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The Solitary Arrow by Mack the Knife
   Part One
   The sun had set, and the skies were slowly darkening on the midsummer
day.
   Harlen of Marrovale was chasing the wolf he had just shot.  He had
managed to hurt it grievously, and was gaining on it, but only slowly. 
Several months ago the duke had placed a bounty on the tails of the wolves
who had reproduced out of control and gotten too bold.  Shepherds and even
isolated farm homesteads had been harassed, and even a few men killed.  The
bounty was a mark of silver.  People like Harlen rarely managed to have
more than half that in their hands at one time, and that was with careful
saving.  So, understandably, Harlen was keen on catching the elusive beast.
   Harlen himself was a largish man, standing over six feet in height, and
weighing a bit over ten stone.  He was hardened by the tough life he had
chosen.  His bare arms were corded with tight muscles, and his legs were
thick and sturdy, more suited to long runs than quick sprints.  Everything
about his radiated muscular power and resilience.  Any agility he may have
possessed was merely coincidental.  He was not grossly muscled, like some
of the men he had seen at the carnivals and fairs.  His was `working'
muscle, not `show' muscle.  If he had a muscle somewhere, it was because it
was used, not put there to look good.
   A pain lanced through his leg as he crashed through another bramble, and
as he ran through a relatively clear patch of the wood, he looked down. 
His left leg, just below and in front of his groin was slashed deeply,
probably by a broken branch.  He ignored the pain and the blood that was
now staining his linen pants and kept up the pursuit.  He could see the
trail of blood his quarry left on the ground and on low leaves on shrubs.
It was black in this lowering light, against the browns and grays of the
woods at this hour.  His heart lifted when he caught sight of the wolf,
leaping behind another low shrub.  He was nearly upon it.  His bow was in
his left hand, with an arrow already pressed to the catgut string.  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
gripped the knock with his right hand's fingers.
   He drew back the arrow as he aimed at the wolf's torso as it changed
direction and presented a momentary profile shot.  Another crash sounded in
the shrubs to his right, and as he fired something hit him in the back and
right side of his chest.  As he fell to the ground he saw the wolf
disappearing behind the small trees on the far side of the clearing. 
Harlen cursed this interruption before his fear caught.  `What the blazes
hit me?' He asked himself.  He had dropped the bow and was reaching for his
hatchet which hung upon his belt when he heard a voice.
   It was a woman's voice, and it was afraid.  She was yammering in a
language he couldn't recognize as she picked herself up off the ground
nearby.  Apparently she had rebounded with their impact and fallen against
the tree, then to the ground.  He looked at her, she was facing away from
him, and he realized it was just a girl, maybe eleven or twelve summers of
age, judging from her height and build.  He voice was a very smooth
soprano. The words she spoke were foreign, but quite easy to listen to. 
His first thought was that she was lucky 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 back toward the ground and lifted a
bow out of the grass.  She was scantily clad for a girl, and when she bent,
a goodly portion of her arse was visible, only the middle covered by a
loincloth.  She started to straighten when there was another loud crashing
in the nearby shrubbery.  Harlen thought `If I had wanted so many people
about, I would have stayed in town.' He turned to face this newcomer and
saw that it was not a single newcomer, but two, and they, even more than
the girl, were most unwelcome.  They were orcs, foul and vicious creatures
that resemble men only insofar as they have two arms and legs, and
something of a small, ugly head.  As they came, they were hollering in
their guttural language, spewing curses in Harlen's direction.  Harlen
looked at his bow, but it was lying two paces from him, and he figured he
did not have the time to retrieve and load it before they would be on him.
He lifted his hatchet from his belt and readied himself for a very ugly
fight.
   As the two orcs came out of the brambles, they yelled in triumph, seeing
the girl standing still, no longer running.  So intent on their quarry they
were, that they failed to notice the rather larger man standing in his
brown leather jerkin and gray pants, a few paces to her right.  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 his hatchet buried
itself into the creature.  The other orc, noticing the motion of Harlen's
swing turned.  It was armed with a crudely made and rusty scimitar.  Harlen
attempted to bring it down quickly, as he had it's partner, with a blow to
the skull.  The orc stepped aside, and brought the scimitar up in a arc
that would have disemboweled Harlen had the orc managed to keep its weapon.
