Dente had been watching the moon for what he felt was an endless amount of time. Of course, he had always been watching it, the massive orb always lighting the way, always throwing its silvery light over the trees and grass, the animals with their light fur, their shining eyes. Dente’s own shining eyes, a shocking blue, gleamed a bit more when he turned his gaze to meet that of the moon. Unlike others, he didn’t have to look at the ground to know where his feet would land. For years he had traveled the desolate train tracks, the loose rocks and wooden railroad ties, and he knew every step he would take.

The silence was always complete, save for a rustle in the brush to the left or right or a reckless footfall. The horizon always stretched on before him, broken only occasionally by a tall square building or a train graveyard. The buildings were always empty of people, at least five floors tall, and barren, containing only a few old chairs or wall hangings, weathered rugs, and no glass in their windows. The graveyards, as Dente called them, were sad. The cars were piled or thrown in random groups, derailed and pushed away to be destroyed by vines and wildflowers and moss. He always passed them with a silent word of apology, though he had nothing to do with it. He could hear the spirits calling to him, though he never stopped.

Wind gusted past, coming from behind him, sending his silver and bluish-white hair forward in veils. For the first time in what seemed like years, he stopped, feet square on one railroad tie, and turned. Rarely did he look behind him, to whatever he left behind, city or town or village. No one cared to give him a second look, and he hardly minded their presence. He felt their hate, and continued on. He had his own reasons for walking, though they would never know. They, at least, still had their souls. Perhaps the people, humans and demons and elves, felt something different about Dente. He certainly felt different.

All that he saw was a dark sky, dotted endlessly with stars and planets, but nothing else. Only the wind, invisible, cool, and sweet with the scent of trees and earth. The cities, towns, even villages never smelled so pure and untouched. He loved the loneliness of the tracks, the massive stretches between one place and the other. Turning back, he started on again, falling back into step with his slow, steady heartbeat. At least he had a heart, he thought, the only thing to really cross his mind for quite some time. But it had come with the external noise of some overlapping voices, the sound of a village. Or a town, by the sheer volume of it, hidden by an outcropping of trees to the right. He could see the lights of fires through the heavy leaves.

L'ange had spent the night in one of the rail cars surrounded by the wild flowers. Being an elf she had to have plant material all around her. She was odd in this place because she was a wanderer with out really a home base with most of her life packed into a ruck sack. Maybe one day I'll go home and settle down, but not this week. She thought to herself as she set off down the tracks. She was about three yards or so, just far enough to be out of sight. With any luck he won't see me at all. I just wanna get to the next town and restock on supplies so I can keep moving. The wind coming up behind them felt wonderful in the heat, but she had to hold her skirt down to avoid a wardrobe malfunction. One of these days I'm gonna buy a longer skirt. She growled to herself as she kept moving straight down the tracks.

He had heard her moving, very faintly, through the hiss of wind and leaves. If he had ever seen someone else around the tracks and away from a larger population, he had forgotten it with the years. Dente kept his gaze strictly ahead, staying silent and hoping they would pass by without a word. But he had to turn his eyes to the ground; the presence of someone else, by the look of it a young woman, was odd, and he felt misplaced. Misplaced on his home, his railroad tracks, where no one else ever tread. The very thought was almost absurd to him. He stopped.

He had never had to be in the presence of another, the presence of someone who could just as easily hate him as he wanted to avoid them. His hate was nearly nonexistent, nearly obsolete. Just like everything else he felt. He knew he was still human, in a distant, strange way, but could not feel it. He stopped, unwilling to go forward, unwilling to let the gap between him and the stranger close any more than it had. Perhaps it was because everyone hated him, and they were not hesitant to let him know, but Dente knew it could have been because he had not gotten within a meter of anyone else for quite a long time. His hesitance stopped him, slowed his stride, turned his gaze to the ground.

