Malaric

          "Malaric." blue eyes, his voice as soothing as a mother's hand, "We've been gone too long now. Mother will be looking for us." His eyes wandered down to the rabbit in his brother's grip.

              Malaric looked straight through his brother, his face so pleased just a moment before now held the expression of one damned to the whipping post. "It wasn't right what I did was it? I did something horrid didn't I?" he asked.

              The other boy gave him a patient smile, "Of course you did Malied it's the month of Orn. There is no hunting in this month it is forbidden--now come let me get rid of it for you, the punishment for hunting is very severe."

              Malaric shook his head, pulling the sopping body against his chest. "Clovlen stop that! What I did was wrong wasn't it? Wasn't it! I shouldn't have hurt this animal the way I did--ever during Orn or not!"

              Clovlen's smile did not waver, nor did his hands lower "Does it matter? Should it matter to us? What do you feel is wrong about what you did?"

              Malaric's mouth worked as if trying to force words pass his invisible barrier of pride. Clovlen shook his head. "Come give it to me, I will get rid of it--then we can go home hm?" his voice was all that was comforting and kind. Even as he gently pried the rabbit from his brother's shaking grasp, he continued to chatter pointlessly attempting to soothe Malaric's frayed nerves.                                               

              "There is something wrong with me isn't there? Why do I do these things and feel nothing? Am I a son of Marsin?  Am I a demon?"

              Clovlen's smile faded slightly at the corners, but quickly sprang back, "Do you feel like one? Certainly you mustn't I see no horns or fangs. Do not waste your strength thinking on the superstitions of the ignorant."

              Malaric's eyes settled on his brother firmly, "You are a superstition--yet you exist." He laid a hand against Clovlen's hair, "I am touching you so you must exist. Does that not mean that-"

              "You are just a boy; now come the god awaits his offering." Clovlen said sharply, and turned away.

              Malaric sighed, Clovlen’s appearance a sensitive area for his brother; he had touched it in his own discomfort. 

              Clovlen strode out of the water, and pass the bank where they had left their boots, on into the woods. There were no shoes allowed in the holy place of course.

              Malaric followed. Neither of them noticed a small shadow break away from a nearby tree and dart off into the opposite direction.

              Clovlen stopped before a thick knot of fragrant blackwood vines, they only grew on lacquer trees, and ancient ones at that, they were stiff, and gave off a strong musk, the scent was popular amongst the young men of the village. 

              Clovlen had no fondness for the scent; he was simply interested in what lay beyond the vines. Althinta's temple, filled with tiny altars made of the same vines, and little monuments he had created from scrap wood and twine. There was one statue he had bought from a passing merchant; it had been of a winged manna with arms outstretched. Little round chips of silver had been placed for the eyes.  Clovlen had broken off its wings, one he stained black and laid it at the manna's feet, the other he stained red and placed it across the manna's arms. He called it Becathan, Althinta's messenger; he sat before the center altar in their temple.

              He stood there a moment taking in the beauty of what they had created, the walls were made up of more roots, and the musk was overwhelming. Light seeped in through the lattice of the vines overhead red tinted from the leaves of the massive lacquers. It was as fine a temple as any for Altha. He then bowed to Becathan, and approached the altar the tainted manna stood over.