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A completely guesstimated approximate read time. Both parts, 30 to 45 minutes. Part 2, 20 to 35 minutes.
 
The Aylleth Sisters. Parts 1 and 2.
 
 
Part 1.

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Part 2.  

  A transforming of scenery begins to take place, a libraries walls giving way to a forest opening halls, made through the lines of seemingly endless trees. The whispers of a breeze hushes the commotion and voices within the home for books. A settling upon a ground of fiction, being taken through the passages of a mind's imagination maze, coming out and in a fictitious world. Yet, with simple familiarity, the sun breaking through the trees, and the falling leaves through the autumn breeze. The morning dew in the air, and the sounds of a village awakening from behind.

  Harold awoke suddenly, surrounded in darkness. He walks casually to the window, unhinges the shutters, and pulls them back. Revealing a sprawling forest, and the light of day eating at the darkness as the sun slowly starts to cress the horizon line. Harold monetarily gasps, then begins to hurriedly scurry around his humble dwelling. Flicking a match,  lighting a single flickering flame in hanging lantern. Shadows dancing in it's swinging wake. Being upmost careful in being accurate in his gathering of supplies for the days hunt. While clearing his rough, weathered face of any grogginess and sand. A village begins to rise as well. Villagers informing each other of the most merry of mornings ringing from greeting to greeting. An elderly man carrying casks to a winery. Kids playing in the leaves, and women gossiping. A blacksmith sticks in his sword into the glowing furnace. Through the bustle Harold joins by dashing out of his front door. Letting it slam back towards it's resting spot. His bow around his chest and the arrows in his quiver rattling together.

  An older man in a dark grey tunic and brown trousers, is carrying a cask down the muddy main path, until he is approached by an exuberant, smiling kid wearing muddy trousers of brown and a brown shirt.

Young kid: "Hey, you want any help in carrying that bucket elder?" A young kid inquires with innocence.

Older man: "No, no! Just go back to playing with the leaves."

Young kid excitedly exclaims: "Alright! Are you sure you don't want any help? This bucket is heavy." Gesturing to playful arms weighing an empty cask.

Older man says indignantly: "It's not even a bucket, now please give that cask back! Growing old doesn't mean incapable of simple tasks!"

Young kid, while turning to play: "Fine then, here, just be careful!"

A pair of hurried feet approaches.

Older man:  "Hey Harold, how are holding up from last night?"

Harold: "Doing well, just in a bit of a rush Milt!"

Milt yelling in the direction of the rapidly disappearing Harold: "Take care out there today!"

A blacksmith's hammer creates a stinging, pounding vibration that sends out a booming clang. A sound that is distinctive from the rest of the jumble of noises of the genial bustle around the blacksmith's open air workshop. The hammer wielders cheery, booming voice announcing various greetings and responses as fellow villagers pass by.

The young blacksmith wearing a stained and weathered, through decades of use, black apron. His white tunic smeared at various spots. Grey trousers riddled with holes, and a burnt mark imprinted in them and a burnt skin area as well. Just another scar.

Blacksmith: "Hey, morning!" Another strike with the hammer.

A man strolling down the street: "Morning! Doing any more improvements on your sword or are you repairing it, again?"

A battered, heat glowing sword is raised from the anvil. A sizzling noise accompanies the action of cool water and blistering steel colliding. As the sword tip is dipped in the metal bucket.

Blacksmith: "Ha, yep, just repairing that chip from last nights tree cutting contest!"

A man strolling further away: "Ha, ha, ha, ah, best to you friend!"

Blacksmith: "You as well! Hey Harold, you might want to check in on Alverstin! And he's gone, ah well. Hey, morning Merta!"

 Harold rushes past the blacksmith, swiftly coming upon a wooden door. A humble house at the end of town. A gloved fist begins to pound on the door vigorously. "Alverstin, are your in there!" An exasperated response re-vibrates through the door. "Yes sadly!" Harold burst though the door, a scenery of strewn items, draws open, blankets heaped in mess by the straw bed, and a fevered middle age man frantically looking around. "Alverstin, are you alright, we have got to go!"

Alverstin quickly asks: "Harold do you have that short sword with you?"

Harold: "Oh, yeah, here you are."

Harold quickly pulls out a short sword covered in a sheath from his satchel.

Alverstin, "Thanks! Alright let's cease standing around and get to hurrying!"

Harold, rushing out the door. "Already ahead of you on that!" Each word taking further to reach Alverstin's sill ears.

Alverstin rushes out of his humble dwelling, letting the door swing back to it's resting position. An ever rising warming sun, a great promise to beautiful and warming day.

  The two men, rush headlong into the woods, their shoes making familiar imprints in the well traveled path. Each chattering about the fun experiences during the prior nights of the annual Leave Falls Festivals. There singsong voices ringing through out the mainly still forest, a few leaves feathering towards their random destinations. A grassy patch, a respite through the endless forest, gives away to a familiar clearing. Sunlight bountifully streams towards the open area. 

Jaren one of three men standing around one of the many white pitched tents within the clearing. Calls out towards the two men approaching. "Hey, you where supposed to meet here at sunrise, not rise awake with the sun! The other hunting parties have already went on their way."

Harold: "Well it was quite the festival last night!"

Bradilon: "Ha, yeah busted the bow string last night while in the attempt of knocking half a log during the log tossing competition!"

Yarel: "Yeah, tempting wine and a positive atmosphere of union among each other. Is a combination for fun meetings and silly outcomes."

Alverstin, strolling casually forward, approaching the three around the smoldering campfire. "Yeah, just as Harold got a hold of that short sword, using it to cut a loaf of bread!"

