6. Cinis

"These strange, tall objects burn when I touch them," I say, watching in fascination as the flaming debris drops onto the pale ground.

"Those are trees," she says. "And please stop burning them. You could very easily kill me."

We walk through the cool rushing wind, which is much louder and angrier than I remember back home. She stays close by my side through the darkness.

She hasn't said much since we left the tower. I gather that the creatures we encountered might have troubled her as much as they troubled me.

I could feel the merged souls in those unnatural creations, not ‘evil' or ‘tainted,' just driven into madness by sheer incompatibility.

I have more questions than I know what to deal with, but I ask the most basic one on my mind.

"Where are we going?"

At first, I fear I might not get a response.

"I don't know," she says eventually. "Somewhere safe."

I look out at the bleak horizon. Nothing about this place feels safe to me, but I trust her to know her home realm better than I do.

The wind rages even more aggressively, and I see faint hints of worry starting to take hold of her.

"Perhaps you'd be safer back at the tower?"

She stops, looks down at the ground, then pauses to laugh.

"Yeah," she says. "I'm not going back there right now."

Her resolve in this matter is almost concerning.

We walk longer, neither of us saying anything. I'm finally beginning to appreciate the uniformity of this place. Like my home realm, the world seems to all be more or less the same. There are cliffs, ‘trees,' and long expanses of flat land separating it.

"Then perhaps we should talk to pass the time," I propose, glad to have a companion to accompany me. The other creatures back home were typically better rivals than conversation partners.

Not that this place is anywhere near as good as home. As much as I'd like to learn about it, I'll be glad to be rid of it as soon as possible.

She looks blankly ahead. Her stare suggests emptiness and a million thoughts all at the same time, and she still carries a deep sadness that screams at me.

"Okay," she says.

"Okay?"

She nods. "You have questions for me, I have questions for you."

We reach the side of a cliff, and she leans down, digging uncertainly through the snow.

"What are you looking for?" I ask.

She's growing increasingly frustrated at her inability to find something. "Is that your first question?"

"I was not aware we were limited to a set number."

She stops digging long enough to address me.

"On the way here, I found a dead body left discarded in the snow," she says. "Since I haven't been able to bury any of my friends or loved ones today, I thought maybe I'd bury him. Is that okay?"

I puzzle over the concept of burying dead creatures.

"Why would you do that?"

She sighs. "It's frustrating talking to you sometimes," she says. "Do you know that? Sometimes, I feel like we're speaking the same language, and you still don't understand anything I'm saying."

I move closer toward her, scouring the ground for traces of a body resembling her species. The powder, which she explained was ‘snow,' is stacked high.

"Then help me understand."

She shakes her head, moving her hand up to her chin. Droplets of water have crystallized across it.

"It's customary to bury the bodies of people you care about."

"But you said you didn't know this creature," I observe. "So why bury him?"

"First of all, he's a human, not a ‘creature,'" she says. "Like me. I'm human. Human. Second of all, we bury people as a sign of respect, so the animals won't devour them."

I nod my head, now understanding this as a sign of affirmation.

"So you're a human," I say. "Were those creatures you escaped from also humans?"

She shakes her head.

"No. As I think I've told you several times, those were dark elves."

She stands up, clearly giving up on her mission.

"And the difference between you and the dark elves is… your ears, and your lack of ability to do magic?"

She chuckles. It feels good to hear something neither terrified nor full of anger.

"I think there's more to it than that," she says. "But I guess you get the gist."

She looks sadly down at the ground.

"I guess the animals must have gotten to him first."

Parts of this culture fascinate me, like their insistence on keeping things around that no longer serve any purpose. In my eyes, if a creature has perished, its only purpose is as energy.

"And what are you?" she asks. "Do you have a name?"

The question deeply confuses me.

"What am I? Do I have a name?"

"That's what I asked, yeah."

There's something deeply beautiful about her eyes. They swirl green like the leaves on the trees, but also gray like the sky, and blue like some of the gems in my home world.