As the blade neared the hunter's gut, the hand separated from the arm, and
their was a high, keening sound, almost like one of those tiny triangles
that some minstrels played.
   The orc screamed again, its face near Harlen's and it's breath fetid in
his nose.  He had never had a fight with orcs before, as he usually found
it easy to avoid them.  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 of all muscle, attached to heavy bone, and with a thick,
leathery pelt stretched over all.  As the hunter brought the axe back
around for another swing, the orc tried to rip 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 vulnerable neck.  The orc stumbled back a step,
but was immediately preparing for another lunge.  It seemed to not care
that it's hand was absent, that just made it angrier.  It drew out a knife
with its left hand as it stepped in closer, however, with a grunt, Harlen
had already begun his swing, and the orc, in it's rage, had paid little
heed to what the human was doing.  The axe thunked solidly into the orc's
shoulder, nearly severing that arm.  The hatchet fell to the ground. 
Finally, the orc realized it was at a disadvantage.  The foul creature
started to turn to run when a arrow came from over the hunter's shoulder
and imbedded itself in it's barrel-like chest, dead center.  The orc fell
face down onto the ground.
   Harlen was breathing heavily as he surveyed the two dead bodies.  Then
there was the girl's voice again.  "You are unhurt, I hope." The girl said.
He noted that the soprano tone had an undercurrent of huskiness that was
very out of place in a preteen.  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 seemed to freeze.  He was literally too stunned to move.
No elf had been seen in Haldmoor for over fifty years, or so the old-timers
said.  He 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 reached it, and bound back into a
pony tail, as he himself wore.  She stood, perhaps, five feet, maybe a bit
less, and couldn't have weighed more than five stone, again, probably less.
She was shaped perfectly, however, 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, and her
stomach was creased with lines on either side of the middle, showing much
muscular development there, also.
   Her clothing only seemed to cover as much as modesty demanded.  It
consisted of primarily a cloth halter top that ended at her rib line at the
bottom and had only two slender straps over her shoulders above her
breasts, and a short skirt, that hung from her hips loosely and fell to
only about halfway to her knees.  The front section of the loin cloth she
wore was visible from over the top of the skirt.  On her tiny feet, she
wore boots that were only just taller than her feet and seemed to be sewn
from soft leather.  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 length of it.  She also carried a
finely-carven bow with a great deal of ornate woodwork in its arms.  A few
arrows protruded from over her shoulder.
   He pulled his wits together and managed to blurt out.  "Yes." He finally
felt his limbs relaxing and finished the turn.  She was beautiful, as was
expected of an elf.  Even the males were said to be pretty.  The hunter
could not help but think that she was probably counted beautiful among her
own kind for her beauty radiated from her, like a palpable thing, like the
sense of power one gets seeing a bear.  She smiled at him, and his heart
missed a beat, so happy he was to receive even that tiny gift.
   "You can speak, I am gladdened." She said, her smile was wide, and very
honest.  Her accent of his language was clipped, precise, and very smooth.
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 that smile.  "I am called
Hyandai." She pointed to herself with her free hand.  Then she bowed at the
neck.
   The hunter stood mutely for a moment then said, plainly.  "I am Harlen
of Marrovale." He tried to impersonate the crisp little head bow she had
done but only managed to look like he was nodding agreement with himself.
Now she did giggle.  He might have been offended but the sound was so
wondrous that it simply left him feeling glad for having heard it.  It was
akin to water rushing over small pebbles in a stream bed after a small
waterfall, it was soft, and glad, and it was without ridicule.
   She stopped laughing after a brief moment, and consciously straightened
her face.  "Well met Harlen of Marrovale." Her eyes flickered over him
briefly.  "But you ARE hurt, Harlen." She said, looking at his leg.
   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 bare, and the shapely arms, also bare.  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 fair.  He let his eye linger over
the feminine curves of the hip and the small, but very present breasts. 
