Finding Love…and a Problem

By Karlene Clark

 

            Resting high above the ground, a lithe young elf sat cross-legged within the cradle of boughs in the tree. Leaning back against the rough bark, she let silver lashes close over her honey-amber eyes. Delicate hands that had once held only suitors and fine satins, now ran calloused fingers over the bow that had caused them.

            Opening her senses, she slowly gave herself over to Reverie. It had been too long since last she had done so, and there was much she needed to sort through. Foremost was the dark-haired elf that had drawn her back from the forest. She had been rushing away from the city that day, away from the press of bodies, wanting only the calm of the forest, when words from home had softly been called to her. “Mae govannen.” So simple, yet the voice had given her pause. With a hand on the gate to the forest, she had turned back. There had been something more in his voice; a sadness, a longing…a heaviness that seemed to burden him. Something had called to her from deep inside, drawing her back.

            With the speed and agility of a young gazelle, she was soon back at his side, intrigued and not a little frightened. No other had piqued her interest, no other had ever made her want to run…yet stay. Clear, intense, azure eyes had seemed to look into the depths of her soul. Predatory came to mind. It had made her want to flee, as a deer would when tracked by a wolf. She was a listener, attuned to the sounds and rhythms of nature. He was a watcher, attuned to hunt and protect.

            Yet over the weeks she kept finding herself near him. At times, though she sensed him, knew that he watched, she never saw him. Other times, he would appear from seemingly thin air. With every visit, she felt something stronger, heard nature calling between them.

            Deep in her Thoughts, a blush of rose bloomed on her fair cheeks. So many times she had simply behaved as prey, running, escaping from the intensity of his eyes, from the power that seemed to pull between them. Ever the hunter, he had returned time and again, finally capturing her, consuming her in an evening of pleasure so intense she had felt at one with the world.

            Something subtle shifted between them. Both innocent in the ways of the Mind, they now felt the early stirrings. Almost afraid to open to him, to be as aware of him as she was of herself, she withheld her thoughts, only to find rapture when at last their minds did meet.

            Even now, her senses attuned to all within herself, her mental shields only partially down to stay connected while she Rested, she knew he hunted.

            The keening cry of a wolf pulled her back from her Reverie. Gracefully unfolding, she rose to one knee on the branch. Her head tipped, cocked slightly to one side as she listened. Grateful once again to have her silver-white hair tied back, there was no hindrance to prevent her listening. Something wasn’t right. The animals projected a disquiet to the area.

            Nimbly on her feet, her bow in hand, she raced along branches, giving no thought to the ground far below. As light as the birds and the squirrels, her feet barely danced along the limbs before moving on. Her path, while not silent on the ground, seemed to be no more than the whisper of the leaves in the wind while she was high above.

            The sense of the animals dispersed, thinning, as she reached the source of their agitation. Dropping to one knee again, still in the upper reaches of the tree, she watched them laughing, gutting a boar as it still screamed for its life. Her hand tightened on the grip of her bow, outraged at their manner. Two foul elves.

Raised on stories of them, of how they had destroyed large numbers of her people, her father’s words snarled from her in an angry whisper. “I’quelin Mori’Quessier naa ba Mori’Quessir.”

            They glanced up momentarily. She froze until they went back to their torturous game Boar today, but would it be elves again on the morrow? She needed to let her Maelamin know of their presence. The Pack – his father’s Pack, the elven rangers – they had only just discussed the trouble of the Drow. Tucking her bow back, out of her way, she ran. She agilely seemed to sail through the trees, vaulting across distances as her hands caught at branches mid-jump, gracefully moving her further forward. Elven ears sharply attuned to the wilds and the sound of its rhythms about her, her amber eyes dark, the same color as the mottled sunlight through the trees, she slipped effortlessly to the ground. Silent, until her feet touched down, her quiet manner was lost in the shuffle of leaves and debris on the forest floor as she moved quickly through. She needed her Pack; she needed her Hunter.