"I'm afraid I don't understand the question."

I feel a hint of frustration rising in her, which she effectively stifles.

"Like I'm a human, and my name is Serena, which was given to me at birth," she says. "Those dark elves were also born and given names. What are you, and what name were you given?"

I think about how goblins expel their young and realize this must also be how Serena was created. Then I marvel at the beauty of the name.

"I wasn't born," I tell her. "But you can call me Cinis. Somehow, that word resonates with me."

She seemingly grows distressed by my answer.

"What do you mean you weren't born?"

"I mean that where I come from, creatures like me are expelled from the core of my world. We don't have names. We simply exist."

She starts walking, bringing her hand up to the side of her head and ruffling the blonde strands that fall off of her head.

I think it's beautiful but trivial, like many of the flammable things in this realm.

"That's very strange," she says. "So what's your homeworld like?"

I mull over the question. I suppose to explain my home world, I have to understand the differences between it and this world. And I'm still not sure I understand this world.

"So you know how in this world, it's mostly trees and mountains and flat land?"

She pauses to look at me, questioning whether I'm serious.

I sense a new emotion taking hold of her.

She starts to laugh.

I grow concerned that I might have broken her.

"‘Mostly trees and mountains and flat land.' You know there's more here than that, right?"

I suddenly grow intrigued. "Like what?"

"No," she says. "You were answering my question first. Answer my question and maybe I'll answer yours."

We reach the end of the cliffside, and I see nothing beyond the bright expanse of empty field, with occasional trees.

It doesn't seem like there's anything else here. I wonder if she might be lying to me.

"We have cliffs at home, too," I say. "They stretch upward forever. No matter how much you climb, you never reach any kind of ceiling."

"Ceiling?"

I'm not sure I've said anything to cause any further questions.

"Yeah. Roof. End of vertical height."

"Ah," she says. "Sky."

I feel my eyes squint, pausing to emphasize my confusion.

"But go on," she adds.

"Right," I reply. "Anyway, there's vast stretches of lava and fire, too. And that's about it."

Her eyes are unblinking and sympathetic, even against the falling debris that strains them.

"That sounds incredibly boring."

I feel as though I've grown a second face.

"I hunt mostly," I clarify.

Hunting.

The mere mention of it takes me back to the tower, where I left all those souls uneaten. Clearly, this human ‘Serena' captivated me entirely too much. I was so distracted by her that I forgot about my meal.

Then I realize I'm very hungry. But that second other hunger I was feeling, that I couldn't identify, doesn't seem to be present anymore.

As we continue to walk, I feel the same familiar sorrow starting to overtake her. Being around it is incredibly agitating to me.

"You said you were going to describe this realm to me," I say. "And since I went through the trouble of describing my homeworld, it's only fair you do the same."

"Right."

But it's a solid minute before she adds anything. I can see her mind drifting off somewhere else, and I grow jealous.

I want her here with me, helping me figure this place out, so that I can return home.

"Well, we have more than mountains, trees, and flat land," she says.

"So you've claimed. But I've not heard or seen anything to the contrary other than those towers?"

She mulls over my question.

"We also have oceans filled with water, and seas, lakes, and ponds. Those are also filled with water…"

She starts to trail off, and I realize I've sent her down a tangent.

"We have towns, where people have built dwellings and businesses. There are craters and volcanoes, and islands and caves–"

"We actually have those, too," I reply. "I forgot to mention those."

She looks slightly frustrated that I interrupted her tangent.

"Islands?"

"No, caves," I tell her. "The goblins and ogres live in them."

She shakes her head. "I don't know what those are."

"I don't know what most of the things you said are," I reply.

She laughs, and I feel a sense of elation overtaking me.

"It's pretty interesting that you're even able to understand me," she observes. "Do you speak the same language I do even though you come from another world?"

I ponder the question.

"I guess I understand the meaning of what other creatures say in any language, because I mostly interface with your mind," I reply.