L'ange stopped when the man in front of her did. He had finally noticed her behind me. Damn it. I was hoping I would go unnoticed. She said as she let her light weight skirt start to blow in the wind. Should I talk to him, or dive into one of the rail cars? She though quietly to herself. Oh what the hell might as well keep going. She shrugged to herself and kept walking forward. As she walked past him all you could here was the crunch of the rocks under her flat boots. "HI." She said in her normal voice with a smile. As she walked past him the wind blew slightly ruffling her short spiked hair and her green tunic. That wasn't so bad. It could have been much worse.

Dente had turned his gaze away from the girl, apparently hoping to become invisible, but it was wishful thinking, he knew. Her footsteps grew louder as he tensed, just waiting for her to stab him, cut his throat, gut him, bleed him, but no sharp pain came. He had waited for that many times, that cold blade, the wooden shaft of an arrow piercing his heart. Dente himself never reacted violently if he could help it. Violence always made his skin crawl, and any seemingly-mortal wound always healed in minutes. But she passed, her feet scraping loose stones from their original place, and spoke. The voice shattered the silence, oddly echoing though it had not been at all loud. For a moment he worried about using his voice; for a long time he had gone without speaking, and he had to wonder if it would even be there. “H… Ahem, hello.” He muttered, dropping his pace to let her pass and keeping slow, his gaze still at the ground. The last time he had even looked at someone, it cost him more than he had.

She smiled when he answered her, but she could also sense his fear. "Don't be afraid of me. If anything it should be the other way around." She said back to him without slowing down to wait for him. Why wait when he can pick up the pass to walk with me. After her retort the only sounds again were the rocks under their feet and the wind through the trees.

Dente almost smiled. “I’m not afraid of you.” He said, not surprised his voice was a bit hoarse and light, like the wind. “But you shouldn’t be afraid if me either.” In truth, he wasn’t afraid of her, just the concept of violence. But he had to acknowledge that if she stabbed him and walked on, there would at least be that gap between them. Something was wrong, that he knew was out of place. She probably had weapons in that bag she carried, concealed under the tunic, but she didn’t even appear to go for one. She was relaxed, more than he was and especially more vocal. He could have simply taken off, running as fast as he could as he had done on many occasions, running and leaving this person, this elf by her aura, behind. But he kept to the side, a little behind, not looking directly at her but at her boots instead.

She slightly laughed feeling his eyes on her boots "Do you like them? I made them three years ago and have only had to replace the soles once." She said as she kept walking. Although I should probably change them again. I'm starting to feel the rocks through them. "So what's your name?" She didn't even turn around this time as she slowly soldiered forward. She knew eventually they'd have to stop for the night and wondered if he would stop with her or keep walking. This should be interesting.

The question hung for a moment, while Dente wondered if he should answer. “Er, I do. They’re very well put together. Mine are made of various animal leather, and the soles have a jointed metal plate inside to last many years.” He surprised himself as he spoke, talking to the girl as though he had known her some time in the past and were friends catching up. He had not spoken this much in at least ten years, he had to guess. When she asked his name, he paused. He didn’t remember… did he? “My name…? Oh, Dente. That would be my name, yes. Dente.” He glanced up, at her dark hair, as he would with anyone else be looking at their face. “And what is your name, if I may ask?”

The question playing in his head was why she was being so… accepting, he considered the word. Elves saw him as no better than a demon, humans viewed him as unholy. It was the air he gave off that they could easily sense, some massive part of him missing, something that made him alive, made him… human, in a faint way. Yet she made no ill movement at him, her voice held no bitterness or venom.

"L'ange." She said as she kept walking. "I thought about the metal and I tired it once. I didn't like the way it felt." However her voice was swept away by the wind's sudden gust. She quickly grabbed her skirt so it didn't reveal more than it should. Next time I stop I'm fixing this damn skirt.

“Very good to meet you, L’ange.” Dente said. “I decided to use metal from the derailed trains. They’re easily manipulated under heat from a fire. They work pretty well when softened and hardened in cold water.” The wind picked up, sending his hair flying out in front of him like ethereal fingers, pale and feathery, reaching out for something Dente didn’t see. He unlaced the black ribbon from the front of his white shirt, whipping his hair back and tying it down at the base of his neck.

