Opposites Attract

Brennisen somehow knew she'd get stuck with guarding the prisoner. As the youngest member of the elven patrol who'd captured the dark elf, and the newest Ranger in the troop, the mundane duty was all hers, despite her pleas that she could be more helpful doing almost anything else.

The other members of the patrol had discussed the matter the night before, and she'd been given the task of taking the prisoner back to Randalee. It was standing orders to all elven patrols these days: capture if possible, refrain from killing if possible, return all refugees/prisoners to the capitol. The Princess-Goddess seemed to be convinced that the dark elves found prowling the lands of the kingdom were actually refugees from Carrion, their home city-state, not raiders.

Things were reported to be deteriorating there. Their tyrant leader had been slain recently, indirectly as a result of one of the Princess-Goddess' own adventures with the dark elves. She had assembled an alliance of elves, men, and Cheysuli tribesmen to surround the dark elf city and rescue her friend. In the process, they had captured the tyrant and weakened his position in Carrion.

Later he had escaped, costing the lives of a couple elven guards in the process. That is when the Princess-Goddess had come into her greatest power. She had brought two of the three dead guards back from the veil of death to rejoin their families. She had said that the third man's spirit refused to return and she would not force him. Since then, the elves of Randalee cherished her, practically worshiped her. The dark elves of Carrion just wanted her dead.

But now, after the tyrant was slain by his own men, the leadership in Carrion had devolved to a struggle between local warlords. Whoever could muster the biggest gang of thugs to back them was in charge at the moment, but it changed more often than could be kept track of. It was bad for the kingdom of Randalee, who could not negotiate with the constantly changing leaders, but it was worst of all for the dark elves of Carrion themselves, victims of the whims of petty despots.

Yesterday her patrol had encountered a small armed band of dark elf warriors and managed to capture one of them. She watched as the rest of the patrol made ready to pursue the ones who'd escaped. She knew there was nothing left that she could say to make them change their minds. Quiet words spoken from the leader of the patrol gave her her final orders before he rode off after the others.

She sighed as she watched the last rider disappear into the trees, then turned her turquoise blue eyes back to her prisoner. Crossing the small clearing, she kicked out the fire and cinched the straps tight on the pack horse, securing the tent and other gear. Then, stepping up to the bound prisoner, she rested her hand on the hilt of her falchion, her bow in her other hand. "On your feet, dark elf. We've a long way to go."

Reserved for RPerMan to play the role of the dark elf prisoner.

Chard raised his eyes at Brennisen. They were dull and had no shine to them, yet a warm glow irradiated from his bright orange irises. After some time to reflect on it, one could say they were not unlike hot coals or heated steel. His gray skin split the difference between cold ash and a graphite pencil. He shook his silky, medium length white hair out of his eyes. He was an intimidating person. Between the dark skin, blazing eyes, his mane of immaculate hair and the type of scoff he threw at his captor, there was no space for any consolation. His hands bound in his back and his legs tied together by a relatively loose chain, he still got up with grace and dignity, rolling backwards a bit before throwing himself into the air with the momentum of a powerful kick, falling on his legs.

“Fine. From the back or up front?” He asked, referring to which side of the horse he should walk on. Of course he knew there was more than one interpretation to that question, but stilling doubt in his captor and retrieving a tad of information from her outlying subconscious was all he could do to amuse himself for the moment. While he assumed the act of someone who didn’t already know the answer, he cracked his neck and blew some dust off his clothing. His weapons were strapped to the ranger’s horse, but he still looked like a fighter. A black shirt that could pass for stylish in this very day hugged his lean, yet chiseled, muscular physique. Its sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing a couple pale scars. He stopped his baggy, almost dress-like pants from impeding the steps of his elegant bare feet by strapping them to his shins with old leather belts. His face harbored sharp, almost feline traits that still had a very masculine rigidity to them. His prominent canines gave him a carnivorous smile.

(Sorry, I accidentally deleted all my text before posting it… took a while to write it back up.)

Brennisen kept her distance from the prisoner as he looked up at her. She was wary, lest he try something. She was alone with him after all, and he was bigger than she was by half a head at least. His hot coal eyes burned into the depths of hers for a moment, then he got quickly and gracefully to his feet. Her hand dropped to brush the sheath of her blade nervously in response to his quick movement. She tried to stop it, but it gave away her uncertainty.

She had tried so hard to convince her companions that she would be better used for some other duty, but at the heart of her arguments was the feeling of worry over being alone with this prisoner. There was good reason for her worries. Her father had been tortured to death by dark elves, and her uncle captured and tormented cruelly before he was rescued by the Rangers.

That had been barely three years ago. It was hard to believe she had gone from being a miller's daughter back then, to a newly commissioned Ranger in service to the kingdom now. Her apprenticeship had been short, but she was a quick study. Now all she needed was experience to make her as good as any Ranger. And this was her first mission. She was definitely getting some experience now, she thought, as she looked over the dark warrior's muscular frame. Still, he was bound and unarmed while she had her weapons at the ready. The other members of her team had obviously thought she could handle the task. She should have felt confidant. She didn't.

“Fine. From the back or up front?” came the words of the prisoner. Brennisen blushed deeply as she caught the hidden innuendo in his words. She hoped he didn't see the flush creep up her cheek under her corn tassel blond braids. She nervously tugged the forest green woolen cloak up around her throat. She couldn't pass the gesture off as warding off a chill, not at this time in the spring. But she tried to be nonchalant about it.

"You can take the lead. I think I like the view better from back here." She had meant it to sound tough, to let the man know she would be watching him closely, but it came out all wrong. She blushed even more as she realized how it sounded. She could feel his smirk burning into her skin.

"I mean I'll be watching you....closely. So don't try anything." She hoped that would serve to recover her dignity, but it sounded weak even to her own ears. She fell in behind him, matching his graceful, yet economic, efficient stride. They kept up a good pace as they walked through the forest. There would be 6 days of travel before they would reach the city of Randalee. Six days to deal with this warrior.

