arms as thick as a tree trunk's, and his legs just as thick. He wore a gleaming chestplate, bearing the royal crest-a hawk with an arrow protruding from its chest. Though he wore no protection on his legs, no doubt for the long trek of following their complex trail. He bore a great strongbow strapped to his back, and several daggers hung from his belt, with ruby-encrusted hilts.

It was one such dagger that he held to Erik's throat, cold metal biting into his skin, warm hot blood oozing down his neck.

"Wh-" The elf never finished his sentence, as an arrow lodged itself into his belt.

He took his chance, rolling the elf's body off of his with a soft grunt of pain. He shoved himself to his feet, only to hear a feminine voice behind him  screech.

"I just saved your life! No thank you?"

At first, he thought it was Aeyla, only to realize the voice was slightly deeper. It belonged to another. A guard! his instincts screeched. No, his logical side reasoned, she just saved your life!

A grass-green blur swept past him. "Let's get out of here!"