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*Etholwy and Zyohallero are the same age, sixteen.

King Onilaza, master of the elves, sighed to himself. What kind of new trouble had his youngest son gotten himself into? Knowing Etholwy, he had probably spent all of his allowance and was starving in the streets, too proud to beg for money.
“Zyohallero!” he shouted.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Go search for my son Etholwy, and bail him out of whatever trouble he’s gotten into this time. I will send Calantah, my most trusted commander, to aid you in case you run into violence.”
“I hear and obey, Your Majesty,” Zyohallero grumbled. Why did he always have to clean up after Etholwy’s mistakes?
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Zyohallero was not an elf. An elf had to be able to pass the Trials at age seven in order to be fully recognized. He was a nothing. Abandoned by his parents who were repulsed and ashamed by his inability to pass the Trials, he had been kicked around by life, scorned by even those who roamed the alleyways, begging for money. Unable to bear life any longer, he had escaped to the Forest of Ellyriad, where he had lived for seven years. He lived on his own, hanging onto life by drinking from streams and eating herbs and berries. There, he met a falcon, which he tamed and called “Killjoy”.
Life in the forest had been blissful until the slave traders had found him. He was tied up, bound in chains, and sent to market where he was sold with many other slaves.
However, King Onilaza, who was at war with Kalanta, the slave city, had freed Zyohallero and returned him back to the Arwyynada, the elven lands, where Zyohallero became a servant of Etholwy.
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Etholwy was lying on the ground, with a ‘wolf on top of him, about to get his head sliced off. Thinking about how terribly he would be punished if Etholwy died, Zyohallero desperately screamed, “No! WAIT!”
The lycan turned around at the cry.
“Don’t kill him!” Zyohallero implored.
“And why should I not? This little b*****d just tried to kill me,” the lycan replied, eyes glinting with malice.
“Because he is the prince of Arwyynada,” Zyohallero explained.
“You think titles mean anything at all to me? Well, you’re wrong.” The werewolf spat. “I’ve killed all sorts of people, from mighty kings to helpless children. Now give me a good reason to spare this pile of useless crap or I’ll kill him, if you don’t mind.”
“Do…do it for me…please…” Zyohallero trailed off. It was definitely a stupid reason, and he was sure that Etholwy would be murdered, and perhaps he would die as well.