Then his eyes tracked back to her own thigh.  She bore a wound similar to
his own, just below the short skirt.  "You are hurt also Hyandai." He said.
Then he looked at his own wound, it was not terribly deep, but was painful.
"My own is a paltry thing." He looked at her wound, and blood was sliding
slowly down her leg.  "That one, however," he pointed a her deep cut, "is
bleeding heartily, and you've not the bulk to take that sort of loss,
lady."
   She looked down and nodded.  "You are right, and I need to 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 quickly 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 rough skill at
such things." He smiled lopsidedly.  "A side effect of the profession I
have chosen." He began to remove his pack.
   She sat on the stone as requested.  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 more room to work, showing him more of
that lovely, but wounded, leg.
   From the backpack, he produced a small leather roll, tied with rawhide
straps.  He untied the straps and unrolled it.  Inside were numerous tiny
pockets and pouches sewn into it.  He produced a tiny vial from among the
pockets and uncapped it.  He now 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, that rested on her whole
leg.  "Then it will go numb, and the woundwort will also keep the wound
from growing pustulant later." He put the vial back into his assigned
pouch. He then took out 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 threaded it as if the eye of the needle were
as large as her own.  She smiled and handed it back to him.  He looked at
her tiny hands for a moment, then went to his task.  He began stitching the
wound shut, working from his left to right.  "I am making the stitches as
small as I can." He said as he sewed.  "There should be little scarring
that way."
   She watched as he progressed, her eyes flicking with his fingers.  She
noted that he smelled of hard work.  She liked the smell, it reminded her
of days when her father would come in from smithing, only more so, with
this human.  She had always been disappointed when her father had gone to
the bath, because it was then time for her bed in those days.  But until
that time, he had spoken and played with her, and taught her.  So the best
of her days as a child were when her father smelled of hard work.
   Harlen had to lean close to bite the thread at the end of his
stitchwork. As he did, his nose filled with the cinnamon-like odor.  It was
her skin that smelled thus, he found, 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.  He tested the
stitches a little by trying to move the meat of her leg a little.  It 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 that covered by the
loincloth.
   He nodded curtly, doing a better imitation, unconsciously, of the elf's
little head-bow, than he had done when he tried.  This caused the maiden to
giggle again, and she said.  "That tickled." To cover her embarrassment.
   He put the needle and thread back into their little pouches and rolled
up the leather roll.  Then he tied it.  She noted that this man was
meticulous, something that many elves were not, herself 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.  That leg
deserves to be scar-free."
   She blushed a little at the off-handed compliment.  "I am certain it
will be minimal, due to your skilled hands." She said, smiling upon 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 and gently urged him to sit on the rock.  "It is
my turn to do the mending.  Healer." She said.  He let himself be sat down.
Her touch was electric to him, causing sparks to shoot from wherever her
hands were up his spine to his mind, then radiating out from there to warm
him all over.  When 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 air came from
her lips and moved over the wound, soothing it.  Harlen felt a sudden
embarrassment when he began to stiffen, her hands were on very sensitive
skin to begin with, and the caressing puff of air simply made the situation
worse.  He realized with horror 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 her to tighten her grip and say, "Please, do not
move." He 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 hand was lifted from his thigh by his swelling manhood, 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 not insulting to me, Harlan, for you to grow aroused when I touch
you closely." She gave him a flick of her golden eyes.  "For I know I did
when your hand brushed between my legs." She said and looked at his wound
again, her hand still covering his erection.
   She leaned back in and blew at the wound again.  She did this for a
minute or so, then kissed the flesh, newly-healed.  "You are mended, Harlen
of Marrovale." She moved her hands off him, and stood up in one graceful
motion that had the hunter staring.  He rose from the stone and looked at
his leg.  The wound was gone, and in its place was pink, new skin.
   He gaped at her, almost comically.  "You heal by magic, lady?" he asked
her.
   "Yes, it is our way." She 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, like you have."
   "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 a little, but smiled generously, and her eyes
glittered in the nearly failed light.  "You noted how I mended you, by
blowing on the wound?" She asked him.