She took advantage of the travel time to look over the man more closely. He was the first dark elf she'd seen up close, and her appraising gaze took in the details of his face and form. He was fairly good looking, she supposed, after the fashion of his race. The contrast between his dark skin and silky white hair made for a startling sight, at first, but the more she saw of him, the more she saw the innate aesthetic appeal of it.

He was clearly and thoroughly a warrior, through and through; that much was obvious. He carried himself with the sort of swagger that bespoke of confidence and maybe a little arrogance, but probably well earned. He and his companions had not been easy to defeat. It was only through superior numbers and the knowledge of their home forest that the Rangers had carried the day.

She noted his dress and wondered if that was typical of dark elf fashion. It wasn't so very different from what her own people might wear, she thought. She caught his backward glance at her, and it put her on her guard again.

After some time of traveling through the forested hills in silence, each lost to their own thoughts, she decided to find out more about him. "What are you called, dark elf; in your own homelands, that is? And how exactly did you and your fellows come to be in our territory?"

(Sorry if there are a couple errors. ^ ^ English isn’t my first language so sometimes I trip on my words.)

Brennisen’s blushing was to Chard, what dry wood is to coals. It fueled him, and his ambition to retaliate. He walked forward carefully and smoothly, as much at home on the beaten dirt road as an eagle in flight or a jaguar, roaming through the woods. The leg irons that bound him certainly changed his walk, but there was still a very constant grace as he moved along, his hips swaying softly, giving Brennisen a view that was attractive to any female. He reached into her thoughts slowly. Felt her fear. Her unease. The shadows and lights of her past, which left him with a tinge of regret that threw off all the enjoyment, that he was having. Like a spoonful of cinnamon that corrupts a whole bag of flour.

The sound of the words "dark elf", seemed to irritate him. “My name is Chard. Clocksmith.” He spat on the ground next to him as he walked. "Your kind has a very irritating arrogance. You assume you’re the elven people, and that we’re nothing but a bastard breed? Please. We are Carrian elves, as you are Randal elves.” He continued walking forward. "You, know, Brennisen, before your kind started calling us in such a way, even in the deepest levels of Carrion's slums, no one ever refferred to your type as a Bleached Elf." He said on a tone that sounded both calm, patient and critical at once.

He sighed softly. "We came to meet one of our friends, of your breed, a weapons dealer. We were simply doing a pickup to arm our gang, when we realized we'd been infested with a traitor for years." He said on a very balanced tone, stuck somewhere between regret, hurt and anger. For one who had the appearance of a 19, maybe a 20 year old human, his life had been as long as 1986 years.

Brennisen listened as Chard vented his frustration at her words. She hadn't realized his kind was so sensitive about the term, and his irritation took her by surprise. She'd never given that matter much thought before. He made his point when he commented about her kind not being called 'bleached elf', but it was his use of her name that caught her attention. How did he know her name, she wondered. She was sure she hadn't told him, and she didn't think he had overheard any of her companions use her name in his presence.

She was about to confront him about it when he said something else that got her attention and made her blood run cold.

"We came to meet one of our friends, of your breed, a weapons dealer. We were simply doing a pickup to arm our gang, when we realized we'd been infested with a traitor for years."

Brennisen hurried forward to get in front of him, stopping him with her hand to his shoulder. She was reluctant to make physical contact with the warrior, concerned that if she got that close, he could somehow take advantage. But this was more important than her personal worries. The alarm showed on her face as she confronted him. "Wait! You said you were here to meet a weapons dealer, and it was someone of my breed. What did you mean by that? Do you mean an elf of Randalee has been selling weapons to you?"

It was a crime for anyone to sell weapons to the enemies of Randalee, and while the latest orders from the crown made it uncertain whether to consider the dark elves as enemies, it was still a serious matter. Those same weapons were only yesterday being used by some dark elves against her and her comrades. The thought had her blood riled up. Her modest bosom rose and fell with her agitation, and the peek of her cleavage that showed above the neckline of her blouse showed the flush that colored her skin as much as the pinkish tinted tips of her pointed ears.

"If what you say is true, then this is a very serious crime against our kingdom. It is akin to treason! Can you tell me the name of this person? And speaking of names, Chard, how do you know my name anyway? I don't remember telling you my name."

As she waited for his answer, she thought to cool her temper with a draught from her water skin. Her fingers could barely get the stopper loose, but finally she managed to get it open and lifted the skin up above her upturned lips, squirting the cool liquid into her mouth. As she drank, she watched Chard from the corner of her eye. He looked like he could use a drink too, but she waited for his answer first. She wasn't sure about sharing her water skin with him. Maybe she'd wait until they came to a stream or a creek and let him drink there.

He stood motionless. As he walked, he had been able to loosen one of his leg-irons enough to be able to slip his foot out and move properly, even though he kept it in as though nothing had happened. He decided to keep that card for later, even once she exposed herself as she drank her water, and enjoyed his first good look at the girl. His lips, slightly darker than the rest of his skin, were thin enough to be virile, but pouty enough to be soft and attractive. They were also dry and parched like the inside of his mouth and throat, but he felt her thoughts and decided to wait. His kind wasn't much for abductor satisfaction.

He waited a couple seconds after she was done drinking, letting her bathe in her impatience. Her arrogance, her one-sided view on his whole species continued to insult him. "Yes. An elf of Randalee has supplied me with free weapons for centuries." He stared at her, tempted to give out the name of his betrayer. "But... I won't give you a name. Just because one of my friends betrayed me doesn't mean I'll betray them. I may live in a place where people join together to fight. But joi together we do, and never dissolve."

"A name is an easy information to get, if you pay attention. If you look at a tree for just a second, you can find the trunk. Finding the hidden leaves, is harder... but the core and the surface are both easily accesible." He said on a cryptic tone as he walked past her, continuing along the path, contemplating his options for further action.

She listened to his answer in silence, not exactly happy with his defiant, uncooperative attitude. If it wasn't such an important matter, she could even admire his loyalty to his friends. But what he told her meant there was a traitor in Randalee, and apparently had been for a long time. She felt it her duty to try to find out who it was.

