Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 The Solitary Arrow by Mack the Knife

   Part One

   The sun had set, and the high, wispy clouds glowed redly on the western
horizon.  It was the end of a early fall day, and a splendid one, by the
standards of most men.

   The thick growth of the forest obscured most of these details with
nature's placid green face.  This calm scene was shattered by a single
word, a syllable that encompassed frustration, pain, and, most of all,
annoyance.  "Shit!" Someone screamed.  Birds flew from their resting places
in nearby branches, and a small deer bolted from the undergrowth in terror
at the sound of thudding feet and snapping limbs.

   Harlen of Morrovale was chasing the wolf he had just shot.  He had
managed to wound it grievously, and was gaining on it, but only slowly.

   Several months ago the Duke Anasper had placed a bounty on the heads of
the wolves.  They had reproduced out of control and grown too bold. 
Shepherds and even isolated farmsteads had been harassed, and a few people
had even been killed, along with innumerable sheep and other livestock. 
The bounty was a silver mark.

   People like Harlen rarely managed to have more than a few coins of such
worth in their hands at one time, and that was with careful saving.  So,
understandably, Harlen was keen on catching the elusive beast.

   He was toughened by the hard life he had chosen, and he radiated
muscular power and resilience.  Any agility he may have possessed was
merely coincidental.

   His thick, powerful legs propelled him like a juggernaut.  Pain lanced
through his one leg, causing him to wince as he crashed through yet another
tight bramble.  These slowed the large man little for massing eleven stone
had its advantages.  Glancing down as he ran through a relatively clear
patch of the wood, he saw that his leg was slashed deeply, probably by a
broken branch.

   He gritted his teeth and ignored the pain as best he could.  Blood was
now staining his linen pants.  He could also see the trail of blood that
his quarry dribbled onto the ground and upon low-hanging leaves on shrubs;
this fed his will to maintain the pursuit.

   The wolf's blood was black in the diminishing light, against the browns
and grays of the woods at that hour, and not easy to see.

   His heart lifted when he finally caught a glimpse of the wolf, leaping
behind another clump of ground-hugging scrub.  Harlen was nearly upon it.
His fist of his left hand tightened upon the grip of the bow until his
knuckles shined white.  There was an arrow already pressed to the catgut
string, ready to be fired quickly.

   He smashed his way past this last obstacle, noting the rather wide
clearing on the far side of it.  As he left the clinging shrubs, he raised
his bow and drew the arrow to fire.  The tightly corded muscles of his
bared arms flexed as they fed energy to the bow and the bow creaked quietly
as it prepared to release all of that energy in a single, deadly note.

   He took aim at the beast's torso as it presented him with a fleeting
profile shot when it changed direction.

   Suddenly, another crash sounded in the shrubs to Harlen's right.  Just
as he loosed the arrow, something hit him in the back and right side of his
chest.  Harlen fell to the ground, and watched in frustration as the wolf
disappeared behind the small trees on the far side of the clearing.

   He cursed the interruption but his colorful words were interrupted by a
stray thought - `What the blazes hit me?' He began to turn and reach for a
hatchet he had tucked through his belt when he heard a voice.

   It was a woman's voice, and it sounded afraid.  She was yammering in a
language he could not recognize as she picked herself up off the ground
nearby with her back to him.  Apparently she had rebounded from their
impact and fallen against the tree, then to the ground.  As he looked at
her, he realized that it was but a girl, maybe eleven or twelve summers of
age, judging from her height and build.  Her voice was a very smooth
soprano, though.  The words she spoke were foreign, but quite appealing to
the ear.

   His first thought was that she was lucky that she ran into him.  Some of
the other hunters out for the bounty were not as forgiving as he when their
quarry is allowed to escape.

   He regarded the girl as she reached down toward the ground, bending at
the waist, and lifting her own bow out of the grass.  She was scantily clad
for a young lady, and when she bent, a goodly portion of her backside was
visible.  Only the middle covered by a loincloth, leaving two rounded lobes
on either side.  As she started to straighten up again there was another
loud crash from the nearby shrubbery.

   Harlen thought that if he had wanted so many people about, he would have
stayed in town.  He turned to face this onrushing newcomer and saw that it
was not a single newcomer, but two, and they, more even than the girl, were
most unwelcome.

   They were orcs - Foul and vicious creatures that resemble men only in
that they had two arms and legs, and something of a small, ugly head. 
Their skin was deep green and scabby with warts and other malformations. 
As they charged toward him, they were screaming in their guttural language
and spewing curses in the girl's direction.

   The hunter looked for his bow and saw it laying two paces from him.  He
figured he did not have the time to retrieve and ready an arrow before they
would be upon him.  He lifted his hatchet from his belt and readied himself
for a very ugly, very personal fight.

   As the two orcs came charging out of the brambles, they yelled in
triumph at seeing the girl, at last, standing still.  So intent on their
quarry were the orcs that they failed to notice the substantially larger
man standing nearby in his brown leather jerkin and gray pants just a few
paces to her left.

   The lead orc was so close to Harlen it was a simple matter to split his
skull with the hatchet, and that orc fell with a short squawk as the
hunter's blade buried itself into the creature's brainpan as Harlen's
powerful muscles propelled it in a tight, deadly arc.

   The other orc, noticing the motion of Harlen's swing, not to mention his
companion's rather messy demise, turned.  He was armed with a crudely
crafted, and very rusty, scimitar.

   Harlen attempted to bring it down quickly, as he had his partner, with a
blow to the skull.  The orc nimbly stepped aside, though, and brought the
scimitar around in an arc that would have disemboweled Harlen had the orc
managed to keep its weapon.  As the blade swept toward the man's gut, the
hand separated from the arm, and there was a high, keening sound, almost
like one of those tiny triangles that some minstrels played.

   The orc screamed again, his face near Harlen's and blasted the man with
a disgusting wash of its fetid breath into his face.  He had never had to
fight with orcs before, as he usually found them easily avoided.  They were
tougher opponents than he had supposed, though.  They were shorter than a
man by over a head, but broader, and seemed to be knit completely of
muscle, attached to heavy bones, and with a thick, leathery pelt stretched
over all.

   As the hunter brought the axe back up and around for another swing, the
orc lunged to tear into his neck with its jagged, yellow teeth.  Harlen put
his gloved left hand on the orc's face and pushed it away from his exposed
throat.  The orc stumbled back, but quickly recovered and was preparing to
set upon him again.

   The orc seemed to not care that its hand was absent, that fact seemed to
simply make him angrier.  Drawing a wickedly barbed knife with its left
hand, the orc, once again, stepped in closer.

