A Person who leads or commands a Group

With Loren's words in my mind and heart, I persevered through the first week of working in the mine. I took it a fair bit slower, with Eleanor reminding me whenever I sank too deep in my fervour.

While the work was still undeniably hellish, having that small goal in front of you certainly helped my mental state.

Since he had to add an 'or so' to his sentence, I spent my days in torturous anticipation, waiting for him to seek us out again. I sure hope that what he wants to show me proves to be the kind of change I so desperately need.

After all, I am still drawing a blank on the whole getting us out of here thing.

Sure enough, 10 days after his ominous message, he once again sought us out close to the end of the day.

"Alright kids, are you done for the day?"

With your arrival I'd be done regardless.

"Sure we are, Loren."

Eleanor appears to have developed a certain fondness for the man. Astounding, when you consider she was once threatening to kill him.

We packed up our spoils for the day and made the journey upward. Loren helped us carry our haul; it seems like he already traded in his today.

Every time you either descend or ascend this hole, you are confronted with the suffering of your fellow man, or rather, elf.

Everywhere, you hear the strained wheezing and breathing, underlaid by the sound of the pickaxes hitting the wall. You smell nothing but salt, sweat and a bit of blood. All of them unpleasant scents.

Entering, whatever wounds you possess, however small, start stinging hellishly.

"Can you endure this hell for much longer? I too feel your pain, remember."

Every day I enter these depths, I feel both a piece of my body and soul being carved away. Yet I have to persevere all the same.

"Let's hope Loren has an idea how to get them out of here."

Isha, clearly worried for my wellbeing, still lets off for now.

Seeing someone collapse down here is no rare sight. Our ascent this time is no different; someone breaks down right next to us. Loren immediately rushes to their side, making sure they are okay. He also shares a bit of his water with them.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah..."

He is. So is the next. But the one after that isn't. He doesn't even respond. Loren hoists him onto his back, taking him with us.

"Did you rescue Mother just like that?"

"I did. Anyone who can no longer bear this burden, I will be the one to carry them out. It is the least I can do..."

He looks rather hurt, uttering that last sentence. We are very much alike. He too feels powerless, like he isn't doing enough.

"Someone has to be there to catch those that fall. It is the only way we make it through this together."

But that altruism of his is where we differ. I care little for those that aren't close to me. Mother and Eleanor are all that matter to me.

He, on the other hand, has been crowned the champion of his people. He will either fall short of both his own and others' expectations or grind himself to the bone until nothing's left.

That is the fate of those that choose to be a leader in trying times.

"Where will you take him, to his place? Does he have anyone who can care for him?"

He clenches his teeth. No need for a further answer: he clearly doesn't.

While he doesn't speak the words, his racing thoughts are clear to me.

He feels too ashamed to ask a child like me for help. Of course I could help him. We have been all this time already.

I could feed him with our stockpile until he can work for himself again. But when would that be? A few days? A week? A month? Maybe never at all, just like Mother.

And what then of Eleanor and Rinah?

Being the closest thing to a leader for these people in such awful times is no easy task. I do not envy the man.

Better change the subject. His mind is burdened with enough turmoil as it is.

"So what do you want to show us today?"

His grim face immediately turns softer at the sound of that easier question.

"Ah yes, I wanted to take you somewhere today and show you something neat."

'Something neat' is rather vague of a description, is it not? I thought the cookies Jesha shared with me were 'neat'.

I can only hope this proves to be far more than just 'neat' in that sense.

Though I very much get the feeling he is being vague on purpose. Is that due to the need for secrecy or a more benign reason?

I guess I'll find out soon enough...

Finishing our ascent, we deposit our tools at the pile and rejoin the surface. Wanting to trade in our sacks of salt, we notice a rather large crowd of elves, all huddled around the large salt obelisk.

Driven by our curiosity, after receiving our pay, we too make our way over there.

"For the crime of seeking to flee beyond these walls, this elf is sentenced to death, to be carried out immediately! Witness the hand of the law deliver judgement, and let this lesson be etched into your hearts!"

These are the words spoken by one of the guards, read from a scroll he's holding. He stands on a raised wooden platform, flanked by a few other guards and the elf who appears to be the accused.

"On your knees!"

A deathly silence spreads over the market. All eyes are transfixed on the accused.

He's forced to his knees. His executioner unsheathes a large sword, one without a tip. While I do know why that sword doesn't possess a tip, I should clearly turn my attention to other matters.

Eleanor stares at the scene with an indescribable expression. She's practically transfixed. I don't think she should see this.

As I try to get her to look away, however, Loren stops me.

"If you’re to be ready for what I’m about to show you, both of you need to watch this in its entirety. Don't look away, young Isayah. Prove your resolve to me."

I look.

Taking a life is always a sordid affair. No matter the circumstances or reason. The man swinging the sword should know that. And I should etch this into my very heart.

"There is only one offence they punish with death."

"To flee."

"To flee."

"Correct. For anything else we do wrong in their eyes, they only flog us. Leaving us to drown in our own blood. They want us to fear the very act of dreaming of our freedom."

And they even go the extra mile to catch those that escape alive. That's what the man-catchers the guards on the outside carry are for, after all.

A public execution certainly seems way more effective in instilling discipline...

"Time to get going."

Loren turns to leave with the unconscious man on his back. I grab Eleanor's hand and follow suit.

"Are you alright, Eleanor?"

She takes a good second to even notice I am talking to her.

"Of course I am. Something like that doesn't affect me at all."

Your shaking hand tells a different story. I know you’re trying to act strong again, but I doubt you’ve convinced yourself any more than you’ve convinced me.

Following Loren into the centre, we see the other elves returning from the mine winding down. They all greet him; he greets them all back.

Another elf even comes up to him, offering to take the unresponsive man from his shoulders. Loren refuses his offer, though I get the feeling he desperately needs any help he can get.

He must be trying to portray that image of a strong leader, even if he cannot quite live up to it. Sure enough though, he accepts the help after some further insistence from the other man.

Coming up on a by now rather familiar wooden structure, we stop. This is the very same structure he was still building when I first saw him.

"After seeing that today at the market, do you still want to see what I am about to show you?"

Putting the dots together, it's rather clear what he wants to show us. He has 'seen my resolve' and wanted us to keep looking while someone loses their life for trying to flee.

I would be rather surprised if there wasn't some kind of rebel cell somewhere hidden around here.

For me this isn't even a question. I meant it when I said I will do anything for their safety.

But I don't think I should involve Eleanor in—

"Of course I want to!"

Never mind, it appears this is not my decision to make. Her mind is already made up. All I can do now is take extra care to keep her safe.

"I meant what I said."

He looks at the two of us with a rather sorrowful look in his eyes. Recruiting children for his militia certainly isn't what he wants to do.

But desperate times call for desperate measures.

He produces a key from some pocket in his clothes and opens the door.