Laika flitted through the trees, no sound coming from his soft shod feet. Clear depth-less eyes peered from an intelligent heart stopping-beautiful face. Bow and hand were seamless, both adept at finding their target and making the kill. His voice raised in song was enough to make the nightingales jealous of his music. His fingers, long and slender, drew from wood and stone images that had no peer. Marriage was not his goal, but his fathers wish.
Running through the woods he fled his decreed fate and looked for a future elsewhere that did not exist for him.
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