   With a grunt, Harlen had already begun his swing, and the orc, in his
rage, had paid little heed to what the human was doing.  The axe struck
solidly into the orc's left shoulder, nearly severing that arm.  The shock
of the blow knocked the hatchet from Harlen's grip, and it stuck for a
moment in the orc's flesh, then fell to the ground, alongside the orc's
fighting knife.

   Finally, the orc realized he was at a disadvantage.  The creature was
just turning to flee when an arrow came from the hunter's right and
imbedded itself in the orc's barrel-like chest in the center.  The orc fell
face down onto the ground, gurgling in its death throes.

   Harlen was breathing heavily as he surveyed the two corpses.  Then the
girl's voice sounded again.  "You are unhurt, I hope." She said in a lovely
and melodic soprano.  The voice did not sound right for a young girl, there
was no high-end peal to it that marked young women prior to their
adulthood. He turned and discovered that it was also out of place on a girl
of more advanced years.

   It was no girl at all, but an elven maiden.

   He stopped turning as soon as he caught full sight of her, and his limbs
froze.  He was literally too stunned to move.  No elf had been seen in the
Duchy for more than fifty years, or so the old-timers said.  Harlen simply
drank in the image of this legend made real standing before him and
regarding him with large, golden eyes.

   "This is the language you speak, yes?" She asked.

   Her hair was the color of autumn, auburn with golden yellow, where the
sun had bleached it, and bound into a pony tail, as he himself wore,
displaying her elegantly pointed ears extremely well.  She stood only to
the middle of his chest, and could not weigh more than half his mass, and
probably less than that.  However, she was shaped perfectly, with gently
curving hips and the swelling of small breasts beneath her clothing.  Her
arms and legs both were shapely with well-toned muscles for all their
slenderness.

   Her clothing, however, only seemed to cover as much as modesty demanded.
It consisted of primarily a cloth half top that ended at her rib line at
the bottom and had only two slender straps to her shoulders above her
breasts.  There was also a short skirt, which hung from her hips loosely
and fell only about halfway to her knees.  The front section of the
loincloth she wore was visible hanging over the top of the skirt.  For
footwear, she wore boots that were only just taller than her tiny feet and
seemed to be sewn from soft leather, probably doeskin.  The whole of the
outfit was gray in color, like rain clouds.

   A slender sheath hung from a chain that looped her waist, with a
shortish blade within, from the look of it.  She also carried a finely
carved bow with a great deal of ornate woodwork in its limbs.  A few arrows
protruded from over her shoulder, their fletching startlingly white.

   He pulled his wits together and managed to blurt out, "Yes," after a
long pause.  He felt his limbs relaxing and was able to finish the turn. 
The elf was beautiful, as one would expect after hearing tales of elven
folk.  Even the males were said to be lovely.  Harlen could not help but
think that she was must be counted beautiful among her own folk, for he
could feel grace and loveliness radiate from her, like a palpable thing. 
Something akin to the sense of power one gets seeing a bear.  She smiled at
him, and his heart missed a beat, so pleased was he to receive even that
small gift.

   "I chose correctly, and I am gladdened." She said.  Her smile was wide,
and very open.  Her accent was clipped, precise, and smooth, almost like
singing.  She was not mocking him, but seemed to be truly happy that she
had been correct.  Her golden eyes flashed as she smiled and Harlen could
have sworn that she was about to laugh, so light was her smile.  "I am
named Hyandai." She pointed to herself with her free hand.  Then she bowed
at the neck.

   The hunter stood mutely for a moment.  "I am Harlen of Morrovale." He
said, finally.  Then tried to impersonate the crisp head bow she had done
but only managed to look like he was nodding in agreement with himself.

   With that Hyandai did giggle.  He might have been offended but the sound
was so lovely that it simply left him feeling glad for having heard it.  An
image flashed in his mind of water rushing over small pebbles in a stream's
bed after a small waterfall, it was soft, and glad, and it was without
ridicule.

   She stopped laughing after a brief moment and, with effort, straightened
her face.  "Well met, Harlen of Morrovale." Her eyes flickered over him
briefly.  "But you are hurt, Harlen." She said, looking at his injured
thigh.

   He took the invitation of her roving eye to look more closely at her, as
well.  His eyes moved down her form, taking in the slim torso and long
legs, mostly bared, and the shapely arms, also bared.  The hunter had lain
with women without ever seeing so much of their skin.  It was very nice
skin, too, free of blemish or mark and it was fair of color, only barely
tanned by the sun.  He let his eye linger over the feminine curves of the
hips and the small, but nicely shaped breasts.  Then his eyes tracked back
to her thighs.  She bore a wound similar to his own, just below the short
skirt.  "You are also hurt Hyandai." He said.  Then he looked at his own
wound, it was not terribly deep, but was painful.  "My injury is a paltry
thing." He looked at her injury, and blood was sliding slowly down her leg.
"That one, however," he pointed at her deep cut, "is bleeding heartily, and
you've not the bulk to take that sort of loss, milady."

   She looked down and nodded.  "You are right, and I should tend it." She
said.  "Sadly, my talents as a healer are lacking, and the best I can hope
for is to staunch the bleeding."

   Harlen looked about and spotted a largish stone protruding from the
loamy soil of the forest.  "Then, lady, sit upon that stone and I will tend
it." The huntsman pointed at the rock.  "I have some small skill at such
things." He smiled lopsidedly.  "It's a side effect of the profession I
have chosen." He began to remove his pack.

   She sat on the stone as requested.  Hyandai was watching Harlen with
those golden eyes.  "If you can do more than I, then I welcome it." She
said, lifting her skirt a bit higher to give him room to work, showing him
more of that lovely, but wounded, leg.

   From the backpack, Harlen produced a small leather roll, tied with
rawhide straps.  He opened it.  There were numerous tiny pockets and
pouches sewn into it.  He produced a tiny vial from among the pockets and
uncapped it.  He then knelt beside her, as he held the vial over her wound,
he noted a strong smell of cinnamon.  He let a couple of drops fall into
the wound and she gasped.

   "It will sting only a moment, Hyandai." He assured her, putting a hand
on hers, where it rested on her other leg.  "Then it will go numb, and the
woundwort will also keep the wound from growing pustulant later."

   He returned the vial to its assigned pouch.  He then pulled forth a very
small needle and a length of thread.  He tried to thread the needle three
times before Hyandai gently took the needle and thread from him and passed
the thread through the eye as if the eye were the size of Harlen's.  She
smiled and handed it back to him.

   Harlen looked at her tiny hands and slim fingers for a moment, then went
back to his task.  Stitching the wound shut, working from his left to
right, he began to sew the rent in her flesh shut.

