The breath of nature kisses my nose and it lingers on to my face down to the tips of my slender, long fingers. My porcelain eyes, so black and perfect, are peacefully closed as I smell the essence surrounding me. I am feeling it. The power nature gives. It is mysterious and ancient. It is lovely and often destructive.

I gather the air to inhale deeply, my thoughts are now ordered. It is important to know your environment. Even more important than food. To become one with nature you have to feel it, you have to be sensitive. Only then you can make it as your advantage. My father tells me that loving nature is like loving yourself. If you can’t love yourself, then you can’t love other things. A Narshaim is trained to love himself first before anything else, and that is always the case. That is our culture.

I remain calm in my position, hiding behind a Vermosche tree—it is ten times taller than a normal pine tree and is two times thicker than oak tree. Vermosche are gigantic trees, they have been with us since time immemorial.

I am waiting for a foreign move. Stillness is an advantage, but to maintain it is a challenge. I decided to deepen my senses, just then I hear faint hops from a distance, to my estimate it is two meters away from where I perfectly hide. A wild deer, I see. It is healthy. But never delicious.

The hopping sound triggers my pointed ears, this time to my left side. I open my eyes and the beauty of the forest mirrors my own. Ah. It must be so good to be us, to be me.

I search the land through my eyes and I thank the air for leading me to where the deer is. But now it is running away. It finally knows that I am feeling its presence. It knows that I am here. I can’t blame the poor deer. A Narshaim’s presence is visible no matter how good you hide. Our porcelain skin shines and our beauty releases radiance that it becomes a threat to most creatures.  

We don’t have to worry when our presence is noticed. All creatures are jealous of us, maybe hates us, but who cares? When a Narshaim is coming, they flee away, all of them. Even the animals. We are like a poison to most creatures. Our existence itself is a threat to them. Our perfect beauty…is the perfect example of irony.

It is true that I am a perfectly handsome Narshaim. Beauty is our natural talent. We are superior in it above any creatures, but it is a sad irony that our beauty cannot be enjoyed by everybody else. They fear our beauty. It never attracts. It kills.

I take an arrow from my quiver and with quick step I prepared my weapon. I follow the lead of its move, my eyes sharpening to claim the target. It is running fast to the east, the beastly deer must have known my intention to kill. And when I intent to kill, I kill.

Don’t disappoint me, beast. I tell to myself.

The deer hops again just in time I release my arrow. In seconds, the target is claimed. I am very quick with my arrow. You’re doing great, Sovran. You’re always doing great.

The dead meat is lying ten meters away from me. I grin in victory as I start to walk towards the victim. The thing about Narshaims is that we walk very slowly, we always move in grace, and we don’t like to run.

We are not particular in time, so we don’t care how long it takes for us to achieve something. If there is something we are particular about, that’s to make sure that our beauty stands in whatever we do. That includes walking. We have to be graceful in almost everything. Poetic at all times. It is our way of living. It is our way of being one with the nature.

Narshaims are naturally hunters. But we are the only hunters in the world who don’t run, we are the hunters who don’t eat meat. We are vegetarians in fact. We’re not humans. We’re not elves. Most importantly, we’re not vampires, though often times we are mistaken to be one. We’re Narshaims. That’s what we’re called.

“Perfect hit, Sovran!” I hear the glorious voice of my father. I know he is now standing next to my victim, he arrives first before me. The victim is still very far from me. I don’t see my father yet, but I hear his voice. Most of the time we communicate through nature, the flow of the air brings the words to our ears, no matter how long the distant is.

“You will do great outside the mountains.” My father adds. “Your time is coming.”

I finally see him within my sight. He graciously turns toward me and his own beauty makes me want to humble down—only the ruler could do that, to make us want to humble down.

Nasha. I smile as I place my right hand above my chest. I close my eyes as I bow a little before my father. It is a gesture of respect. Not only because he is my father, but because he is Nasha.

Nasha Vermosche. The oldest Narshaim of our beautiful race. Narshaims don’t humble down to anyone except Nasha, the great ruler. His existence itself is of our great importance. We always need a ruler in the Narsim Mountains. But a ruler is not a king, there is no such thing as king. Narshaims are not eligible to be crowned king, the only king we acknowledge is the Kingship of the Nature.

Nasha kneels before the victim, he gestures me to do the same. I see him opening his long arms wide, and lifts his head up to the sky, facing the west. His short and golden hair dances shortly before the wind. He closes his eyes and starts to sing the ceremonial song, it is hymnal but it sounded as if one that is grieving. I did the same.

It is a customary for Narshaims to deliver each animal we killed with a song towards the afterlife. Our ancestors believe that animals exist for us to slay, they exist to enhance our archery skills. We don’t really eat them. But in respect to their sacrificed life, we have to deliver them accordingly. This belief has been passed down to us until now.

After the ceremonial song, I help Nasha cover the victim with thick leaves, and when it’s finally done he says to me, “Sovran, have you ever wondered what lies beyond the mountains?” I nodded. I have been wondering about it the moment I started reading the Narshaim alphabets.

Nasha looks at me and he sighs. Even if he sighs, there is beauty in it. “Tomorrow you’ll be 100 years old. My only wish as a father is that…you will find beauty in your voice again.”

I stare at him and force a smile.

“It is my pride that you're my son.” He taps my shoulder and walks away. I followed him. Without turning his back he says, “Someday, hopefully, all of this will be yours.” He glances around, looking amazed by the old grand forest.

As we gracefully walk, he suddenly stops. I got curious and held my ground as well.

“Sovran,” I looked at him curiously. “I have to tell you something.” Then he held me by the shoulders. Nasha is silent for a moment but then, he adds, “Just a tip, for future purposes.”

I nodded. That’s all I can do to respond.

“Whatever happens, always rely here,” and places his hand on my chest. He walks away after that. I look at him as he goes away. I feel like he said that on purpose. And it's up to me how to take his words. However, there is something about it that picks my curiosity. I see. It's the first time that my father mentions something about the heart. Narshaims are driven more by his pride than relying on emotions.

So why did he say that?