It was an elven boy of painful beauty—fine features, high cheekbones, eyes the pale colour of nature regarding me without expression.
A long, curved blade hung in his right hand, the steel dark and wet with fresh blood that still dripped slowly onto the stones, each drop making a small dark circle that spread and faded.
More blood streaked his face in thin lines, some of it dried into brown tracks that spoke of earlier tears, earlier grief and violence.
"I am the one who should be asking that of you, young man." His voice was low and hoarse, possibly roughened by hours of fighting and running. "Leave this place immediately. No... leave the entire Lot district at once. Do not stop for anything. And when you reach safety, tell Thaad that Lot is probably no more."