   "I am making the stitches as small as I am able." Harlen said as he
sewed.  "There should be little scarring that way.  It would be a shame to
mar perfection."

   She watched as he progressed, her eyes flicking with his fingers.  He
gave off a slight smell of hard work, of masculine perspiration.  Hyandai
liked the smell; it reminded her of days when her father would come in from
smithing, only somehow more so, with this human.  She had always been
disappointed when her father had gone to the baths, for it was then time
for her bed in those days of her youth.  But until that time of the evening
had come, he had spoken and played with her, and taught her many things. 
So, in her memories, the best of her days as a child were when her father
smelled of hard work.  This human did not really remind her of her father,
but the smell of his manhood made her feel safer, and yet, in the same
moment, more vulnerable.  Each time he dragged the needle through her
tender flesh she felt a soft pressure on her thigh, just below her
loincloth and she felt a mild current from there twining its way up her
spine.

   Harlen was forced to lean close to bite the thread when he had finished
his stitch work.  As he did, his nose filled with the cinnamon-like odor.
It was her skin that smelled thus, he decided, and he inhaled deeply as he
bit through the thread.

   He sat back and looked at his handiwork.  He put a hand above and below
the generally horizontal wound, not even realizing that he had part of his
upper hand over her loincloth, and thereby over her maidenhood.  He tested
the stitches by trying to move the flesh of her leg around.  The tiny knots
held well.  Hyandai held her breath to keep herself from gasping.  There
was, as promised, no pain from the wound, but the woundwort had not in the
least deadened any other part of her body, including those delicate parts
covered by the loincloth.

   He nodded curtly, doing a better imitation, unconsciously, of the
Hyandai's little head-bow than he had done when he tried.  This caused her
to giggle again.

   He looked up at her quizzically.  "That tickled." She explained, glad
that the dimming light prevented him seeing her slight blush of
embarrassment.

   He put the needle and thread back into their little pouches and secured
the roll.  She noted that this man was meticulous, something that many
elves were not, she included.  He stood up as he put the roll into his
small backpack.

   "That should serve." He said, smiling to her.  "I wish I could promise
no scarring.  A leg turned so well on the One's lathe deserves to be free
of blemishes."

   She blushed at the compliment.  "I am certain it will be minimal, due to
your skilled hands." She said, smiling at him.  "I am in your debt,
Harlen." She added.

   He took her hand and helped her to her feet.  He began to reach for her
bow when she turned to him, softly laying her hands upon his broad
shoulders, she gently urged him to sit on the rock.

   "It is my turn to do the mending." She said.

   He let himself be seated.  Her touch was electric to him, causing sparks
to shoot from wherever her hands were, to his spine, to his mind, then
radiating out from there to warm him all over.

   Once he was sitting, Hyandai knelt by his side, placing her hands on his
thigh almost as he had done when he had finished his work.  She leaned
forward and nearly kissed the torn flesh.  A cool, soothing breath came
from her lips and moved over the wound.

   Harlen felt a sudden embarrassment when his manhood twitched, then began
to harden.  Her hands were on very sensitive skin to begin with, and the
caressing puff of air simply made the situation worse.  He realized with
distress that one hand was directly in the line of his extending and
swelling organ.

   He tried to turn a little, to dislodge the hand, but this caused Hyandai
to tighten her grip and say, "please, do not move," as she cast a playfully
annoyed look at him.

   Harlen made a forlorn sound deep in his throat, almost like a whimper.
She looked up at him.  "Do I pain you?" She asked, at about the same moment
that her fingers were lifted from his thigh by his cock swelling, and
extending beneath them, one slim finger at a time.

   "I beg your forgiveness, lady." He stammered.  "I tried to stop it from
doing that, I promise." He had a look of genuine panic on his face.

   "It is hardly an insult for my touch to arouse you, Harlan." She gave
him a flicker of her golden eyes.  "For I know that there was a sensation
most warm when your hand brushed between my legs." She said and looked at
his wound again, her hand still resting on his thickening erection.

   She leaned back in and gently breathed upon the wound again.  She did
this for a minute or so, as Harlen watched in awe.  The flesh and muscle of
his thigh healed before his eyes, knitting and repairing itself.  She
finally stopped then kissed the newly healed skin.  The kiss sent a bolt of
pure, white-hot energy up his leg and caused parts of his mind to melt, he
was sure of it.

   "You are mended, Harlen of Morrovale." She moved her hands off him, and
stood up in one graceful motion that caused the hunter to stare.  He rose
from the stone and looked at his leg.  The wound was gone, and in its place
was pink, soft skin.

   He gaped at her, almost comically.  "You heal by magic, milady?" He
asked.

   "Yes, it is our way." Hyandai said.  She picked up her bow from the
ground.  "We have always done so, but it leaves us without the knowledge of
doing it differently, as you obviously possess."

   "But, why would you need it?" He asked.  "If you can heal, why did you
not heal yourself?" He looked a bit confused.

   She tilted her head slightly, but smiled generously, and her eyes
glittered in the dwindling light.  "You noted how I mended you, by blowing
my life's breath onto the wound?" She asked him.

   "Of course I noticed." He said, somewhat embarrassed.

   She shrugged.  "And just how limber do you think us elves?" She said,
then giggled when his face took on the unmistakable air of realization.

   He grinned himself.  "I suppose not quite that limber." His face was
blushing again.

   "Not quite, also, magic is notoriously fickle when one tries to perform
it on oneself." She said.  "I could have easily worsened my wound." She
explained.  "Your way was the best, especially with no other elves about."

   He looked around.  "Speaking of that, Hyandai, how is it you are alone
in the wood?" He asked.

   "You are a curious man, Harlen.  And questions are good to a point, and
that one is certainly worthy." She looked at him.  "I am alone because I
and my betrothed were waylaid by those orcs." Her face suddenly looked
stricken.  "I am afraid he may be dead." She said.  "He bade me run while
he tried to stall them." Tears fell from her eyes.  "In my cowardice, I
did." Her voice was quaking with both hurt and rage.

   Harlen looked at the two bodies lying on the ground.  "Were there many?"
He asked, rolling one over with his heavy boot and regarding its
unappealing visage.

   Hyandai nodded in the waning light, and her eyes were still aglitter,
but with grief now.  "There were a dozen, perhaps more." She said quietly.

   He turned to her.  "Then do not mar bravery on his part by labeling it
cowardice on your part." The hunter said.  "Had you stayed, you would have
died too.  Or worse, was made captive." He looked at her eyes, matching his
ice blue against her rich golden.  "If he was your betrothed, then he did
so willingly, as most any man would have." He broke eye contact.  "I know I
would." Harlen said quietly.

