All elves receive power from the land. We do not need to cut and hack and burn as humans do. She looked from Sorin to Anowon. You are all, human and vampire, suckers of life. You are the same in our eyes.
Are we? Sorin asked, smiling and raising an eyebrow. The same?
In a manner of speaking.
The smile stayed on Sorin s face. He started walking.
In that case, let us continue to Graypelt and see what we see.
Why Graypelt? Nissa asked, walking after him.
Because it lies between us and our destination in the west.
The Teeth of Akoum?
The Eye of Ugin.
She stopped and looked over her shoulder. Anowon stood next to a box strapped to the tree, watching as Sorin began walking the footpath that led west from the camp. His hands were bound, but still she stopped.
He walks in front of me, she yelled to Sorin, keeping her eyes on Anowon.
Ghet! called Sorin.
Anowon started walking, keeping his eyes straight ahead. He passed Nissa, and she watched his long braid sway slightly as he walked.
They went one behind the other along the narrow path though the forest. The way was fraught with boulders and thick, rank growth. Eventually the trail ended completely, as if the beings that had once walked it had ceased to exist in mid step. Nissa backtracked on her hands and knees until she was able to locate a track in the ground that was not too old and pointed west to their destination. Since the trail itself ended, they would have to follow the faint reminders of past travellers and hope they led to Graypelt. They followed signs for the rest of the day: a broken twig, a torn patch of moss. The forest echoed all around them. A little past when the sun was highest in the sky, they crossed a small river, and Nissa searched for a sign on the other side. She found it.
We are close, Nissa said. She could see that the toe digs and heel divots of varying creatures had previous converged on their small path. There were the toe claws of goblins and tracks of at least six different hobnailed humans, as well as a barefoot kor and an elf. The footfalls were clearly visible to the eye. On the breeze she smelled sweat and wood smoke and something else she couldn t exactly place. The land had grown rockier, as she knew it was supposed to at the edge of the great mesa. Just ahead somewhere, she said. Prepare yourself.
Robert B. Wintermute
Zendikar: In the Teeth of Akoum
They encountered the first ragged tent when the sun was low in the west. Many of the tents were gray and of different sizes and materials, but some were fire-blackened and abandoned. Others were flattened, as if stepped upon. Past the tents the forest dropped away, and Nissa could see the sun setting blood red behind rows of jagged peaks capped with snow.
Sorin looked about him with a bemused smile on his face. Graypelt.
So named because of the Turntimber warthog tents.
Sorin appraised the destroyed tents hugging the end of the mesa.
Since when are warthog skins called pelts?
A sudden gust sent a piece of burnt tent flapping. The wind caused some of the cook fires in front of the tents to blaze to life. Somewhere a dog whined. At least, Nissa hoped it was a dog.
Above the nearest fire pit, a carcass was skewered over a pile of low coals. A human squatted back on his heels and turned the meat slowly. He looked up at them with crossed eyes. On his head he wore a helmet with the tip of a hedron affixed to the top.
Sorin pushed his jaw at the skewered meat. What do you have there? Elf meat?
The man spat and turned his eyes back to the fire.
Warthog, Nissa said, her eyes scanning the tents. She found a tent larger than the rest and black in color and led them to it along the makeshift streets of mud. They passed two men standing on either side of a horse. Both were wearing heavy armor fixed with strings, and on each string was tied a stone. Climbing hooks curled off their elbow couters and the tips of their sabatons. They were busy lashing a folded green tent and long poles to their horse. With each movement the tiny stones tinked against their armor.
Power sellers, Nissa whispered. Each of those stones is imbued with a bit of the Turntimber s special raw mana. They sell them.
Sorin looked back where the men stood, watching them. How much do they cost?
Less than that, Nissa replied.
Sorin looked where she pointed. A bright red drake the size of a large dog sat on a roost in front of a gray, scale-skinned tent. The creature s bright eyes watched them as they passed.
They find those drakes in the Makindi Trench, Nissa said, approaching the black tent. She stopped and looked back the way they had come. Every eye in the camp was on them. She turned and said, Keep your lips tight together, and don t look at it.
With a deep breath, Nissa pushed back the stiff hide hung over the hole and slipped into the tent. The others followed. It was almost totally dark inside. A strange smell filled their noses so that Sorin groaned and Nissa held her breath. Anowon shuffled his feet. Something was buzzing in the tent.
Khalled? Nissa said.
There was no sound except for the buzzing.
Khalled? Nissa repeated.
More buzzing. Then something stirred. Yes? called a voice.
Khalled, it is Nissa.
Nissa. Come closer, child. The voice sounded like it hadn t spoken for millennia.
She walked in the darkness, feeling ahead with her foot before each step. When she was nearer to the buzzing, a rough hand groped her face.
Nissa Revane. My nectar.
She heard Sorin sniff.
I am here with two friends.
Friends? They don t smell like friends. Or rather, they smell like friends to each other but not to you.
Nonetheless
Have you seen the beautiful flowers outside, Nissa?
Flowers? I saw no flowers.
What? No flowers?
I saw some destroyed tents, Khalled.