The Choice is Yours: Part 2

It was the winter solstice, the longest night of the year, and there had been a seasonal feast in the evening, of which Enaj was not allowed to partake to avoid scaring some important visitors to the orphanage.  He had received a pitiful morsel of half-burnt kasha and was sent to his bunk (the most uncomfortable one that nobody wanted) early.  Steaming with rage, Enaj was like a nuclear reactor on the brink of a meltdown.  That night, once everyone else went to bed with stomachs full of roast geese and strawberry pies, Enaj could not sleep.  After a while, he noticed that the master tasked with looking over the students that night was snoring, a half-eaten slice of pie still clutched in his fist.  Enaj silently crept out of his bunk and looked around.  All the other orphans were fast asleep, saliva dribbling from gaping mouths, full stomachs gurgling.  Enaj sprinted outside the front doors of the orphanage into the crisp winter night air as quickly as he could, past the lumbering master guarding the front gates, who weakly grasped at Enaj with a meaty hand, before resuming his snoring, still deep in his dreams.  Enaj dashed past bewildered passerby on the narrow city streets, slippery with black ice.  He darted past the heavily armed guards at the city gates, ignoring the shrieks urging him to stop.  A few arrows whistled past his ear, but he did not stop.  He ran far into the dark evergreen forest, hurrying forward until he could no longer hear the sounds of footsteps after him.  

Shivering, Enaj realized that he had no plan for surviving in the harsh wilderness.  Still, he reasoned, it was better to die in the soft snow than to suffer sharp stings at the orphanage.  Enaj lay down in the snow and closed his eyes.  He felt at peace and surprisingly warm, content to fall asleep finally free.  He did not know whether a few minutes or many years passed.  Suddenly, he was shaken awake by a rough hand.  Enaj lashed out, thinking it was a city guard, but his arms were numb.

“Relax, I only wish to help you,” said the mysterious person through a slit in his black mask.  “I am an assassin, Tsruhelkcorb, exiled from this cursed city twenty six years ago by its tyrant, Rezam.  I have a large hut out in the wilderness that I built with my own hands from sticks and stones and a few kind words (at this he waved his muscular arms at Enaj).  I can see that you are no friend of the city, either.  I know how they treat those who are different — I myself was always ridiculed for learning how to kill much faster than others, and I presume something similar happened to you, due to your blue skin.  But I myself have no prejudice.  Blue or red, all beings are equally mortal.”