   She looked at him intently.  "Would you?" She said.  "You'd lay down
your life defending me, a person whom you have just met?"

   "I would do so even for what I thought you were initially, a young girl
of my kind, and would for what you are, a lovely woman." He said, trying to
pretend he did not sound trite.

   She touched his muscled arm.  "I believe you." She said.  "And further,
I believe that you would lay down your life for most anyone whom you
thought needed your help.  Harlen, you are a decent and valorous man.  I
sense it." Her smile in the darkened wood was a flash of white.

   "Right now, I am a man who can barely see his hand before his face."
Harlen said.  And he rummaged in his back and brought out a small leather
pouch.  He opened the pouch and light shot up into the sky.  He pulled out
a glass or crystal orb that radiated light, brighter than a torch.

   "A calyondo!" Hyandai exclaimed smiling and blinking at the sudden
brightness until Harlen wrapped his fingers about it, cutting off a portion
of its intense glare.

   The hunter looked at her.  "Cally-ando?" He asked.

   She giggled at herself, then said "A stone of light." She pointed to the
crystalline orb.  "We used to trade those to the humans of these lands."
She tilted her head slightly.  "That one still shines brightly after all
these years." She said, her eyes reflecting the glowing orb.

   Harlen looked at it.  "It was my grandmother's." He said, then looked at
Hyandai.  "She is fascinated by your folk, and spent much time listening to
tales from our minstrels and storytellers about the elves." He shrugged. 
"The stone seemed to never fade in its light, and now it serves me well."

   She wondered at that as she watched him walk toward the tree.  "Harlen.
I am alone now.  May I beg your company, for the night, at least?" Hyandai
asked.

   The hunter stopped and turned, a look of dismay on his face.  "Must you
ask?" He said.  "I would have thought it obvious that your company was more
than welcome." He shook his head.  "Perhaps I assumed too much with you,
thinking myself an open book to your alert eyes."

   She smiled widely.  "Then I am glad.  For the night is not of itself
frightening, but these unknown wilds are." Hyandai said as she walked up to
him.  "I regret that I have none of the needed supplies for camping, having
lost my pack during my flight from the orcs."

   "We will manage." Harlen said, and took her hand.  It was warm and soft
in his grip.  Her fingers curled around his own hand as she accepted the
touch and followed his light into the woods.  "I want to get away from
those two, in case their friends come looking for them." The hunter said,
his stalker's mind taking over.  "We will travel a half hour then make our
camp."

   He palmed the calyondo and proceeded into the wood.  His grip was
strong, and seemed nearly unbreakable to her, though he held her only
lightly.  She watched his movements through the underbrush.  He was
cautious and they moved somewhat slowly.  She was impressed when a branch
barred their progress; he elbowed it back and held it for her to pass. 
This limb was thicker than her arm around, and would have been far beyond
her ability to push out of the way even straining with both arms.

   Hyandai knew this man was no hardened warrior, but she felt safer in his
presence.  His broad back and strong arms made her to think of the tree men
of the glades in her homelands.  They were powerful, but very slow.  Harlen
had proven he could and would move quickly at need, unlike those tree men,
whom never rushed at anything, even saving their own lives.

   At last, they came to a small clearing, where a small fire pit had been
dug.  He nodded.  "This was my camp last night, I thought I could find it
again." His released her hand and uncovered the glowing sphere fully,
letting its light fill the tiny clearing.  Harlen reached behind one of the
larger trees around the edge of the clearing, and retrieved several pieces
of wood.

   With the setting of the sun, the air had grown a bit chill.  Elves, in
general, did not grow cold easily, but they were comforted by a fire as
much as any man.  She watched as he placed the wood and used a piece of
flint from his pack to start some punk burning, and with that lit the fire.
After a few minutes, he had the small fire going nicely, crackling and its
light throwing dancing shadows on the trees surrounding the clearing.  He
carefully put his glowing sphere back in its leather pouch and pulled the
mouth shut.

   The stone's pouch went into the pack, and a folded cloth came out in the
same motion.  Harlen walked up to Hyandai and unfurled the cloth beside
her. It was a thin blanket.  He again took in her cinnamon scent as he
stood near her, letting the blanket settle onto the soft grass that
carpeted the clearing.  "It is not much, Hyandai, but it is your bower for
the night." He said.  Then stood and walked around the fire and sat on the
far side.

   Her golden eyes followed his movements, and she watched him sit.  "And
you will sleep where?" She asked, her eyes flicking to the blanket, then
back to him.

   "It will not be my first time to sleep under the stars with naught above
me but my shirt." He said, smiling.  "I will lie here." He said, patting
the ground beside him.

   She sat on the blanket; it was quite large, if thin.  "No, huntsman, you
will lie on your blanket, by my side.  We are garbed.  There is no worry."
When she saw him prepare to protest, she added.  "Please, the night is
cooling, and I would share your warmth."

   He relented in his eyes.  "Very well, milady." He said, standing.  "But
I snore." He warned her.  Smiling as he stood and walked back to the
blanket.  He sat down near her, and laid back, facing the sky.  She laid
down as well, and cast the other half of the cloth over them.  It sufficed,
barely.

   He could smell her scent strongly now, and he said.  "You smell of
cinnamon, Hyandai, it is very appealing." Then sniffed the air
appreciatively.

   Hyandai giggled at his words.  "Well, Harlen, you smell of a day's hard
work." She said, and gave a small sniff of her own.

   "I apologize, but I was unaware I would have company this night in my
blanket, or I would have bathed today." Harlen replied, a tinge of worry
edging into his voice.

   Again, Hyandai laughed.  "Do not apologize.  The smell of work is hard
won, and I did not say that I found it less than pleasant." She smiled in
the darkness, watching the shadows from the fire play among the leaves over
them.  "In fact, it brings me fond memories of another man, one whom I
loved."

   Harlen did not know what to say to that, so he left it be.

   Suddenly she said.  "Did you know your name has an elven meaning?"
Hyandai turned onto her side to look at him.  "It means `The Wide South' in
our tongue.  That is the name of the lands south of our country, you would
call it Ghant."

   The hunter looked at her pretty face in the near dark and smiled. 
"Really?  You call Ghant Harlen?  What does your name mean, Hyandai?" He
asked.

   She looked a bit nervous, or at least hesitant, then said.  "My name
means `a small blade.'" Then she laughed nervously.

   Harlen laughed too, "Small blade?" He asked.  "It's a bit, well, small
sounding."

   She nodded and her arms came from beneath the blanket.  She reached over
her head, where she had laid her weapons.  She brought down her scabbard,
and drew forth the weapon within.  It was indeed a small blade, only a
finger's width wide and a bit longer than his forearm.  She handed the
pommel to him and he took it.  It was airy light.  He touched the blade and
it was terribly sharp, however, keener than the barber's razor in
Morrovale. "This is a hyandai?" he asked.

