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The elements are.... a cavern/cave coming of age a bruise hope empathy/compassion Independence Balgar, Chief of the Frost Men, held a torch and threw it onto the corpses of the demons whom they had killed in Stonehowl. “Now,” he said firmly as the bodies began to burn, “we have the strength and guidance of Kuraul with us, and we will see every demon burn, just as we burn these demons.” The Frost Men cheered, but Buren, son of Balgar, clenched the weapon harder, his tears freezing in the cold, chilling night. As the fire raged, casting enormous shadows, Buren stared in horror. One of the demons moved; one of the infants. Instinctively reacting, Buren tossed aside the broken sword he had been clasping so tightly to, and reached over the flames that licked his skin. He screamed out in pain as the flame consumed a portion of his flesh. He grabbed the demon-child’s arm and pulled quickly, with all his might, simply falling backwards. The demon-child fell into the snow and let out a cry. Suddenly the Frost Men stood and looked around. “What is the meaning of this?” Balgar demanded, towering over his son, his dark brown beard streaked with flakes of falling snow. Balgar’s eyes looked a few feet from Buren, his son, and saw one of the demon infants crying. The young female demon-child, with her black hair and soft green eyes looked up at Balgar. Balgar grew furious. “What have you done son? By the crest of the tide, what have you done?” “The child was still alive,” Buren said, nursing his burned arm. Balgar grabbed his son by the fresh burn, forcing his own son to scream in unbelievable pain. “You must do away with this ignorant weakness of yours! The demons do not deserve your compassion! They’re murderous, foul, beasts! They’re not even of this world, son! Do you realize that? They’re not natural! Kuraul demands that we cleanse the world of them!” “You’ve spoke to Kuraul, have you?” Buren spoke definitely, speaking through the immense pain coursing through his arm, as his father strengthened his hold. “Sherala has,” Balgar retorted. “Our shaman!” “She can’t even see the sun rise,” Buren growled. “She gave up her sight son,” Balgar barked back, “to gain the gift of Kuraul’s visions! She gave up her sight – something most would not do – to benefit others! To benefit us! And now, once again, you shame me twice before the sun has set once!” “The boy is strong,” Sherala whispered, resting her gnarled hand on Balgar’s shoulder. “He is defiant and independent. He believes he knows better than you. Better than me. He will be trouble. Punishing him with a beating will not suffice. He must see. He must feel.” “What do you suggest, shaman?” Balgar released Buren’s arm. The boy fell to his knees and clasped his burned arm. “He wanted to save the demon,” Sherala smiled. “Let him.” “What?” Belgar had begun to doubt the shaman’s wisdom. “The boy has never raised a child,” Sherala explained. “The child has no mother. The child will die a slow painful death. The boy will either attempt to nurse it until it dies a slow, agonizing death; or he will grant the demon ‘mercy’ and eventually kill it with his own hands.” Belgar turned to his son. “You heard the shaman. You want to save the demon child, try it. But I do not permit you to get any assistance from the rest of us. Anything you feed it, you must hunt yourself. You want to prove yourself a hunter. You want to prove yourself capable. This is your chance. In the end, you will either watch that demon die, or you will kill it. Either way, its death will now be because of you. Because you failed to nurse it back to health, or because you realize you’re a failure and that Kuraul’s wish is that the demon to die – as it should have in the fire.” His father spun on his heel and began to walk away before stopping and turning. “You are shunned from the tribe until that demon is dead. Until then, you are not my son any longer. Go live in that cave as the demons did, until you learn once more your proper place in this world.” For three nights, Buren lived in the Stonehowl cave, nursing his burned arm, as well as the demon infant. He used snow, which he melted in a fire, to boil to remove any diseases; and used that water, to cool in the snow in a stone bowl he carved himself. He then used that water to both tend to his wound, and to provide the young infant with at least water. He had managed to kill a small hopper that between himself and the infant had lasted those three days. The burned armed was now healing, and extremely bruised. He cradled the young elf child in his arms, rocking her to sleep at night and keeping her warm with his own body, despite the immense amount of pain that coursed through his still tender arm. He knew that he was the child’s only hope of surviving. His father, Belgar watched from the shadows, snarling…