"Same here." She said before turning and walking backward a few steps. "This is true, but I'm a nature race so being out of touch with the Earth is painful for us." She explained as she turned around with a slight giggling at the fact that his hair covered the small mishap in her wardrobe. "So where are you headed Dente?"

“Certainly, elves don’t do well in industrial settings or with anything artificially made, by the hands of humans or nonhumans.” Dente nodded, mostly to himself, as he checked the knot in the ribbon. It was tight, enough to keep his hair slightly tame even in the cool but swift wind. It was a difficult question, the next one, and he felt as though a million eyes were on him, waiting for an answer. “I… I don’t know. I’ve followed these tracks for years, as though there’s an answer to my life somewhere at the end. The only problem is there doesn’t seem to be an end to the railroad.” He paused, staring back at the ground. “Still, I’ll follow them on for as long as it takes.”

She smiled softly. "Don't feel bad. I don't always know either. It's easier to go just town to town instead of focusing on the big picture." She said as she walked off to the side of the tracks to relace her boots. "I see you do have a ruck sack or anything. You must walk really fast not to carry food with you." She observed from her new position on the ground. "Wish I could do that instead of selling the herbal oils out of bag. It sucks when they all break too because I trip and fall a lot." She confessed trying to bover an of the bruises and scabs he might see.

Dente smiled for the first time since their meeting, drifting to the center of the tracks where he had been before. “A bit clumsy then, are you?” He asked. “But I don’t eat.” He confessed after a moment. “Or drink. I don’t have to. It’s a bit of a blessing, but more of a curse. There isn’t much need for a bag, a case, anything to store my possessions, since I don’t have any. Better for me, I think. No ties to the past, nothing to worry about losing.” He reached for his knife, tied to the belt around his waist. “Except my dagger. It’s the only thing I have, or need.” He looked up at L’ange for the first time and studied her. “A businesswoman by trade, no?” He asked. “Respectable, certainly.”

"Kind of." She answered him as she put her boots back on and started to walk. "And I work to eat. That's all there is too it." She said shortly. "When you haven't been home in six years there's really no other way to make money other than working the red light district." She said in a huff as she picked up the pace trying to figure out what he had said that had pissed her off. Although the fact that he was still alive was a testament to her will power. She had killed men for lesser offenses at certain times in her life. Someday you won't lose your temper. Her mother had said. "I wish." She muttered to herself as she kept walking on.

He sensed the anger in her words, almost seemed to know what he said had made her that way. Of course, he thought, I always say or do the wrong thing. I don’t even know why I try anymore. He sighed. “You aren’t something people can simply have,” he said. “You have your strengths, your different abilities that no one else can claim. There are always alternatives.” Aren’t there…? He added to himself. Still, even as he spoke, he slowed. “I didn’t mean to bring back bad memories. The Gods know I have enough buried away. If you wish, you can kill me as many times as you like. It will certainly get the anger out.” He stopped, a faraway look in his eyes. He didn’t want to look at L’ange, at the one he had angered without even trying, just like everyone else.

She stopped and looked at him. "If I killed you it would do me no good so what is the point? I have been where there is no alternative and lots of people have the skills necessary to make infused oils. " She said with slight heat in her voice. "I have nothing to gain from any of it except money to eat and maybe one day go home. I have nothing to gain from trying to kill an immortal." She went back to walking only in a slightly slower pace than before.

“Then go back home. If it’s really that hard to live away from home, really that hard to survive, then go back home.” Dente faltered in his pace, slipping up, tripping. He gritted his teeth. “I don’t care if you kill me a hundred times over; I wouldn't fight. It doesn't matter to me. Even if it doesn’t solve anything at least you’ll have gotten rid of some of the anger.” He stopped. “I know it’s hard to go back to your real home, I know it takes time, and swallowing your pride, but sometimes it’s better. Do you know why I'm forced to wander these tracks? Because I have nowhere to go, no family, no friends, and it's the only thing I know anymore. It's the only alternative I have to being despised for something I can't help.”