   She nodded as he returned the pommel to her.  "Yes.  It was my mother's
weapon, and, as she passed when I was young, the name stuck since I refused
to take it off even as a young child." She resheathed the sword and put it
back over her head.

   Harlen looked at her.  "We have a similar weapon, called a rapier." He
said.  "Though they tend to not be quite so sharp." He turned onto his
side, also facing her.  "You are skilled with the bow.  I saw that much. 
Are you a warrior?"

   She laughed heartily at that.  A glorious sound that filled the
clearing, and made him laugh.  "No warrior am I, Harlen.  I am but a maiden
who was forced to travel." She looked up at the weapons above their heads,
their bows, her sword, and his axe.  "All elves are expected to be
proficient in the rudiments of weapon use." She said.  "Our numbers are too
few to rely solely upon dedicated soldiery, as humans are wont."

   He hummed as if considering this.  And watched her beautiful eyes.  He
liked looking at them, though they disquieted him somewhat.  They seemed to
gather the flickering light from the fire and concentrate the energy into
themselves.  Thus, they seemed brighter than the surrounding area.  She
noticed his stare and said.  "My eyes seem to be being watched."

   Harlen blinked.  "I'm sorry," he said, "but I've never seen eyes of that
color before.  They look like gold to me, burnished and ancient and
priceless."

   She smiled at that.  "Your own are unusual to me.  Among elves blue eyes
are exceptional." She glanced away.  "They make me think of the summer sky,
warm and endless."

   Harlen blushed at those kind words.  "Well, milady." He stammered.  "We
have to look after your betrothed on the morn, so best we sleep." He said,
and closed his eyes.

   She took her hand from his shoulder, not even realizing she had left it
there, and laid upon her back, regarding the flickering shadows more.

   After some minutes, they both drifted off to sleep.

   * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

   The next morning found Hyandai awake before Harlen.  She slowly became
aware that she was being held, then her golden eyes snapped opened and she
inhaled sharply.  She felt his arm over her and the other arm under her,
pillowing her head.  The one above was across her chest and came down from
there to pull her close to his body.  It was not at all an unpleasant
feeling, the strength in those arms lent to a general sense of security to
this wild place.  She could also feel his breathing against her neck and
ear, again, quite pleasurable, she found.

   Despite his warning, his snoring was minor and simply served as a
relaxing and steady sound to lull her to sleep the night before.  She liked
the feeling of being held and protected as she slept, and she liked the
warm feeling it gave her in her belly.  Then she realized she also felt
something else.

   His manhood was pressed against her backside, and it was quite obviously
roused.  She could even, through the fine material of her loincloth and his
rough twill pants, feel its swollen head.  The men of the Faith in the
Western Realms were circumcised, she had heard, but had never seen such.

   She was not terribly alarmed by all this, though.  Often girls among her
friends had commented that elven youths had such arousals in their sleep,
caused by dreams.  No doubt the dreams were quite exciting, she guessed. 
After a moment, she had to admit that knowing what was pressing against her
did not bother her at all.  In fact she was uncomfortably aware of her own
excitement at the contact, so much so that she feared he might notice when
he awoke if they were still so closely touching.

   Hyandai was unsure how to move, though, without causing that event.  If
she moved, he would probably wake up.  She lifted her head and looked down.
His body was folded behind hers, in the same position forming two roughly
zigzag lines.  She wiggled her hips a bit, to see if she could push her
pelvis forward a few inches.  She succeeded, but then he moved to match her
and now his organ was no longer pressed against her backside.  It was
standing out from his body.  His manhood was still within his breeches,
yes, but now pressing directly toward her own sensitive groin.

   Her eyes grew wide with alarm, not at the event, but at her body's
reaction to it.  She was growing quite excited now, despite her own desire
to not do so, and she could feel the loincloth growing slightly damp with
her moisture.

   He suddenly twitched, causing his organ to push at her opening, actually
parting the labia within her loincloth.  A shudder of pleasure ran through
her, then he laid still again, his erect penis poised just outside her
maidenhood.  Only the layers of thin cloth prevented him from entering her.
Then she felt it softening, the head sliding over her rump as it grew limp,
and she breathed a sigh of relief.  Then she noticed she was breathing in
short gasps.  She had been very excited or scared.  Given the situation,
she had to guess excited.  A part of her, a part she kept well subdued by
her will, cursed the cloth.

   She relaxed and simply laid there enjoying the feeling of being held and
warmed by him.  He seemed to hum, though no sound came from his lips,
except his slow breathing.  She would not have minded staying in such
comfort all day, was it allowed.

   Once his erection had fully subsided, she pushed back as she had been
before, holding her pelvis forward as she had been was a bit of an effort.
She let her head rest fully on the muscular, but relaxed arms, and started
to doze off again herself.  Then he awoke.  His eyes opened wide and he
inhaled mightily.

   Harlen came to consciousness rapidly when he felt Hyandai shift in his
arms.  Then he realized she was in his arms!  He snapped to wakefulness and
gasped.  He lifted his upper arm off of her and rolled to his back.  She
lifted her head and looked back at him, a look of peevishness on her face.

   "Milady, I did not!" He exclaimed slowly removing his arm from beneath
her now raised head.  "I did not mean to take privileges of you in your
sleep." He looked horrified, but not at her, she guessed, but at being
thought forward.  "I.  Uh.  I wasn't aware I had moved into a position of
such familiarity with you.  I am sorry."

   She rolled over toward him.  "Your `familiarity' kept the chill from the
last night." She said, smiling at him.  "I thank you for it." She then
leaned forward and kissed his cheek.  "Without your warm body I would
surely have taken cold." She rather enjoyed this game of comforting him
when he thought he had offended.  Humans were, obviously, very strict with
their rules of courtship and friendliness.  Elves were, as well, but the
rules were subtly different, and those differences showed themselves
glaringly on occasion.

   Harlen touched his cheek where she had planted the small kiss.  "I did?"
He asked, then said.  "I am happy to have been of service, then." He smiled
his charming crooked smile.

   She stood up and stretched languidly.  "You certainly did, Harlen of
Morrovale." She said, when she had finished the catlike stretch.  She
looked down.  "I have rarely slept more comfortably and more securely in
all my days."

   The hunter sat up, and propped his arms on his knees.  "In all your
days? And what might those be?  I hear elves are immortal."

   She looked at him with wide eyes and then giggled at him.  "Immortal?"
She said, "By the spirits, no, we are as mortal as humans." Her hand
touched the spot on her leg.  "Did not that look like the meat of the
living that you sewed with such skill?"