His answer to how he knew her name had her pondering in silent confusion. She considered his cryptic words. She wondered if he was trying to tell her something, or just trying to baffle her. He passed by her then and a new tactic occurred to her. Maybe she could get him to be more forthcoming with the information she needed if she treated him nicer.

She caught up to him as he continued down the trail, this time falling into stride along beside him. For a few minutes, she just matched his pace in silence. Then she held out the water skin tentatively, almost as a peace offering. "We have a long way to travel, Chard. Are you thirsty? We might stop and rest a little before too long. I know of a shady place near a stream up ahead a short distance. I thought we'd stop there and water the horse." she said quietly.

She walked along beside him for a while, trying to overcome her concern about being alone with him. She was trying to prove she wasn't afraid of him, hoping to convince him as much as herself. As they walked along, she began to contemplate a new problem she would soon have to face. It occurred to her that she only had her own tent. Would she have to share it with him? For that matter, how could she sleep at all and still keep an eye on him?

She wondered if she'd have to tie him to a tree or something. They couldn't both stay awake for the next 6 days. Well, she couldn't, at least. She supposed he could sleep while she watched him, but it wouldn't do her any good. She couldn't just ask him not to try to escape while she slumbered. The dilemma had her distracted. She didn't even realize how close to the stream they were getting until the pack horse whickered in anticipation.

Glancing around to get her bearings, she headed for a couple large granite boulders near the stream's bank. The water there was a little deeper out in the center, but was calm and clear. A large leafed sycamore overhung the stream, providing thick shade. "Here is the spot I was telling you about. Let's stop for a rest. I've some rations of dried salted venison and journey bread, if you're hungry."

Chard bent his neck down, grabbing the water skin between his teeth, which were of a perfect standard, made exception of his abnormally imposing canines and their immaculate colour that was rather uncommon. He knocked his head back to throw it up over his head, and used his tongue- tongue that had dexterity obviously applicable in many places -to open the edge wide enough to let water flow into his mouth. He took one sip, two sips, three sips and finnally swished a bit of water around in his mouth before spitting it back out.

Not a drop dribbled down his chin or onto his clothing.

"Thanks." He said lowering the water skin from between his teeth back into her open hand. "Excuse the inconvenience, but considering that having my arms chained in my back was your idea, I'll assume you planned this kind of problem." He said, continuing to walk forward, feeling her thoughts about tying him to a tree- he wasn't impressed - and the thoughts of sharing the tent. He sent thoughts into her mind- Which really was like if she thought of it herself, as if her own mind made the illusion -of them sharing a tent to sleep together. And of getting some rest.

As the reached the edge of the sycamore tree and its shade Chard looked at the small pool, wondering if he could stay afloat with his leg irons. Ultimately, he decided that if he didn’t have any clothes constricting him he could. When presented with the idea of eating he politely put back the idea until later. “I’ll have a bite, before we start walking again. But I had a large meal at dawn. If you want, eat my rations.” He said, despite that his meal was somewhat unorthodox. His “friend” was much more than a friend, and his gang composed almost half of women, they all “played” a bit to “know each other better”. A couple hours later, Randalee’s elves were everywhere, and he was called to his role. That of the decoy.

“I’d honestly like to take a swim, but I can’t, not with clothes and tied limbs. So, if you’re not afraid of me acting like a Coward Bass, maybe you could help me take of my shirt and loosen my leg irons?” He asked knowing she wouldn’t want him to reveal his entire body. Being unsure he wanted to do so in her presence as well, he was more than satisfied.

Would she actually cooperate, through sliding her hands along his satin skin, and over his sinuous musculature, she would find out that his back was an unexplainable mess, a mountain of all sorts of scars. As for his chest, it bore a long, wide, almost pure white scar in the shape of two interlocking crosses. Chard still even had fresh wound, that, without a doubthad probably just stopped bleeding as he lowered his stride. It was almost a straight line, dipped into a tiny V shape, pointing directly down towards his genitals. A scar that many would misinterpretate for a self-inflicted wound to be arrogant about. A scar that would represent betrayal.

Brennisen had watched, fascinated, at his dexterous manipulations of the water skin with his lips, and more than a little embarrassed that she hadn't thought to assist him, or even release him from his bonds. His barbed remark at her thoughtlessness caused her to flush with emotion. She hadn't meant to be cruel or spiteful to him, she'd just been distracted with her thoughts and hadn't considered it. It bothered her and added to her distraction as they continued on, but she said nothing more about it, knowing there was no explanation she could give to excuse her inconsideration.

The more she considered the problem of what to do when they camped at night, the more inevitable it seemed to her that they would have to share the tent. In fact, the more she thought about it, it didn't seem as though there would be any other way. She began to consider that if she could sleep across the entrance of the tent, perhaps he would be forced to awaken her if he tried to escape. She had just about decided on this arrangement when they reached the shaded pool.

Brennisen noted the wistful yearning expression on Chard's features as he took in the sight of the inviting pool. He seemed distracted as he answered her offer of food with, “I’ll have a bite, before we start walking again. But I had a large meal at dawn. If you want, eat my rations.”

She shrugged and began to rummage in her pack for her own meal, taking a moment to remove her cloak and pack it away first. It had begun to warm up as they had traveled and the cloak was getting to be too uncomfortable in the heat of the day. Her blouse and over tunic would be enough to keep her comfortable. She turned back to him after retrieving her rations for the meal.

“I’d honestly like to take a swim, but I can’t, not with clothes and tied limbs. So, if you’re not afraid of me acting like a Coward Bass, maybe you could help me take off my shirt and loosen my leg irons?” he asked.

She paused amid chewing the bite of venison she had taken and looked at him shrewdly, wondering if he was planning some trick. For several long moments she looked at him that way, then she spoke. "Chard, I will speak plainly to you. It is not necessary that we act like enemies. In truth, my orders are to consider you a refugee and bring you to Randalee in safety. It is only because you and your companions fought with us that you are bound now. One of your comrades arrows came within a finger's breadth of my head! It is little wonder that I am reluctant to trust you."