He leapt back into motion, running past L’ange and turning to face her, walking backward. “Or, you could find your own food. I mean, it’s not difficult.” He couldn’t stop talking; her presence was bringing years of silence to the surface, years of unspoken words. “I know a lot of elves that hunt animals to survive, and they don’t like it but it’s something at the very least. And even if you don’t want to… I can for you.” The words spilled out before he could think. The girl was a wrinkle in his world, a foreign object, a stranger, something that altered his harmony with what earth he could feel and understand. Yet he was offering to help her, to be around her even more, to do something he hadn’t done in… centuries? Surely it must have been longer.

L'ange didn't say anything after he said that.His words brought back memories that she would have rather not have remembered. She couldn't go home really all because her mother blamed her for her father's death from a stupid hunting accident that should have never happened. As for forging for food, sure it wasn't that hard but it's extremely easy to get lost when you're not familiar with the area. At the thought of getting lost her thoughts turned to the five months she had spent at an aristocrat's home as his paramour. She couldn't for the life of her understand why the man called on her at all hours of the day and night when he had a wife not much older than she was. She sighed deeply and kept her gaze on the gravel beneath her feet.

Dente didn’t smile, though he almost wanted to. L’ange reminded him of his sister, one of the only family members he could remember, but with darker hair. A kind girl, she was, and outgoing. It almost brought back the remnant of a memory, in a way, but he shook it away. Mid-step, he turned back around. “I’ll take that silence as a decline.” He said. “Of course I didn’t expect you to say anything; who in their right mind would take an offer from a stranger? Still, L’ange, when you want someone to show you the world you don’t yet know, it’s best to rely on someone who knows it like the back of their hand.”

He picked up his pace, putting a bit of distance between them but slowing once he felt it was far enough. He could still hear her, but felt certain she would stop at the town they were about to arrive at. He could keep going, and she would stop there. Another meeting to pass without anything to show for it, except a bit of time not thinking about his seemingly-endless journey.

She just kept walking. She didn't say anything until she heard something that wasn't right on the tracks. She turned and looked back at what the had just passed. He maybe an ass, but it might be the only way to stay alive. She quickened her pace to catch up with Dente then locked her arm in his. "Someone else is here and I don't have a good feeling about it." She whispered.

Dente had felt it before she said anything; a flutter, a shift in the wind, a chill through his heart. He faltered in his step when she joined him, and her voice was far away as he focused on the sound. Something shifting the rocks behind them, something breathing heavily, as though it had run a long while to catch up with them. Something after him? After her? Perhaps both. He untied his dagger from his belt, a shining blade that caught the moonlight from every angle. They stopped. “I feel it.” He said, quiet. “It’s not human… It smells… dead…? Like a demon.”

He gripped his dagger tightly. Dente didn’t like violence, but would deal with it if he had to. More often than not he simply allowed himself to be killed to pass up the struggle, the bloodshed, but elves could die as easily as any other living thing. He didn’t feel the need to protect L’ange--she was most likely fully capable of taking care of herself--but two against one had much better odds, even against something dead but… alive.

L'ange quickly dug through her bag and found a sling and a small bag of pebbles. She a bayonet in her bag that would turn any staff into a spear easily. Naturally defensive arts were taught to her by masters in the villagers. It would be easier to fight with Dente then to stand her ground alone. "I know we shouldn't do it, but I think we should keep walking and get to a rail car. It would probably be a more defensible position." She said whispered. "And it'll give me a chance to make a better weapon." She said as she slowly worked her way towards one of the cars.

Dente pulled away. “No,” he said. “If there’s more than one, they can surround us and we’ll only be trapped. You get to the car; with the pebbles, you can distract them and I’ll have the upper hand for a blind attack.” He looked around, eyes wide to take in even the shadows that surrounded them. The centuries had been kind to him, in their own discreet way; he had had years to learn defensive and offensive attacks, plan them out with a group or alone. He worried that more than one demon, or something that resembled a demon, would show themselves.