   Harlen nodded.

   "Nay, sir, we live long, yes, but we are far from immortal." She looked
down at him again.  "I am fifty-nine summers of age." She finally said. 
"And I am considered to recently be marriageable by my folk." Her golden
eyes dropped, sadly.  "That led to my betrothal to Eleean." She shook her
head, then smiled at Harlen.  "What is your count, then?" She said, her
eyes sparkling.

   He shrugged.  "I probably seem a whelp, then, to your eyes.  I am but
twenty-four years." He said, standing up, and picking up the blanket.

   Hyandai thought for a moment, then nodded to herself.  "Then we are
actually quite closely matched, in the reckoning of each of our folk." She
explained.  "Were I human, I would be aged twenty years, perhaps nine and
ten." She reached down and fetched up her weapons.

   This time, Harlen did the thinking, then spoke.  "Then you live for
almost two hundred years?" He asked, his voice full of awe.

   "Yes." Hyandai replied.  "Some live longer, many shorter, but two
hundred would not be considered exceptional." She nodded.  "We are
long-lived, as I said, but far from immortal."

   Her eyes were bright with the realization that this man was indeed a
smart one; he had done the mental math to calculate the elven span without
fingers, toes, or paper.  She added this to her tally sheet of his measure,
and he was adding up quite handsomely.  She giggled at the image this
fostered in her mind, and then set about pushing dirt over the smoldering
ashes of the fire.

   Her clothes somewhat smelled of his odor, and she lifted her short
tunic's hem to her nose and sniffed with relish while Harlen was occupied
with gathering his own weapons.  Her mind was pleased at the thought of his
scent on her all day for her to enjoy.

   For his part, Harlen could smell Hyandai on the blanket and himself, and
was definitely not displeased with that.  He finished folding the thin
blanket and put it in his little pack.  Then he stooped and picked up his
bow and hatchet.

   "What do we do now?" Harlen asked, looking around their empty little
camp.

   "I must try to find Eleean, and learn if he lives or not." Hyandai said.
"This is something I have to do.  I will not ask it of you."

   He hefted his bow onto his back.  "You needn't ask.  It is given." He
said.  "Which way do we travel, then?"

   Her heart leapt when he said this, knowing it meant that he would be
beside her a while longer.  She had to admit to herself that she enjoyed
his company immensely, and took comfort from his presence.

   She pointed south and east.  "That way," she said.  "toward the rocky
hills."

   Harlen nodded.  "Orcs dwell in those hills." He murmured.  "It surprises
me not even a little that you would encounter them there.  The duke has
been unsuccessful in rooting them out." He aimed his blue eyes in that
direction.  "Then are we ready to go?" He asked Hyandai.

   She smiled and stepped beside him, and they set off, walking side by
side.  She walked so close to him that their arms would brush from time to
time.  He never noticed her taking surreptitious glances in his direction,
studying his movements, and watching his face.  In the same vein, she did
not notice his looks in her direction nor the air of pleasure he seemed to
be radiating.

   They had walked not ten minutes when she saw something that made her
stomach rumble.  It was a plum tree, and some of its fruit was ripened,
weighing down the tree's limbs with their plumpness.

   "Saipior!" Hyandai cried, breaking into a run, then shouted over her
shoulder.  "Plums!" In Harlen's own tongue of Westron.

   He set off after her at a jog.  By the time he got there she had plucked
one down and was half finished with it.  She moaned at the quality of the
flavor.  "These are perfect." She said around a mouthful of pulp.

   Harlen chuckled and plucked himself one.  He popped the entire plum into
his mouth and split the skin with his teeth.  Making a pretty funny face,
he managed to extract the pit from the meat, and he fired it out away from
them.  She laughed at this process, but said.  "Your way of eating them is
quite effective, but seems a bit beyond me."

   She tried to mimic his technique, but her small mouth would not
accommodate the entirety of the plum, so she had to content herself with
simply taking bites from them and making rather crude slurping sounds.

   After each had eaten half a dozen, Harlen looked at her.

   "Somehow, I thought elves to be somewhat more fastidious eaters." He
said, propping his back against the trunk of the plum tree.

   Wiping a mass of juice and pulp from her lower lip, she said.  "Most
elves have not been without food for almost a full day and then presented
with such delicious fruit." Her eyes were aglitter with the morning sun and
her beauty in her moment of joy smote his heart.

   The spell was partially broken when she threw a plum at him.  He caught
it deftly, popping it into his mouth.

   As Hyandai turned to pluck down more fruit, a seed shot past her on a
trajectory that would have caught her in the back of the head but a half
moment before, had she not just moved.

   She cast a mock look of anger at Harlen, and he looked away, trying to
whistle through a mouthful of plum meat.

   She hurled another at him, and again he held up a massive hand and
caught it.  He did not, however, catch the second that she had thrown with
her other hand a half-second after the first.  It ricocheted off his
shoulder, breaking the soft skin over the very juicy plum.  The meat
splattered onto his cheek.  He looked stunned for a brief moment, as the
plum slid down his cheek, then fell to the ground, and bits of it slid more
slowly down his cheek.

   His hand closed on the plum he had caught, and it ruptured with an
audible, slimy noise.  There was a fire in his eyes as he lunged toward
her. She had a very brief look of panic, then saw the smile he was wearing,
and with a playful shriek she took off running.

   The rules of the game were simple.  If he caught her, he was going to
smash plum juice into her face.  If she eluded him, until he was winded,
she would remain unsullied.

   It was a very old game, and both knew the rules without speaking. 
Children of both races played it, or a variation of it.  She could not
leave the vicinity of the plum tree.  That rule was cardinal.  She could
not run straight for very far, not that straight-line running would have
helped her long, she noted, his much longer legs would have outpaced her
quickly.

   She changed course erratically.  And dived under his outstretched arms
more than once.  Her elven reflexes were uncanny in his eyes.  But his
speed and power were amazing to her.

   He pursued her around the tree for almost a full minute before she made
a critical mistake and misjudged her lunge to elude him.  His hand clasped
her arm in what was, to her, an unbreakable grip.  He did not bear down,
did not hurt her, but the fingers would not open, and she was caught.  His
hand came around, filled with plum pulp.  She felt the soft, sweet fruit's
moist interior against her nose first.

   He intended to do this slowly, and make her truly suffer through it.

   It slid up her nose, and next the pulp coated her cheeks, covering them
in gooey sweet nectar.  He brought the mass of the plum meat down toward
her mouth, which she opened obligingly, knowing the rules of the game.  He
pushed some of it inside her mouth and then smeared the rest on her chin.

