Galactic Mage 4: Alien Arrivals by John Daulton Page A

been yet another day of the elves having to save her from predators. And such had been the case on every occasion since but for one, and that had hardly been any better. By the fourteenth day she’d been stung twenty-three times by nine different types of insects, three of which were considerably taller than she was, and twice she’d actually been pulled into a giant termite lair—the same one both times. The big snake that had snatched her off the vine on her third day had nearly crushed her in its coils—actually it had crushed her for the most part, but as usual, Seawind’s magic made the injuries go away—and since then it had been nothing but birds, reptiles, insects, and various types of cats, canines, rodents, and, more often than not, mystery beasts, one after the next. The only day she hadn’t been nearly or partially eaten was the day she’d plunged straight off a cliff with a sheer drop of some four hundred spans to a rocky beach below. She’d only been spared death on that occasion because Seawind had arrived as she went over. He was kind enough to throw his spear through her leg, abruptly ending her fall, and then haul her up by the length of slender rope he’d somehow managed to get tied to the end of the shaft. Yesterday, she’d actually been in the mouth of a twelve-span crocodile, which had begun to spin her round and round in a death roll at the edge of a riverbank when the elves finally showed up, and so today, she had decided that she was going to tell them she was done. Every day before, Seawind or Djoveeve had come into her little chamber in the cave, woken her up, and somehow convinced her to try running with the hunt again. Every time, they somehow managed it, though she could not be sure why, and every day it was the same thing: her getting mangled by some jungle beast. Over and over again. But she wasn’t going to do it now. Not this time. This time she’d had enough. One croc too many, by her way of seeing things. One croc, one cliff, one centipede-thing too much.
    She sat upon a log with her jaw set and her skinny arms crossed upon her chest, waiting. The youngest elf, for that is what she decided Sandew was, watched her with a look that made her even more determined to go home. He’d taken a spray of acid in the face a few days ago from a giant bird that had plucked her up and carried her off to its nest, some kind of green-and-white eagle with a parrot’s beak and eyes as big as Pernie’s head. For a time after, there was some fear he might lose his sight, even with Seawind appearing almost the moment it occurred and working healing magic on the spot.
    “Why don’t you go home, little human?” Sandew said as he watched her staring at him. “You’ll never run with us. Your species is slow and weak. I said it when you got here, and I’ll say it again. What is the value of coming here to die?”
    “Djoveeve ran with the hunt, Sandew,” said another elf. “She is human.” Pernie did not know the elf’s name. She knew none of them by name beyond Seawind and Sandew, even though the elves in this group were the only elves she’d seen since coming here. Just these. They rarely spoke when she was around.
    “That was before my time,” said Sandew. “And in the two hundred and ninety years since, what other human has? Djoveeve was an accident. The gods forgot themselves when they made her.”
    “There has been no need for another,” said Seawind, appearing atop the brown mounded projection of the cave mouth and having come from somewhere far beyond.
    “Well, this one isn’t it. I’ve heard the stories. Djoveeve ran with the hunt on the second day.”
    “That is true, she did. I was there. And before her, Belletelemew ran with us on the ninth. I fail to see your point.”
    “We approach the full passing of the moon, Seawind. Perhaps his time with the humans has made Shadesbreath’s judgment weak. Perhaps he has misread the signs.”
    “He has not. If you choose not to