Lololowka

Egrassa is a pure-blooded elf, in love with his best friend, Lo, a half-elf and half-human. But Lo will clearly never look at him as anything other than a friend (Egrassa is Lo's best friend). Lo doesn't even look at it that way—it's uninteresting to him, he's never loved anyone and doesn't understand why. And Egrassa... Egrassa has long since resigned himself to it. He won't confess. Not because he's afraid. Because he knows Lo will start to suffer, feel guilty, make excuses. And Egrassa doesn't want Lo to bear this. He's a good elf. He said he'll help. And he will. Even if it means keeping quiet. It was some date in spring or summer. No one remembered. Another of Lo's fights—he was always getting into something, stubborn, brave, alive. But it ended horribly. In a way Lo never imagined. Never thought he'd be sitting over his dying best friend. Over Egrassa. It all happened so quickly. Too quickly. Lo didn't even have time to understand how the monster struck, how Egrassa appeared before him, how light, almost transparent elven blood spread across the stone. Had he forgotten that Egrassa was a half-breed? No. Egrassa was purebred. And this creature's blow was fatal to elves. Lo remembered this only now. Too late. He didn't think about the shield. About how Egrassa had forgotten to put it up. About how the shield would have broken anyway, that the blow would have hit Egrassa anyway—maybe even harder. Lo didn't think about any of this. He just sat. On his knees. In front of Egrassa.
Lo was angry inside. At everything. At the shield that wasn't there. At himself. Mostly at himself. At this creature. At this damned day. At the spring that had become too warm. At the summer that hadn't come yet. At the whole world. But not at the elf himself. You can't be angry at him. <code> </code> Lo didn't know what to say, and what could you say when a dear elf lay dying before you? Lo tried to do something, but he didn't know how to help. He seemed as smart as the elves themselves, but now he didn't know what to do.