"Yet I will give you the chance to swim, and bathe if you'd like. I could remove your shackles if you promise that you will not try to escape. But I will watch over you with my bow. Remember that I am a Ranger. If you decide to run, you might be faster than me, but you won't outrun my arrows. This could be the first step to growing trust between us. Now do I have your word that you will behave?"

"Duly noted. I just need to clean my wounds. I honestly hold nothing against you or your allies. You fulfilled your duties with tact and efficiency, and we were unable to act against you properly." He said sitting down on the closest stone to her, his eyes seemingly glowing brighter in response to the shadows. As far as he could think, nobody in his gang- and as mentioned previously, he knew all of his partners very personally –used a bow and arrows. The new weapons they had picked up were supposed to be cutting edge and innovative, but he doubted that there could have been a crossbow in that pack. He made a note to himself to review the possibility of a second traitor or a third party involved in the affair.

Chard stayed silent a while, watching animal life animate itself around the pond. Dragonflies flew here and there, bird songs filled the treetops and a school of silvery fish circled between the legs of a heron that didn’t make the least effort to fish one out. He continued to mull his thoughts carefully.

“Brennisen… Why were you tasked of returning me alone? It’s awfully unorthodox.” He asked, hoping to draw out a subject he could sympathize with. He wasn’t trying to make her feel bad, or make himself look insulted, but he was a particularly taciturn elf, and was having a less-than-wondeful day.

Brennisen felt the sincerity in his voice, and that went far in convincing her. She nodded in response to his words and produced a small brass key from her belt pouch. She knelt in front of him to remove the leg shackles. Upon closer inspection, she noticed one of them was already loosened. The discovery made her shoot a suspicious glance at him, but only for a moment. She made up her mind to honor their tentative agreement. She removed the shackles, rising to lay them on the rock next to him. She gestured for him to turn his back towards her. When he did, she removed the bonds holding his hands.

She returned to her place beside him, not commenting further about their arrangement. As they sat and enjoyed the solitude and peacefulness of the secluded spot, she ate her meal quietly, offering some to Chard. When she'd finished, she told him, "If you're going to swim, do it now. We've got further to travel today and we need to go soon." She took up her bow, laying it across her lap, though she didn't really think she'd need it. He seemed to be forthright in his promise.

“Brennisen, why were you tasked of returning me alone? It’s awfully unorthodox.” he asked, hoping to draw out a subject he could sympathize with.

"Yes, it's true, normally two would accompany you, or at least a more experienced veteran. I cannot answer as to why I was given the duty. Truthfully, I will tell you that I asked for any duty but this one. I was denied my requests and so here we are." She stared at him, really taking his measure, seeing him not just as a dark elf, but as a person, perhaps for the first time. "You could say that I have reason to dislike your kind. Maybe that had something to do with why I am your 'escort'. Perhaps my captain thought that with me, you would stand a good chance of not making it to Randalee alive. He knows what happened to my father and my uncle. Maybe he thought to give me a chance to avenge that with you. You see, Chard, despite the orders from the crown, there are those soldiers who have been fighting your people for a long time. Many do not agree with the Princess/Goddess' ideas about your people. Many are not yet ready to see old hostilities ended." Her voice had taken on more anger than she meant for it to have, and she abruptly fell silent when she realized she was losing control of her feelings.

"You'd better take your swim, while you have the chance." she said quietly, obviously anxious to close the topic.

Chard took off the belts strapping his pants to his shins, his actual belt and removed them, throwing them next to where was sitting on the stone just a second ago. They weren’t very tough, but very supple. Brennisen would recognize the type of silk used to stop arrows. He was clearly showing to her that he was exposing himself to any attack she desired to throw at him. It was less of a showoff trust and more of a silent apology, going along the lines of “Kill me if it’ll make you feel better”.

As he walked towards the pool, Brennisen would notice he wore a second garment under his pants: a pair 3/4 length pants that stuck to his skin. They hugged his body and were obviously made for sliding through water. His fresh scar had re-opened and the blood dripping down his lower belly slid off the black, shiny garment and onto the ground without leaving the smallest smear.

He stayed completely silent as he entered the water, blood making a small cloud around his mid section. He stopped and waited, as the fish continued to swim around him without any fear or feeling any confusion within the cloud of blood he went in deeper, before diving in, swimming a few strokes, and rising to the surface. Climbing onto a stone on the other side with an agility and grace exponential to that of what he showed with his bindings. He examined his wound and pulled out a piece of twisted steel, from an arrow head. A part of it was missing, but it held slivers of what used to be a wooden base. It had a twisted shape and bore a fragment of a name, written in Randal. Brennisen’s words made too much sense. He knew how it was to be different than an entire breed. Being different made you dangerous. Being dangerous made your frightening. Fright was contagious and the cure was to kill the frightening things.

(Sorry if my ppsts are getting shorter. The session is almost over and I've got a LOT of work to do.)

Brennisen watched quietly as Chard removed his clothes to swim. At the sight of the scars revealed when he took off his shirt, she tried unsuccessfully to stifle her gasp. He had mentioned wanting to clean his wounds, but she had no idea they were so severe, nor so fresh. Of course there had been a skirmish between the Rangers and the dark elf group they had encountered, and it was to be expected that there would be injuries. But as she noted the blood dripping from Chard’s wound, she got to her feet, trying to see if he was hurt seriously enough to need attention.

Her view was blocked by his body as he walked away from her to the pool and slipped into the water, but she could see the spreading cloud of blood around him. She opened her mouth to say something to him about it just as he dove in and swam to the other shore.

Brennisen turned back to her pack horse and rummaged in the saddle bags for a small apothecary jar and brought it back with her to the stream. She glanced up just in time to see Chard pull the bloody arrowhead from his body, renewing the flow of his blood from the wound. The sight made the words she was about to speak into hard lumps in her throat instead. Had she been forcing him to walk all morning suffering from that?

She stared at the bloody sliver as he examined it. Even from across the stream, she knew what he was looking at. With trembling lips and a voice cracked from a throat suddenly gone dry, she managed to stammer out one question, “Wh-whose? Whose is it?”

