Cath
The knife of the witch had been poisoned with her malicious magic. When it hit the creature’s chest, the poison spread like fire in its blood and made it weakened and angry, so it retreated deep inside the body to heal. It was so weakened actually, that it didn’t even feel the elf waking up and gaining full control of the body.
At first, he was lost and confused, just the way he felt that first time in the snow field all those weeks ago. Unlike then though, he quickly came to his senses, now that he finally had a name for himself. Cathor. That’s the way the witch called him right before she sank her blade in him. Cath. A memory of soft full lips saying his name for the first time in a torch-lit field right before someone else sank a weapon in him submerged from the fog of his cloude