Harold, joining the rest of the band of hunters: "It cut through as if the loaf was hot, maybe it was!"

Jaren: "Everyone packed and set for the hunt?"

Alverstin: "All packed."

Harold: "All packed and set."

Yarel: "All packed, set, and eager!"

Smiling Alverstin and Harold in seeming unison after Yarel spoke, "Hmmp." Yarel rolls his eyes.

Bradilon: "Set with my brother's short bow!"

Jaren: "Then what are we waiting for, another sunrise?"

The band of hunters, the 5 men, venture out into the familiar forest. Leaving behind the man made clearing.

 The sun has risen upon it's set path, inching trough the day, coming closer to the darkness of the night.

  Patches of ground are illuminated through constant contact with the sun's rays that pierce through the various, changing, openings of the forest's high rooftop. A wind's whisper reaches the aged leaves, for ever calling for them to let lose and be pulled to rest. And some leaves do heed that call, gently descending through the calm air.  Going to lay to at rest, at least temporarily. A dim darkness is found where the light strays the least. A voice echos throughout the forest.

 "We have been following this set of tracks, for a quarter of a day!"

Jaren: "Yes we have Yarel, although if you keep speaking so loudly, it will be in vain."

Harold: "Yes, and for as close as we are, lets not mess up now."

All 4 other heads nod in agreement to this statement.

Brandilon: "The tracks are rather freshly imprinted now, should not be much further from here."

Jaren: "Alright, let's prepare then, everyone start to move stealthy."

  Although, a mute point, the other men where trekking more slowly and relying on hand signals upon the mention of being close. Weapons at the ready. Deer hunting at it's finest.

Alverstin: "Wait, is that a, baby black bear cub!" The men monetarily stare at the playing cub, just feet away from them.

Jaren: "Everyone pull out your bows, be on the ready, keep a careful eye out!"

  Bows swung from shoulders in almost unison, arrows being nocked by gloved hands. A rushing rustling sound came from behind, the grim, serious faces turning to stare into the massive moving form of a fully agitated black bear. A roar is heard as the Bear makes it's plunge in the middle of the group. Arrows released, one hitting the bear's upper back, another hitting just behind the left front shoulder. Both from the left. A third just whizzing over the bears back from it's right. Jaren drops the bow as he is pushed violently to the left side from the bear's barreling left shoulder. Landing flat on his face.

  Bradilon is fiercely head butted towards the right, landing winded, a few feet from Alverstin. The bear quickly turns it's attention to the left. Crushing Jaren's chest in the process as it's right paw plants it's full weight on him. All in the while, directing it's next swift attack at Yarel, who has just unsheathed his short sword. The bear's left paw gets Yarel in the upper chest, slicing his neck. Blood spews all over as Yarel crumples to the ground. Harold reaches for his short sword. Alverstin has unsheathed his short sword and is spending precious seconds attempting to tend the shoeing Bradilon, "Get... the.. BEAR!" Simultaneously Harold pulls out a dagger and goes to strike at the bear's neck. The bear quickly turns right, towards Harold, the dagger plunges into it's upper neck.

 The bear, fulled fully with adrenaline with thoughts of rage and determination in protecting it's young. Smashed it's furry head in Harold's side, causing him to stagger, leaving the dagger behind. Claws rip at clothing, tearing at the skin on Harold's now bloody chest. Blood seeps from the gash from Alverstin's short sword mark on the bear's back. The bear begins to turn right, as Harold weavers to the ground, clutching what remains of his chest. Alverstin begins to back up as the bear's lightly bloody claws begins to create 3, 1 inch gashes across Alverstin's mid chest area. Alverstin, with a death grip on the handle of the short sword crashes next to a tree's base, slightly propped up upon the tree's protruding brown pillar. The bear turns left, pouncing upon the staggering Bradilon.

 In that moment, time slowed for Alverstin as well. He found it funny, noticing a leaf gently flow to the ground. A scream and fevered roar in the distance. A leaf lightly resting upon the ground soaked with blood. A lifeless body heavily falls to the ground. The bear's face, looked heavily upon Alverstin, as if a face of death pondering in simplistic thought if it was time to execute it's title. The bear began to calm, turning towards it's frightened cub's wails in the distance. A nocked arrow, gloved hands, a leather vest with imprints of various animal claws, brown hair. The release of a well timed arrow. Alverstin's ruffled black hair, his bloody hand attempting to quietly patch his wounds. His insisting on resting eyes. The very eyes that fully register an arrow burrow into the bear's side. Burrowing deep into the hollowing bear, it turning it's attention upon the direction it thought it came from. Alverstin rising with all the will of survival, slowly stands in a hunched position. An arrow quickly leaves it's quiver home, knocking in a swift, effortless motion, the draw of the string, the release of another expertly shot arrow. The bears attention again drawn to the pain in it's side. The weary Alverstin stabs, deeply into the bear's neck, silencing the weary bear. Alverstin drops to the ground, going unconscious on the way. A pair of feet rushing that direction.

  Dressed chest wounds, a lightly frequent chest rise indicating breathing. A dimly lit room in the evening. A women in a weathered leather vest, flowing brown hair, as she approaches the man on the hay bed. He awakes, checks his surroundings until his blue eyes meet her brown eyes. They make contact and lock it, transfixed in a timeless feeling. A man's shouts disrupts the scene causing them to stare out the open door way. "We are here for a man named Alverstin, we tracked a set of foot prints from the attack to here. So where is he!" Alverstin raises his head, "Tell them to come here, will you?"

She says airily: "At least, that's not as much trouble."

As she turns to leave, Alverstin for the first time, notices her pointed ears.

Thanks for reading!