Brennisen dreaded to hear the answer. She knew she was an excellent archer. Her training had been intensive. An elf didn’t get to be a Ranger until they could hit each mark on the target range not only from a standing position, but kneeling, crawling, and riding a mount also. Not only that, but the targets were made to swing on ropes hung from the trees, so that they moved and spun unpredictably, never showing an ideally perfect face to shoot at.

Still, for all her marksmanship and the bravado she tried to show to this dark elf, this had been her first patrol, and the skirmish was her first time shooting at living targets, other than animals during a hunt. It had all happened so quickly. She recalled the initial hesitation she had, until her comrade had shouted at her to shoot. Even then, she didn’t know for certain that she had hit anyone. Now she found herself earnestly hoping she hadn’t. Seeing the wound made by the piercing steel point made her pray silently to herself that it was not her shot that caused it.

She had always dreamt of avenging what had been done to her father and her uncle. Mostly those dreams took the form of her somehow being able to stop what had happened to them, using her newly developed skills. But the hot blooded fantasies of vengeance paled next to the cold reality of actually attempting to kill another person, even if they were supposedly an enemy.

Now as she waited anxiously for the verdict he would pronounce, her sapphire eyes betrayed the feeling of dread she had over what he would say. She hardly dared to breathe. Her posture was rigid, tense. She wondered now how she could bring herself to inflict another such wound, or worse, if he should decide to attempt to run just now. She prayed that she wouldn’t have to find out.

Chard felt her fear, her doubt. He didn't want to make her know he worried for her, and therefore, used a slightly disdainful tone, that didn't really cover the thoughts behind it. "It's not yours. You couldn't hit me in the middle of a skirmish in a 100 years. These dozens of scars I bear on my back... Come from millions of battles." He neglected a couple from torture for petty theft or from childhood idiocies.

He read the inscription. In Randal, there was written The true elves make, and in Carrian, justice against the fake.

The true elves make justice against the fake.

There was perhaps no third party, but rather a couple instable individuals in one of them. Chard worried for his companions but quickly reassured himself the rangers set off after them with over 30 seconds late. His friends were probably already out of their field of jurisdiction- though the markings on the arrowhead he held clearly said that that was meaningless. Never the less, he knew he wouldn’t lose a single operative.

"It's not yours. Rather looks like there are a couple cracked eggs among the rangers." he said, holding the arrowhead carefully, the sharp, jagged steel too aggressively shaped, to killing-oriented to be ranger standards. Unlike the thicker, blunter iron of the Carrians, it was very fine and smooth. Perhaps they were dealing with three parties...but only two proud enough to show their face.

He fiddled with his pants, finding a larger scale that could open like a pocket watch, revealing a couple little S shaped needles. He took two, placed them on his lap, and got in a position suitable to toss the arrowhead. "If that's an antiseptic, I'll gladly make the trade." He said on a calm, relaxed, almost, but not quite, cheerful tone.

Brennisen let the breath she had been holding out in a rush of relief. She was secretly glad it wasn’t her mark on the arrow shaft that had caused his wound. She couldn’t know there was actual writing on it; she couldn’t see it that well from across the stream. And being the daughter of a poor miller, she had never learned to read or write anyhow. But it was standard practice for any Ranger to put some kind of identifying characteristic on their shafts, either in the fletching or the shaft itself, so as to be duly credited for any trophies won during a successful hunt. Being illiterate, Brennisen simply made a small mark just behind the heads on her arrows. But Chard’s mocking tone irritated her, and she had to give a little back to assuage her pride. “I see now why you must have gotten into so many battles, as disagreeable as your manners are.”

She watched as he continued to examine the broken shaft, wondering what he found so interesting about it. After another minute she shrugged and went back to sit down, waiting for him to swim back over.

"It's not yours. Rather looks like there are a couple cracked eggs among the rangers." he said.

“I don’t know what you mean by that. Why don’t you speak plainly? Are you some sort of wizard or something, maybe a politician, perhaps? I thought you said you were a clocksmith?” she complained irritably. The tension of the previous few minutes was affecting her temper. She also felt like they should be moving on soon and it seemed like Chard was taking his time and playing with her with his words. She didn’t like the idea that he might be smarter than she was. He seemed so damn smug and acted like he was using his intellect to hold an upper hand over her. Didn’t he realize that she was the one supposed to be in charge here?

"If that's an antiseptic, I'll gladly make the trade." He said in a calm, relaxed, almost, but not quite, cheerful tone.

Brennisen answered, “It’s not an… ant... whatever you said. It’s healing salve. But are you sure you want it? It is made by the Goddess-Princess; her own recipe. I heard your kind doesn’t care for her. I can attest to its effectiveness though.” She loosened the lacings on her blouse and pulled the neckline over to expose her shoulder where a puckered white arrow scar showed just above her left collarbone. Inadvertently she showed quite a bit of skin as well, nearly down to her modest young breast. The wound was fully healed, however, and even the scar was faded, as if with time.

“I got this from some human bandits a month ago. If you want to try the salve, I’ll share some with you, but I’ll not toss it and risk losing it in the drink. You’ll have to come back over here to get it. Besides, you’ll need something to bandage that wound so you’re not leaking a blood trail for any number of beasts or men to follow us across half the country. There ARE worse things out in the wilds than dark elves, you know.”

Chard ignored her first remark, almost glad she wasn’t able to notice his concern, and shrugged. “I’m a little bit of all those things. I don’t honestly think there was anything cryptic in my speech. But then again, after so long a time spent alive, you don’t see anything the same way.”

Chard didn’t regret his superior eyesight when she pulled down the edge her blouse, neither for the look at the salve’s effects, neither for the skin. Its pale, healthy milky color wasn’t the kind he had experienced much with- or rather, to correct, in comparison to with women of his own kind –And even after centuries of loved made to that delicate porcelain skin, he still found it fascinating.

