Atîndorrë had no tranced that night and the result of this left his mind in a jumble, with thoughts playing over thoughts and emotions wrapped themselves around emotions in his head. The last months of his life had been the most bizarre in all his life. All the years he had spent perfecting his skills, perfecting his mind, perfecting his body for a position in the Queen’s personal Order of Archers of Leuthilspar could not even begin to compare to such testing tendays.

His carelessness almost dropped him into a puddle and he grumbled softly to himself, shaking the filthy water off his boots… how he hated getting his prized armor into a mess. And yet Anastálië could disregard it with such ease. With a splash some dirty rainwater dripped off the canopies above, splashing over the polished chest plate. With a mutter, Atîndorrë removed his gauntlet and wiped the armor clean onto the back of his hand. How had he ended up in this position, in a place such as this? Cormanthor, as beautiful a forest as it is was, could not compare with the wonders of Evermeet, his home island; the island of the elvenkin.

Atîndorrë had cursed himself both morning and night since the day he failed his General, his Queen and his mission and let the Captain and the Lieutenant escape from him without his knowing. He had foolishly obeyed the Captain’s command to gather berries further away. If he had followed his instinct and remained he would not have found himself now abandoned in Battledale as the Captain and Lieutenant eloped together. Atîndorrë grit his teeth, shaking his head and moving more hurriedly through the forest, his cool blue eyes lowered to stare down at the ground… he was searching in the hope of tracks, a sign… anything.

Yet even now, in search of the lost elves, the loss of his party and the inability to rejoin his Order in Evermeet, none of this was the key trouble on Atîndorrë’s mind. His concerns now were for Anastálië, the beautiful elven girl of his own Order, whom he had come across by chance during a routine Crypt run. For the first time in his life Atîndorrë had purposely failed his Order… willingly failed them. If his mother could have only seen what he had done, her tears would have been flowing. His father’s words, had only he know, would have been scolding, his face gone the balor-red that in did in his times of rage. He had been unable to resist her; let his Order down through the fault of desire.

He could not understand her, but always it had been said that you could never understand a female elf. Her hands so often she had raised to push him away, to resist his every move… each move wanting and desiring just to touch her, just to hold her. And the moment next she would let him in, the teasing would cease and she would give him access, taking him for herself as he did her. Even now as he flew the forest at dawn he could feel her… her lips and her hands, touching his… why?

At times he felt so confused; times like now when he was alone. He needed to return to the Order, to his family. It was his life and without it he was nothing and no one. He was no wood elf; he could not survive in the wilds of Cormanthor forest, or a hamlet of common folk where humans and hin, dwarves and elves mixed as one, such as was the way in Pilgrim’s Rest. He was a sun elf; he was an Archer of Leuthilspar, Evermeet. And yet there was this longing… when he was with her there was no doubt, no nagging conscience…

Slowly Atîndorrë looked up the tree, nodding his head to it. It had spoken to him in the way trees and elves sometimes had. A strong oaken body housing lush green leaves that almost waved to him. The tree could tell him, it had said. It knew which way his abandoners had gone… Atîndorrë turned his head quickly from the tree, and ran in the opposite direction. He did not want to hear it.