   "Of course I noticed." He said, a tiny bit defensively.
   She shrugged.  "And just how limber do you think elves are?" 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.
   "Also, magic is notoriously fickle when one tries to perform it on
themself." She said.  "I could easily worsen the wound." She explained. 
"Your way was the best with no other elves about."
   He looked around.  "Speaking of that, how is it you are alone in the
wood?" He asked.
   "You are a curious man, Harlen.  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, pushing one with his heavy boot.
   Hyandai nodded in the waning light, and her eyes were still aglitter,
but with grief now.  "A dozen, or 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.  "You would have died too, had
you stayed, or worse, been captured." He looked at her eyes, matching his
ice blue against her rich golden.  "If he was your betrothed, then he did
so willingly, I would have." He broke eye contact.  "I would now." 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 for what I thought you were initially, a young girl of my
kind, and would for what you are, a lovely woman of elven kind." 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 in front of his
face." He said.  And he rummaged in his back and brought out a small
leather pouch.  He opened it 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 some of
its intense glare.
   The hunter looked at her.  "Cally-ando?" He said.
   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 this land." She
tilted her head a little.  "That one still shines brightly after all these
years." She said.
   Harlen looked at it.  "It was my mother's." He said, then looked at
Hyandai.  She was fascinated by your kind, and spent much time listening to
tales from our minstrels and storytellers about the elven folk." He
shrugged.  "The stone seemed to never fade in its light, and now it serves
me well."
   She wondered at that and watched him walk toward the tree.  "Harlen.  I
am alone now.  May I beg your company, for the night, at least?"
   Harlen 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 played too coy 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." She walked up to him.  "I regret
that I have none of the needed supplies for camping, having lost my pack in
my flight."
   "We will manage." Harlen said, and took her hand.  She accepted the hand
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, now thinking
like a stalker.  We will travel a half hour then make our camp.
   He palmed the calyondo and proceeded into the wood, leading her by the
hand.  His grip was strong, and seemed unbreakable to her, though he held
her only lightly.  She watched his movements through the underbrush.  He
was cautious and they moved somewhat slowly, but when a branch barred their
progress, he would elbow it back and hold it for her to pass.  Some of
these branches were as large as her arm around, and would have been far
beyond her ability to flex out of the way with both hands and straining.
   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 treemen
of the wood of her home.  They were powerful, but very slow.  Harlen had
proven he could and would move quickly at need, unlike those treemen, whom
never rushed at anything, even saving their own lives.  At last, they came
to a small clearing, where a small pit had been dug.  He nodded.  "This was
my camp last night, I thought I could find it again." His hand let hers
drop, and he uncovered the glowing sphere fully, letting its light fill the
campsite.  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 comfitted by a small fire
as much as anyone.  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 filling the little clearing.  He carefully put his little stone back
in its leather pouch and pulled its mouth shut.
   The stone's pouch went into the pack, and a folded cloth came out in the
same motion.  He walked up to Hyandai and unfurled the cloth beside her. 
It was a thin blanket.  He took in her cinnamon scent as he stood near her.
He let it settle onto the soft grass of the clearing's floor.  "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?" She asked, her eyes flickering to the blanket.
   "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, and you, mine."
   He relented in his eyes, then said.  "Very well, m'lady." 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, m'lady, it is very nice." He sniffed the air appreciatively.
   Hyandai giggled at that, and said.  "Well, Harlen, you smell of a day's
hard work." And gave a sniff of her own.
   He sounded a bit taken aback.  "I apologize, but I was unaware I would
have company this night in my blanket, or I would have bathed today."
   Again, the maiden giggled.  "Do not apologize.  The smell of hard 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?" She 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 your country."
   The hunter looked at her pretty face in the near dark and smiled. 
"Really?  Interesting.  What does your name mean, Hyandai?" He asked.
   She looked a bit nervous, or at least hesitant, then said.  "Small
Blade." Then she giggled.
   Harlen laughed too, "Small blade?" He said.  "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 bow and scabbard.  She brought down her
scabbard, and drew forth the weapon within.  It was indeed a small blade.