   Both of them were breathing heavily, panting, and they were both
smiling.

   He leaned close to her.  "No girl ever escaped me at that game, milady."
He said into her ear.  She chewed the plum in her mouth and looked at him.

   "You are a cunning opponent, Harlen." She said.  "But you have yet to
claim your prize." She added, swallowing the pulp.  She turned to him.  "As
the defeated party, I am ready to suffer the punishment for loss." She
said, holding her head up defiantly.

   He turned to her again.  "You follow those rules, too, in your lands?"
He said, and smiled.  "Then I will claim my prize, for both my hurt and my
victory, and in the name of the Duchy of Morrovale and all humans." He
said, as if making a pronouncement.

   Then he leaned in and kissed her, full on the lips.  It was no
perfunctory thing, either, but a good, solid connection.  Her breath
stopped while he kissed her, and she felt her legs turn weak.  His legs
joined hers in becoming a bit unsteady, but he held fast.  He then inhaled,
breathing in her cinnamon scent, it was somehow stronger now, and that he
liked.

   The kiss ended, and then he did something that she never expected.  He
licked the pulp from one cheek.  His tongue was massive to her, and covered
most of the cheek, but it was soft, and supple, and left her cheek cleaner
than it had been.

   She pawed at the just licked cheek.  "Ech!" She said.  "You licked me!"
She was smiling a toothy grin, though.  And she was glad at having
something to say, for it prevented her just shyly tittering.

   Harlen looked around.  "Do you see a brook, or a pond about?" His eyes
were wide.  "We've only one way to get clean, and given that the pulp will
become sticky if we let it dry." He gave her a look.

   This was not technically part of the game, as she knew it, but seemed a
rather fun rule, nonetheless.

   "Very well, then, Harlen of Morrovale." She said, walking toward him. 
"But as the lady, I demand to be able to go first." She added.  He stood
still and she walked up to him.  She giggled.  "You need to bend down a
bit, you giant." She said.  He got down on his knees, putting his head at
her chest level.  "Much better."

   She leaned forward, and kissed his cheek with her mouth open, her tongue
came out and licked the skin, and she gently sucked as she closed her
mouth, taking the bits of meat and the juice with it.  She repeated this
procedure down his cheek, then onto his neck where the pulp had run.  He
gasped when she first kissed then sucked on his neck, it sent jolts of
pleasure through him, and he was glad she had her eyes closed.  His pants
were stretched out badly from his growing organ.  After what seemed a bit
longer than necessary, she stood up.

   "There.  You are now clean." Hyandai said.

   Harlen stood up and turned away for a moment, moving his organ to the
side, and trying to get it to stop protruding quite so much.

   She watched this activity, but pretended to not notice his discomfort,
or his large erection.  The not-to-be-heeded voice in the far recesses of
her mind screamed in frustration.

   When he turned back around, she was standing there with her eyes closed
and an expectant look on her face.  He leaned down and kissed her cheek,
then cleaned it, tasting the mixed taste of cinnamon and plum.  He then
cleaned the other cheek, and even licked her nose, causing her to squinch
it up in a quite adorable fashion.

   He then moved to her chin, just below her lips.  As he kissed there, her
mouth opened slightly, and he made sure on the lick part, he let his tongue
brush over them.

   Her breath was being taken in short gulps of air, but he barely noticed
since he was breathing in much the same way.

   He worked his way down, beneath her chin to her slender throat.  She
lilted her head back and he saw the cords of her neck stand out as she did
so.  Harlen licked and kissed his way down to her collarbone.  Moving
around the neck to the juice that had dripped from her cheeks, he
thoroughly cleaned her skin, one side then the other.

   He leaned back then looked down, where her top was holding her breasts
in.  There was a tiny trickle of juice still slowly working down one side,
and over the side of that breast.  He leaned down and caught it before it
could disappear forever down her cleavage, and licked his way up the
curving top of her breast, and then onto her chest and back to her collar.

   Hyandai gasped loudly at the intimate contact, and her body twitched. 
She looked down at him.  "I wondered when you would stop that one." She
said, trying to sound casual, but her voice was a bit quivery.

   Harlen leaned back, licking his lips.  "Rules are rules." He said.

   They were now reasonably clean and quite satisfyingly full of plums. 
They both gathered their bows and proceeded southeast.

   Hyandai was feeling a bit guilty that she was enjoying herself when her
betrothed, Eleean, was quite likely dead, or dying.

   She did not love Eleean.  He had been selected by her clan, not chosen
by her heart.  He was a good man from what she had seen, and she probably
would have come to love him, in time.  Though her heart mourned him, as it
would any person she knew was probably dead, it did not shatter, as it
would have for someone she truly loved.

   Still, she thought, she should not have been playing childish kissing
games when he was likely dead at he hands of those foul creatures.

   Hyandai had only met Eleean three days before yesterday, and they had
formally plaited their betrothal before the representatives of his and her
clans.  It was an unemotional ceremony, as many elven ones were - elegant
and beautiful, to be sure, but lacking in passion and gladness.  The first
day they spent in preparation of their journey, unlike most betrothed, who
spent the first day after the ceremony becoming very acquainted with one
another in a most personal way.

   The following day they had set out.  The two had still not yet
consummated their betrothal, and she was still a maiden.  A dreadful humor
was it that Harlen, in his sleep, had managed to come much closer to that
particular achievement than did Eleean.

   Elves, she concluded, were too entwined in their need for ceremony. 
Without a proper bower and surroundings, and even the right foods and such,
Eleean would never have attempted to bed her.  She had no doubt that the
large, powerful human beside her would do so, on the ground, right now,
with people watching, if she but asked it.

   The rather forbidden thought sent chills down her spine.

   Humans were much more impetuous than most elves.  Harlen had enough
meticulousness to make that not seem dangerous in and of itself, but he was
still prone to fits of whimsy that would probably take her utterly by
surprise and be unbelievably thrilling.

   She chuckled to herself.  She had always been called impetuous by her
clansmen.  They often advised her to control her fey better, and be less
`human.'

   It was mostly a joke, though there were those that did think that humans
and elves once interbred much more commonly than today.  Perhaps she did
have a small bit of human essence to her.  It was not all bad.  Her quick
wit and ability to adapt had served her well over the years.  The same
clansmen had said that it limited her eligibility for marriage, but she
could not change who she was, and really did not want to.

   Harlen, for his part, wondered that this elegant creature beside him had
allowed him to kiss her, much less seemed to enjoy it as much as he did. 
He was amazed that she seemed to like him and, more importantly, was
attracted to him.

   He was not blind, and saw how she watched him when he was doing things.
However, Harlen would remain the gentleman, and would let her decide if and
when things would happen.