“I’ll gladly try it. The general public may not love her, but any gang that desires to take control has to be able to transact.” He dove into the crystalline pool, which was now clear of blood, and emerged at the edge, walking over to her to sit down next to her, his chiseled frame dripping and shiny under the mid-light, his eyes seeming even brighter. He opened the pot carefully, dove one finger into the gelatinous mix and ran it over the wound. The pain, which was already quite dull, went completely numb, and the blood seemed to coagulate at an almost visible rate, as if his Carrian blood reacted more powerfully. Surprised by the effects, he wasn’t even able to disperse intelligent commentary as he threaded the three S shaped needles through the skin around the wound, like stitches, and pushed them shut into 8 shapes, sealing the wound.

A drop of blood dripped down onto the center of his crotch, seemingly hitting the one blind spot of his aqua-dynamic leggings, as it pearled onto the surface and stayed still.

“My shirt has a roll of Scarleteer Hog cotton on the inside. It’ll do better than bandages.” He ran his hair behind his ear, which, as Brennisen would notice, rather than pointing upwards into a diagonal behind his head, his ears pointed down, towards the base of his spine.

“I’ll get dressed and we can leave. Excuse the inconvenience Brennisen.”

(Just out of curiosity, how old is Brennisen anyways?)

Brennisen watched Chard in fascination as he stitched up his wound. She was thinking about what he said about living a long time as she sat on the boulder next to him. Obviously from the many scars he had, he had been through a lot in his life, and it wouldn't have happened all at once. She wondered how much older he was than her. Of course, nearly everyone she had met on this patrol mission was older than she was. She was, after all, barely past her ripening years at a mere 110 years old.

All the members of her Ranger patrol had treated her like their kid sister more than as an equal. And much of the reason for her actions and attitude was in response to this treatment. She felt she had to prove herself to them all. Now she was dealing with a person who was not only intimidating to her because of his race, or his status as a hereditary enemy of her kind, but he was also more experienced, and possibly smarter than her. She sensed it, though she didn't like the idea. She didn't know how she could maintain the upper hand on this journey, with all she had to contend with concerning Chard.

She had to admire the steady handed courage he showed in stitching up his own damaged flesh. He didn't seem to feel pain, or at least he didn't show it. As he drew the edges of the wound closed, she noticed the single drop of blood fall, and followed it with her eyes until it came to rest on his water soaked leggings. There it rested like some crimson jewel, and held her enrapt gaze. For long moments she just stared at it; she didn't even know why. Blood didn't bother her; she'd seen it often before. Maybe she thought that a dark elf's blood wouldn't be as red as her own. But there it was.

The sound of Chard's voice as he spoke about his shirt brought her out of her reverie, and she suddenly realized what part of him she had been staring at. Her eyes snapped to his face even as she flushed with embarrassed heat. She saw the movement of his hand as he brushed his silky white hair behind his ear, and she wondered for a moment what it would feel like to run her fingers through those silky strands. She found it more difficult than she would have liked to resist the urge to reach out to touch that hair.

Embarrassed by her inexplicable reaction to his nearness, she tore her eyes away form him, busying herself with putting the healing salve away in her pack. Absently she said, "I suppose it's handy that your shirt will serve to absorb any bleeding, but won't it be ruined if it's all encrusted with your blood? I don't know what I could use to bandage you unless I used my breas.....Well, never mind what I'd have to use. But just let me know if you need something, okay? I can improvise something, I'm sure." She tried not to let the nervousness she felt enter her voice. She hoped he wouldn't notice her flustered state. She made sure to find straps on the pack horse that needed adjustment so that she could fiddle around with them and keep her back to him as he got dressed again. She was uncomfortable and nervous about her reaction to him. What was she thinking? He was a dark elf! And she was a Ranger, tasked with escorting him back to Randalee. She had to prove she could do this. She mustn't fail nor let any foolish thoughts or feelings interfere with her mission.

"It's alright. We both needed the rest, and I hadn't realized how seriously you were hurt." she said in a quiet voice. "We should still make it to where I'd hoped to camp tonight." She waited until he was ready to travel again, and picked up the shackles, turning to face him again. She hesitated, meeting his eyes with her own, hers displaying some sense of regret that she needed to bind him again. With a sense of shame she recalled the earlier incident with the water skin. She wondered if it was really necessary to bind him. He hadn't seemed inclined to offer her any trouble during the brief rest.

Then, without saying a word, she changed her mind and turned back to pack the shackles among the items on the horse. "I should bind your hands again, but I will give you the chance to prove to me that they are not necessary, Chard. We will be traveling together for the next 6 days. It would be a lot easier on both of us if I could trust you. Show me that I can, and the shackles won't be necessary."

(And 110 years old would be how old, in human years?)

"Unless you used your what? I mean... If you have something better Scarleteer hog cotton when it comes to soaking up blood, please say." He asked on a curious tone, still impressed by the healing salve. He was surprised to see the hurry in her steps and was almost curious until he re-tuned his thoughts to the space around him. He dismissed any thoughts of helping her sexuality move its way along with his mental powers. He didn’t care much for abusing of his mind, and subconsciously, it seemed that women trusted him more for that. In laymen’s terms, his method brought along superior results, with no regrets.

he walked over to his clothes, expecting to need to shake them out, but found them dust free and folded on the rock next to him. Once again, he felt ad for his troubles in communicating with the girl, and made note to thank her appropriately. He slipped on his pants, belting both his waist and his ankles before putting on his shirt and buttoning it quickly, giving Brennisen her final chance to peek at his sculpted muscles.

He walked over calmly, putting his hand on her shoulder. "Thanks. You took care of my clothes. I owe you a favor." he said, almost expecting her to start a rather sultry reply, barely having the time to cover it.

When he heard her comment about trust, he efficiently walked up to the front of the horse. “I’m ready to go Brennisen. And as for trust… You have my full cooperation.” He said calmly. He was ready to continue their voyage, and hoping he could get a hand on his personal effects before they arrived to Randalee...

"Unless you used your what? I mean... If you have something better Scarleteer hog cotton when it comes to soaking up blood, please say." He asked on a curious tone.

She realized that her inadvertent slip had been enough to make him have to ask, and now she'd have to answer, no matter that it was personal. At first, she murmured a response too low to be heard. But at his questioning look she knew she couldn't get away with that. She spoke a little louder and quicker, with a tone of annoyance that showed her upset with herself for opening her mouth in the first place.