Only 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 quite skilled with the bow, I saw.  Are
you a warrior?"
   She laughed heartily at that.  A glorious sound that filled the
clearing, and made him laugh himself.  "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 basic weapon uses." She said.  "Our numbers are too few
to rely upon a 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 little light from the fire and concentrate the energy into
themselves, so they seemed brighter than the surrounding area.  She noticed
his stare and said.  "My eyes seem to be being watched."
   "I'm sorry," Harlen 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 foreign to me.  Elves count no blue
eyes among themselves." She glanced away.  "They make me think of the
summer sky, warm and endless."
   Harlen blushed at those kind words.  "Well, m'lady." 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 haven even realized she had
left it there, and laid back on her back, regarding the flickering shadows
more.
   After some minutes, they both slept.
   The next morning found Hyandai awake before Harlen.  She slowly became
aware that she was being held, then her golden eyes opened.  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 altogether unpleasant, the feeling of strength in
those arms lent to a general sense of security in this spot.  She could
also feel his breathing against her neck and ear, again, not at all
unpleasant.  Despite his warning, his snoring was minor and simply served
as a relaxing and steady sound to lull her to sleep last night.  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 fully aroused.
She could even, through the fine material of her loincloth and his rough
twill pants, feel its swollen glans.  She was not terribly alarmed by this.
Often girls among her friends had commented that boys often had 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 its touch, so much so that she
feared he might notice upon waking if they were still touching when he
woke.
   Hyandai was unsure how to move, though without causing that event.  If
she moved, he would probably rouse.  She lifted her head a little and
looked down.  His body was folded behind hers, in the same position forming
two roughly zig-zag lines.  She wiggled her hips a minor fraction, to see
if she could push her pelvis forward a bit.  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, within his breeches, yes, but
now pressing directly toward her own genitals.  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 excitement.
   Mercifully, he suddenly twitched, causing his organ to push at her
opening, sending a jolt of pleasure through her, then he laid still again,
his erect penis slowly deflating.  She felt it's head slide over her rump
as it fell limp, and she breathed a sigh of relief.  Then she noticed she
was breathing in short gasps of air.  She had been very excited or scared.
Given the situation, she guess excited.
   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, were 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 arm, and started
to doze off again herself.  Then he awoke.  His eyes snapped open 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 slight look of peevishness on her
face.  "My lady, 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 comfiting 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 it showed itself 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 cat-like 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 forty-two summers of age."
She finally said.  "And I am considered to be of marriageable age by my
folk." Her golden eyes dropped, sadly.  "Hence 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 folks." 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, some 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, himself, up quite handsomely.  She giggled at
the image this fostered in her mind, and then set about pushing dirt over
the smouldering ashes of the fire.
   Her clothes somewhat smelled of his odor, and she inhaled of them
appreciatively.  He 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?" He asked
her, looking around their empty little camp.
   "I must try to find Eleean, and learn if he lives or no." She said. 
"This is something I have to do.  I will not ask it of you."
   He hefted his bow onto his back.  "You don't need to ask it, it is
given." He said.  "Which way, 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 hills."
   Harlen nodded.  "The orcs dwell in those hills.  The duke has been
unsuccessful in routing them out of there." He aimed his massive form 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 growl.  It was a plum tree, and it had some fruit ripened on it. 
"Saipior!" She said, breaking into a run, then said "Plums!" In his tongue.
Harlen set off after her in 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 good." 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 copy him, but her
small elven mouth would not accommodate the whole 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, he said.  "Somehow, I thought elves
to be somewhat more tidy eaters." He sais as he leaned 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 joyful fruit." Her eyes were aglitter with the morning sun and
she looked adorable to him.  She threw a plum at him and he caught it
deftly, popping it into his mouth.
   The seed shot past her on a trajectory that would have caught her in the
back of the head a few seconds later, had she not just moved to find
another plum.  She cast him a mock look of anger, 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, then the meat splattered onto his
cheek. He looked stunned for a brief moment, as the plum 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 squished with a
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, with
a giggle she took off running away.
