Silvermoon. A Tale of a Young Werewolf. A YA Novel. 12-18 by T.J. Edison. Page B
Book: Silvermoon. A Tale of a Young Werewolf. A YA Novel. 12-18 by T.J. Edison.
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Authors: T.J. Edison.
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“They remind me of mosquitoes.” The smile vanished and she said, “But there is nothing mythical about them, Jason. These creatures, in their natural state, are pale and anaemic in appearance. Their irises are almost white. They are changelings like the werewolves. They are indistinguishable from ordinary humans, except they age quicker. The females eat raw or dried meat and when they can they drink animal’s blood like the vampire bats, not killing their hosts, but living off them. Human blood is highly distasteful to them. The male goblins abhor red meat and consume mostly fish or poultry. They both fear water, for they cannot swim, they will try and breathe underwater and they drown. They are stupid, greedy creatures. They have no idea how to fight a battle; they just rush on, regardless of casualties swinging their clubs throwing their javelins. The only thing they are good at is remembering trails they travelled years ago.”
“And the trolls?”
“Ancient creatures, very low intelligence, they breed slowly, they live up to fifty years and they burn up if the sun’s rays touches them, it’s quite a bonfire I’ve been told.”
He gazed at her face, “Fascinating, so if we come across any goblins we throw them into the nearest river and pray for sunlight if we meet a troll in the daytime.”
He waited for the smile that never came. “You will find a troll hard to kill, Jason. My mother and I pierced one with eight arrows. My father had used three on the same one just before it downed him. It knocked him senseless with one swipe and broke his arm. We finished him off with two in his throat, but not before he ran some eight hundred meters and collapsed on the frozen river near the ford. We left him there for the crows and the forest animals, and we will burn his bones when they have finished.”
“Your life is fraught with danger,” he said.
She sat there. In his eyes she appeared frail and delicate, her eyes soft and warm, and he found it hard to imagine her killing something in the fashion she mentioned.
Sadness changed her features as she spoke, “I’m an elf…” Her voice trailed off, like a tiny bell at the last ‘ting’. Then she continued, “…who has fallen in love with a human, and he has turned out to be a werewolf.”
He sat there and stared at her. She thought I was human! And he knew to whom his heart belonged, to the angel seated before him, an angel whose blood he dared not touch for fear of contamination. His heart ached, damn them , and their prophesy. He just wanted to lead a normal life with the only woman he had ever wanted, a woman who just happened to be an elf.
Her brow creased, dismissing the sadness and she said, “You said John dyed his hair. Tell me, did you ever go swimming with him?”
“No, his parents drowned in a boating accident, he was rescued…” He slowed down as she quickly reached behind him and unzipped the opening. The wind had died down without their knowledge. She fumbled with her pack and pulled out a canvas case. He watched as she extracted her bow, it was in pieces, but she slotted them together in no time, she started on the arrows and he joined in and they were finished in minutes. Her face was an ice-cold mask as he asked, “What is the matter, what are you doing?”
“I fear for Ingrid, I fear for Yvette.”
He searched her face for some clue as she remained silent, filling her quiver. She managed to string her bow in the confines of the tent, and then she said, “John is your friend, is he not?”
He shrugged, “I would have said, the other way round, he has nobody else, he’s like a shadow.”
“Is he left-handed?”
“Yes.”
“Is he good at memorising things?”
“Almost as good as myself, but he can’t play chess, his mind isn’t -.”
She cut him off, “He may know you are a werewolf, as he is a goblin.” He searched her features and saw the
“And the trolls?”
“Ancient creatures, very low intelligence, they breed slowly, they live up to fifty years and they burn up if the sun’s rays touches them, it’s quite a bonfire I’ve been told.”
He gazed at her face, “Fascinating, so if we come across any goblins we throw them into the nearest river and pray for sunlight if we meet a troll in the daytime.”
He waited for the smile that never came. “You will find a troll hard to kill, Jason. My mother and I pierced one with eight arrows. My father had used three on the same one just before it downed him. It knocked him senseless with one swipe and broke his arm. We finished him off with two in his throat, but not before he ran some eight hundred meters and collapsed on the frozen river near the ford. We left him there for the crows and the forest animals, and we will burn his bones when they have finished.”
“Your life is fraught with danger,” he said.
She sat there. In his eyes she appeared frail and delicate, her eyes soft and warm, and he found it hard to imagine her killing something in the fashion she mentioned.
Sadness changed her features as she spoke, “I’m an elf…” Her voice trailed off, like a tiny bell at the last ‘ting’. Then she continued, “…who has fallen in love with a human, and he has turned out to be a werewolf.”
He sat there and stared at her. She thought I was human! And he knew to whom his heart belonged, to the angel seated before him, an angel whose blood he dared not touch for fear of contamination. His heart ached, damn them , and their prophesy. He just wanted to lead a normal life with the only woman he had ever wanted, a woman who just happened to be an elf.
Her brow creased, dismissing the sadness and she said, “You said John dyed his hair. Tell me, did you ever go swimming with him?”
“No, his parents drowned in a boating accident, he was rescued…” He slowed down as she quickly reached behind him and unzipped the opening. The wind had died down without their knowledge. She fumbled with her pack and pulled out a canvas case. He watched as she extracted her bow, it was in pieces, but she slotted them together in no time, she started on the arrows and he joined in and they were finished in minutes. Her face was an ice-cold mask as he asked, “What is the matter, what are you doing?”
“I fear for Ingrid, I fear for Yvette.”
He searched her face for some clue as she remained silent, filling her quiver. She managed to string her bow in the confines of the tent, and then she said, “John is your friend, is he not?”
He shrugged, “I would have said, the other way round, he has nobody else, he’s like a shadow.”
“Is he left-handed?”
“Yes.”
“Is he good at memorising things?”
“Almost as good as myself, but he can’t play chess, his mind isn’t -.”
She cut him off, “He may know you are a werewolf, as he is a goblin.” He searched her features and saw the
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