"Look, I'm a Ranger, okay. We use the bow as our specialty weapon. So I wrap my breasts to bind them. It helps me to be able to move in combat without....'distraction'. It's a long winding of soft white cotton. I could use that to bandage your wound, if necessary. It's either that or tear my sleeping shift into strips, but I figure to need that later when we camp. I have nothing else to wear to sleep in. So either way, I would hope you can appreciate the sacrifice."

At his look, she snapped defensively, "Well what do the women of your people do, just flop around totally out of control? You are a male; you probably can't even imagine what it's like. There is no use for me to explain. Do you want the bandage or not?" She took in a deep cleansing breath, feeling a little better at getting the explanation over with. It was difficult enough having larger breasts by elvish standards, but the troubles she had to go through to deal with them, and the stares and treatment she always seemed to get from males made her sensitive about the issue.

Still, it wasn't as bad as the thought it would be, just telling him outright like that. And there was only the two of them out here. There would be nobody else to stare at her, and she swore to herself that if he couldn't keep his eyes to himself, she'd have a lot easier time putting those shackles back on him, and maybe think of some worse things to do too.

She stewed about it as she awaited his answer while adjusting the pack horse straps. Then at his quiet words, "Thanks. You took care of my clothes. I owe you a favor." and the gentle way he touched her shoulder, her upset melted away with a sigh. What right did she have to be upset with him, just for insisting to know what she had meant? After all, she brought it up. And to be sure, he was dealing with a lot more serious problems than she was. He was wounded, separated from his people, far from his home, and being led into a land where most would not welcome him.

She turned back to him with a softer tone and an attitude of greater sympathy and tolerance. "Truth be told, it's just this habit I have. I like to be organized. I like things to be neat and clean, whenever possible. Maybe that's why the idea of your shirt being ruined by bloodstains bothers me so much. You have no spare clothing do you? I haven't but a few items either, but at least I am going home. I can get more clothes. I'm sorry for the way I got upset earlier. I meant it about the bandage. You can have it if you want it."

"I'm sorry. If you didn't want to speak about it, you could've just told me. You have no duties towards me. And if you really want to know, it's for similar reasons that we have combat underwear and use throwing knives rather than bows."

Chard kept silent after his sentence, feeling no need to aggravate her, and continued to stay standing in wait before the horse. He felt her mix of shame, and wondered why she felt no pride. She may be disadvantaged in combat, but it made the rest of her physical traits seem even more splendid. He was often uncomfortable during fighting because of his "lucky genes". He thought about himself, years ago, before he was sexually active and remembered that he was past being over-average as an elf. He was larger than the Southern Human bandits. He was a disgrace to his family name. He had quit clock crafting shortly after.

He said nothing of this, of course.

"I'm sorry. I thought you might've had another one of the Princess/Goddess' special brews. I was truly interested. I'm sorry for aggravating you, but... Try not to be so ashamed of yourself. From personal experience, I must tell you that the first step to happiness is to embrace yourself. But it's a winding staircase... And you won’t know what the second step is until it's under toe."

He saw her ready and began to walk, hoping that we wouldn’t be forced to stop and wait, as he heard her apology. “It’s fine. That’s what this shirt was made for. I enjoy keeping things clean myself, so if I ever have another chance in this life, I’ll make sure this shirt comes clean.”

(Finals finish within the week! Sorry again for the small posts!)

Brennisen took the lead of the pack horse and started out down the trail beside Chard. She listened to his advice about her self image, and thought that he put the sentiment quite well. "You could have been a poet, or a philosopher, Chard. I suppose that eloquence comes from being so long lived and wise, huh? But just to be clear, I never said I was ashamed of myself. This is just how I grew. I couldn't help any of it, but I have to deal with it now, and with the difficulties my body shape gives me in what I choose to do. Maybe I should try to get my hands on a piece of that special under clothing you mentioned."

She didn't know why she was talking about it so much, considering how embarrassed she had been moments before even bringing it up. But it helped to pass the time as they walked on. And somehow it seemed easy to just chatter on with him since the subject had already been broached. She hadn't been able to talk to anyone about it until now, and it felt like a relief to get these feelings 'off her chest', so to speak.

"It's just that because I'm young, they already don't take me very seriously. And this 'feature' doesn't help. I had to practice very hard to earn any respect with my skills. Hey, maybe it's part of the reason I was assigned to take you back. Maybe they still don't take me seriously. Maybe they don't think I can get you back safely, Chard. What do you think about that? Maybe the two of us are both just a joke to them." She sounded a little bitter, but there was a note of defiance in tone as well. "Well, it only makes me more determined to prove them wrong."

She walked on for a bit in silent reflection until a thought occurred to her. "Hey, Chard, that arrowhead, what did it look like? Something you said just hit me. Do all your people use throwing knives? None use bows? I mean, you were with them; I only saw them during the fight, and that was very confusing. I didn't actually see the weapons they used."

It was now Chard’s turn to feel uncomfortable. As it was, he needed to quickly find a tactful way to say that his underwear wasn’t made more for women then Brennisen’s wrap was for men. “Well, I have a friend who is an excellent craftsman, but you see this underwear is only meant for the lower areas, and you won’t be able to purchase one made for females in any ordinary place.” Chard said, referring to the specialist who had made his suit. He could probably make one for her, as there was as much extra flesh in two breasts as there was in Chard’s genitals, or at least is appeared to be so with her wrap. The wrap couldn’t make that much of a difference… Could it?

Chard blushed, which simply darkened his skin to a darker gray, like if he was walking in a shadow, at the comment about his allegory. “I’m not old enough to be called wise yet Brennisen… We Carrian may live much longer than you, the Randals, but we’re slow learners. And besides, being a good speaker is important in my job.” He said with a smirk and a chuckle.

“It’s their mistake not to take you seriously. They didn’t take my friends seriously either, and now they’ve slipped through their fingers like sand in the wind. One day you’ll break free- or rather, in your case, surpass them. You have that potential.”