   Harlen's worst fear was that he would scare or offend this beautiful
maiden, and she would disappear back into the woods whence she came.

   He had told Hyandai of his grandmother's fascination with elven folk,
but not of the fact that she had passed that fascination down to her only
grandchild.  Just seeing one would have thrilled him for years to come, but
now he had kissed her, lain beside her, and even tended her wounds.  He
would not want for any amount of time for things to think of in all that.
However, the desire for good things being what it was, he certainly did not
want it to end unless it must.

   They slowly passed the transition from the woods to the stony slopes of
the eastern hills.  This was a range of low but steep-walled hillocks and a
land of hidden ravines and secret grottos.  Harlen told Hyandai that his
people called these hills the Wayreen Hills, an ancient Syrisian word that
meant ill portents.

   Around them the trees gave way to smaller scrubby plants, and the ground
became treacherous with slick, broken fragments of stone.  Small flat shale
stones that were wont to slide against one another and leave a person with
their feet shooting out from under them.

   They proceeded cautiously, as there was little cover in this area.  At
Harlen's suggestion, they both drew forth an arrow, and set them to the
strings of their bows.  Without his suggestion they both held their bows in
white-knuckled grips.  As Harlen had said, it was orc country, and the
monsters could be anywhere in it.

   She said.  "We are near to where they attacked Eleean and me." Her voice
was almost a whisper.

   Harlen simply nodded and looked over the next rise in the scalloped
shoulders of the hills.  "I think I see where they ambushed you." He said
after dropping back down.

   Hyandai peered over the ledge.  Then she ducked back down beside him. 
"Yes, that is the place." She agreed.  "I did not see any orcs about,
though." Harlen looked again.  "I see none, as well." He said, and climbed
over the lip.  Hyandai followed close on his heels.  They approached the
scene of the fight.  Three orcs lie dead there, along with the body of
Eleean, the hunter guessed, though he lay face down.  He had been hewn
badly, and was defiled beyond even that.  "I'm sorry, Hyandai." He said
when he heard her start to weep.

   Then they heard the sound of a rock falling from the scree nearby. 
"`Ere, now.  I told you I heard something!" A guttural voice yelled as the
couple spun around.  "It's that little bunny what escaped us yesterday."
They spun to see six orcs sliding and tumbling down a nearby slope of loose
scree.  Two were huge brutes, and the other four of the smaller sort, like
had been chasing Hyandai in the wood.

   One of the other orcs said.  "We're going to have us some fun with that
one, eh?" He leered at Hyandai, drawing out a massive scimitar.

   The two large ones looked intently at Harlen.  Their eyes gleamed
murderously red.  "First, we're going to deal with that one!" One said,
pulling a club as big as Harlen's leg from behind himself, where it had
been hooked to the creature's belt.

   Mercifully, the entire group was on one side of the couple.  Harlen and
Hyandai spun to face them.

   Harlen brought up his bow and aimed at the neck of the leading large
orc. The arrow was on its way before the orc even realized the human had a
bow, its eyes widened as the arrow sank to the fletching in his leathery
neck.

   Hyandai fired an instant later, hitting one of the smaller orcs in the
chest, and spinning him about, as if he were struck by a spear.  The arrow
had pierced right through the metal plates on his jerkin.

   Both of these orcs fell, the large one slowly, gurgling as he dropped to
his great knees and then keeling over onto his face.  The small one fell as
well, spinning as the arrow thudded into his chest and sending him
sprawling across the ground.

   The other large orc said.  "Now, that weren't very friendly, were it? 
Eh boys?" It asked.

   The next thing Harlen saw was a huge stone flying directly toward his
head, as if fired by a catapult.  He very nearly dodged it, but it clipped
his skull and sent him reeling.

   Hyandai was already firing, and another of the smaller orcs fell,
pierced through the gut and lying on the ground squealing.

   "Shut him up, Snatbug." The remaining large orc shouted.  "Or he'll
bring down more boys, and I don't want to share our little bunny. 
Leastwise not yet." One of the smaller orcs looked down at his fallen
companion and then brought his scimitar around and down, and severed the
screaming orc's head.  The orc's blood showered the stones for many feet.

   Harlen managed to keep his feet, but the big one was on him.  Its fist
drove into the hunter's chest like a ram, knocking him sprawling to the
ground.

   The other small orc, one of two left, managed to get a swing in at
Hyandai, and forced her back.  She dropped her bow and drew out her rapier
with a quiet hiss of steel on leather.

   The little one said.  "Lookie there.  Our little bunny has a claw, maybe
she's a cat instead." He leered at Hyandai and stuck out an amazingly long
tongue, waggling it at her.

   With a nimble twitch of her wrist, the first four inches of that tongue
separated from the remainder and fell to the ground.  The orc recoiled and
screamed.  It was yelling something incomprehensible, made even more so by
his missing tongue.

   The other small orc laughed at his companion's misfortune.  "Cat got
your tongue, Grizzleslot?" He said, cuffing the back of the tongueless
orc's head.  "Put down your sword, stupid." He grated.  "We won't be able
to have fun with her later if you cut her up." The two began to move closer
to the elf maiden.

   The massive orc punched Harlen again in the ribs as he lay gasping on
the ground.  There was a horrible crackling sound as the ribs broke and
blood shot from his mouth.  He coughed and fell unconscious.

   The big orc turned to look down the slope at the two smaller ones moving
toward the elven girl.  "Ere, you two, move apart, she can't watch two ways
at one time." He said, then he looked around and found a small stone, about
the size of a human fist, and hefted it.

   As Hyandai watched the two as they moved apart, and prepared to thrust
at one, the big orc cocked his hand back.

   She lunged and sunk the blade into Grizzleslot's chest.  His leathery
hands came up to grip the blade, but the edge simply slid through his
fingers and the amputated digits pattered to the ground as she whipped the
blade around to strike at the other orc.

   The big orc hurled the stone, striking Hyandai right behind the ear. 
With a soft moan, she collapsed to the ground.

   The big orc moved to her and tore the pants off of Grizzleslot.  He then
ripped them into several lengths of cloth.  He used the cloth to tie knots.


   "This one will be a lot of fun." He said, winking at Snatbug.  The
little one was immensely excited.  "Tie that man up, Snat, so we can enjoy
his pain later, if he lives."

   Snatbug scurried up the hill and bound Harlen's hands and the big one
hefted Hyandai over his shoulder, the little one dragged Harlen until the
big one grabbed him up, as well, and put the man over his other shoulder.

   "Don't forget to snatch up their gear, them's good-looking weapons. 
Then come to the cave." The big orc said, huffing in amusement at his good
fortune this day.