Satyrs At Dusk ✔

Chapter Nineteen

"No."

That was quick. Imni had already dismissed their request without a second thought. Penelope turned to leave, shrugging, when Maxwell tugged her back. Maxwell stepped forward and fought the vigorous thumping in his ribcage.

"Please, sir. The population of that town is dwindling quickly. There are plenty of other places you could hunt, like the more occupied states. California or Florida... Just not here." Maxwell pleaded. Imni's eye twitched, his lip curling into a grimace.

The one up in the tree stopped playing the guitar, eyes locked onto the conversation. He jumped down from the branch and propped the instrument up against the trunk, strolling over with a confused look on his face.

He was much shorter than Imni, maybe up to his shoulders, and his build was much healthier; he supported more meat on his bones, giving him a little belly and a chubbier face than Imni's chiseled, thin one. His hair was short and curly, elvish ears perked up in a cheerful manner. His eyes were acorn-shaped with the same crimson as Imni's.

His skin was a bit darker than Imni's, more sun-kissed. He wore a grey cotton sweater with oil-black tight jeans and a pair of mocha leather boots. Their clothes were awfully casual for deadly assassins.

He stood beside Imni, looking up to the other elf with a raised brow. "What's going on?" he asked. His voice was low, but no voice could compare to Imni's. Something about Imni's voice could send a wave of terror through anyone. This guy was much more domestic.

His eyes traveled to Penelope, who he seemed to soften to instantly. "Dear Penelope!" he shot forward and embraced her, squeezing tightly. "How we've missed you so!" he cried out. Imni's expression dimmed a little as the elf pulled back from Penelope.

"Nay, we simply should've anticipated more from one of our best." Imni reached forward and placed a hand on Penelope's shoulder in a wordless reward for coming out of there alive.

The other elf gave a nod. He stepped next to Imni and gently rubbed his bicep. Imni averted his gaze and his slender face flushed a deep red. He cleared his throat, shaking the look away. "So..." he continued, "You want us to move?"

"...Yeah. Your camp will be better out in New York, California, Florida, anywhere else but here." Maxwell said.

"And this is?" Saevel asked, gesturing for Penelope to introduce the new elf. She let out an impatient huff and opened her hand towards the two.

"This is Lord Aimon, Lord Imni's husband."

"What will we get in return?" Imni pressed through the introduction.

"More targets..? More money? I don't know. More land to occupy-"

"A higher chance of being hunted by the U.S. government." Imni interrupted in a harsh voice. "As capable as we may be, we cannot risk our people; our uncommon race, mind you." Aimon looked up to him, brow furrowed in distaste.

"Love, once this population runs out, we'll have nobody to hunt. I think it's best that we listen to the round-eared fellow." he spoke. Imni looked down to him and sighed with softening eyes. He flicked back a loose strand of hair, jaw tensing.

"You may have a point... Very well. We will leave within the next few days." Imni concurred. He swiveled on his heel and turned almost coyly, eyes trained on Aimon.

"Come, Aimon." Imni motioned for the other elf to follow, his hand outstretched and hip jutting outward as he stood elegantly, boots swiping softly against the wild grass. His waist twisted as he glanced behind him, watching intently as Aimon gladly took his hand. They mutter back and forth between each other, slowly walking away to discuss their plans.

Maxwell snickered quietly, "He reminds me of a cat," he told Saevel.

Penelope turned to the two with a smile of her own. "This is where I'm meant to be. Thank you for saving my life back there, and especially for introducing me to the human girl. If you can, please give her this."

She ushered over to one of the tents and rummaged through it, pulling out a necklace that adorned a shining emerald. She trotted back over, dropping the jewelry into Maxwell's palm. "This is a magic necklace to remember me by. If you chant, "sahe'a iyair" and hold it tight, it will call to me. I will come to you, should you need me."

"I am forever in your debt." she said.

"Penelope!" someone called from her camp. She turned her head quickly and looked back to the two, giving each of them a hug. Her face was animated through the early sunlight.

"I have to go. You should too... Save the satyrs. For Myra. For me."

_

"What should we do now?" Saevel asked, looking down to the lyre in his hands. It was still glowing as brightly as when it was found, radiating an ancient, dusty aura.

"We get that lyre back to your home. Do you think you can cast the spell to get there?" Maxwell asked, sitting down on a fallen log just a ways away from Camp Daybreak. The satyr paced in a small circle, hooves crushing a plethora of Bittercress and Daisy.

"I have enough magic for just one trip... I don't know how we'll get back though. It takes a while for me to conjure the energy for just one spell." said the satyr nonchalantly, "We'll have to wait until my energy's restored. I don't have unlimited fuel, you know... Unless you could bring me some Hydra Dust, though I doubt you could retrieve it without getting your head chewed off."

"Okay chill.. How long do we have to wait for you to get enough energy?"

"A few days."

"We don't have that kind of time! We have to go in the next hour!" Maxwell yelled, making Saevel shrink back in alarm. He took a deep, slow breath to calm himself before he could say something he'd regret again. Guilt flooded his lungs every time he thought of it. Maxwell stood and gently reached for Saevel's waist.

"Please. Do this for your people; if that's not enough, do it for me." Maxwell's breath brushed Saevel's pointed ear, making the satyr go into utter overdrive. His face flushed suddenly and goosebumps rose over his skin, hairs standing up and with every fiber of his being, he sucked up the moisture from the air, making it brittle and dry as he felt every water droplet accumulate in his palms.

"Hurry, grab the lyre." he breathed. Maxwell quickly retrieved the instrument and kept a hand to the satyrs warm waist, fingers pressing against soft, unblemished skin.

He held the satyr close as the spell powered up, Saevel's eyes glowing a little as the world went white.

__