Chard licked his slightly dry lips, before answering that question. “It was written in a mix of Randal and Carrian. In Randal: The true elves make…” he marked a pause before continuing, but kept it short as to limit her questions before finishing: “…And in Carrian: Justice against the fake.” He cleared his throat. Fiddling in his silky white hair as he thought about his next answer, he licked his plump lips once again. “As for the weapons, some Carrians, though none in my gang, have begun to use crossbows… but aside that, I’ve only seen my kind use knives and swords.” He answered, quickly continuing.

“You see, our battle gear pants are made to protect us from arrows. The inside layer from medium strikes. This focuses the enemy’s attention on our feet and chest. We have an entire fighting art built around protecting those areas, which works hand in hand with out innate abilities.”

Brennisen smiled at Chard's words of praise. That he said these things about her shouldn't have mattered to her, but it did. He was a dark elf, true; but he was more experienced and a man, and somehow, she was glad to have his approval. His admiration was more than she hoped for, but if she could win that too, so much the better.

When he explained the inscription on the arrow, she pondered the cryptic words for a while. It distracted her slightly from the question that had come to her mind, but eventually she'd come back to it, giving up on trying to solve the riddle for the moment. He answered her question about the weapons his people had been using and it brought another question to her mind, even more troubling than her first.

With her mind partially troubled by the question, she heard him explain about his people's fighting strategies. Distractedly, she said, "It sounds more and more like those fancy clothes would be very nice to have. You say they don't make them for females? What a shame. So what would you have that you'd need to keep from shifting around anywa......Oh!" She cut off her thought mid-word as the obvious answer occurred to her and she blushed deeply, embarrassed into silence for several moments. She mentally chastised herself for her thoughtless question. Would she never stop making such verbal blunders around him?

"Y-you, uh, really don't have to answer that." Eager to change the subject, she still could not help a surreptitious peek downward before saying, "I don't know what the inscription means, exactly. But what I was wondering about was more the shape of the point, Chard." She pulled out an arrow of her own from her quiver holding the point up to show him. "See, mine is typical of Ranger arrows from Randalee. Notice how they are the shape of the willow leaf? That makes them easier to remove after the shot without damaging the arrow. They can be used again afterwards. It's more efficient than having to replace them so often, you see? Was the arrow you pulled out shaped like that?"

Chard's skin darkened from the blush again. He was down to coal black, his lips wound together tightly, and his gaze avoiding hers. He didn't need her indication to not answer, which felt ridiculous to him. Almost two millennia of intercourse, battle and instable politics and he was still finding some way to be embarrassed around her. He was thinking into the causes of such things when Brennisen asked her question.

"No. It was far too fine to be of Carrian craft, but it was modeled into jagged, twisted spikes. If it hadn't broken in my wound, I would’ve probably hurt myself seriously, maybe even killed myself pulling it out." He answered, delicately removing the remains of the weapon from his pocket. He continued. "My theory is that there are Randals among the rangers that are trying to go against orders and kill my kind. The similarities to both our crafts and languages can leave way to more than one interpretation, after all. They could cover up their shots as a traitor within our factions or accidental friendly fire."

He had another theory in mind, but wasn’t quite ready to reveal it yet. He subtly changed the subject by referring to the time. “The sun seems to be setting faster here, despite how far South from Carrion we are… I hope we won’t have to deal with any predators before we reach that spot of yours…” He said calmly, his eyes keeping South, flicking to the West in the slowly reddening sky. "Are you familiar with this route? You seem to know alot about the place." He said, wondering if Randal elves had the same deep connection to nature and wildlife as the Carrian had.

"Well something you mentioned before made me think of this, and now it has been bothering me. I'm sure an arrow barely missed my head back in that fight. So if your people don't use bows, then who almost killed me? And if the point of the arrow that you pulled from your body is not like ours, then who shot you? Something is just not adding up."

"You could be right about some within the Rangers not wanting to take any captives alive. I have to admit that whether its the Rangers or the regular army of Randalee, there are older veterans who have been fighting your kind for a long time. Some have lost family members or friends to the actions of dar...of people from Carrian. And it's no secret to my captain that I lost a family member to....your people. Maybe they thought sending me back with you would be one way to make sure you never made it back at all. Do you suppose they figured I'd try to get revenge and kill you when I had the chance?"

Brennisen pondered this as she walked along by Chard's side. There was plenty of reason to want revenge after what had happened to her father and her uncle. The incident had changed her life. She had grown up as the only child of a miller and his wife. Elven people were not exactly prolific in their birth rates. And as the only child, daughter or not, she was expected to help in the mill. She had grown to be deceptively strong for an elven girl, the benefit of lugging around heavy sacks of grain. The other skill she developed was her proficiency with a sling. She used to practice by keeping the rodent population down in the old mill.

But the fateful hunting trip her father and uncle went on had changed more than that. Her father's death meant her mother couldn't run the mill by herself, and eventually had to sell it just to get enough means to support herself. There was not enough to keep a nearly grown girl who should either be properly married off, or at least apprenticed to a respectable trade. Neither idea suited Brennisen, however, who had always been a bit adventurous. All it took was hearing the story of how the Rangers had rescued her uncle, even though they were too late to save her father, and she knew what path she'd follow from then on.

Chard's questions brought her mind back to the present and she answered, "I'm more or less familiar with the route, but it would be more accurate to say I am familiar with the terrain. I know these forested hills and the types of plants and animals that live in these environs. I know what kinds of trees grow here, where to find food and water and good shelter in such a place, and I know, in general, how to thrive in this type of area."

"The only predators I worry about in these hills are the two-legged kinds. There aren't many orcs around anymore; Randalee's army routed them out of our kingdom not long past. But there have been problems in recent months with gnolls. They've been gathering in packs, and almost seem organized. There isn't much danger from them during the day, but it might be different at night. Still, there hasn't been any reported in this area, so maybe we'll have an untroubled night."

Brennisen didn't mention the troubled thought that was beginning to form in her mind about another possible two legged threat; the kind that used cruelly barbed arrows.