   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 unpulped.  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 gripped
her arm in what was, to her, an unbreakable lock.  He did not bear down,
did not hurt her, but the fingers would not open, and she was caught.  Her
giggling and him laughing he came around with the hand full of plum pulp.
He brought it forward to her face, full of mock surrender.  She felt the
soft, sweet pulp against her nose first.  He intended to do this slowly,
and make her truly suffer through it.  It slid up her nose, and next hit
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,
m'lady." 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 play such, also?" He said, and smiled. 
"Then I do claim my prize, for both my hurt and my victory." 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
he liked that.  The kiss ended, 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 again, though.  And she was glad at having something to
say.
   Harlen looked around.  "Do you see a brook, or a pond?" His eyes 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 tenting out badly from his growing
manhood. After what seemed a bit longer than necessary, she stood up. 
"There.  You are now clean." She 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.
   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, then even licked her nose, causing her to squinch
it up in a very cute 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 breathing was coming
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 throat.  She
lilted her head back and he saw the cords of her neck stand out as she did
so.  Licking and kissing his way down he cleaned to her collarbone, then
moved around the neck to the juice that had dripped from her cheeks.  One
side then the other.  He leaned back then looked down, where her top was
holding her breasts in.  There was a 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 her breast side, and onto her chest, back to her collar.  She gasped
loudly at that, and her body twitched.  She looked down at him.  "I
wondered when you would stop that one." She said, but her voice was a bit
quavery.
   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 south east.
   Hyandai was feeling a bit guilty that she was enjoying herself when her
betrothed, Eleean, was quite likely dead, or dying.  He 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 probably would have come to love
him, in time.  And, 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 loved.  She thought to herself.  `Still, I should not be playing
childish kissing games when he is likely dead at he hands of those foul
creatures.'
   She 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 a unemotional ceremony, as many elven ones were.  Elegant
and beautiful, to be sure, but lacking in passion and happiness.  The first
day they spent in preparation of their journey, then they had set out.  The
two had not even yet consummated their betrothal, and she was still a
maiden.  She smiled to think that Harlen, in his sleep, had managed to come
much closer to that event 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 not have
attempted to bed her.  She had no doubt that the burly human beside her
would do so on the ground, right now, with people watching, if she offered
it.  That thought excited her.  Humans were much more, well, 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 whimsey 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 said that there must have been some human or pixie in her
lineage surfacing.  It was mostly a joke, though there were those that did
think that humans and elves once interbred much more commonly than today.
Mayhaps 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 marriageability, 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, be
attracted to him.  He was not blind, and saw how she watched him when he
was doing things.  He would remain the gentleman, though, 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.  Harlen had told Hyandai of his mother's
fascination with elven folk, but not of the fact that she had passed that
fascination down to her only child.  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 southern hills.  Around them the trees gave way to smaller scrubby
plants, and the ground became treacherous with slick, broken fragments of
stone.  Small flat platelets 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.  Both drew
forth an arrow, and set them to the strings of their bows, and 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 where they attacked Eleean and I." 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 ducked back beside him.  "Yes, that
is the place." She agreed.  "I did not see any orcs about, though."
   Harlen looked again.  "Me either." 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, and 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.  "I
fot I heard somefing!" A guttural voice yelled.  "It be dat litul bunny
from lastday." They spun to see six orcs descending a scree pile nearby. 
Two were huge brutes, and the other four simply large.
   One of the other orcs said.  "We's gonna have us some fun wit dat'un, we
is." He leered at Hyandai, drawing out a massive scimitar.
   The two large ones looked intently at Harlen, their eyes gleamed
murderous and red.  "Firstest, though, we's gonna have fun wit dat'un!" One
said, pulling a club as big as Harlen's leg from behind it, where it had
been hooked to the creature's belt.
   Mercifully, the entire group was on one side, and they 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 he had a bow,
its eyes widened as the arrow sank to the fletching in its leathery neck,
Harlen saw the broad cutting head sticking almost two feet in the air
behind the creature's skull.
   Hyandai fired as well, hitting one of the smaller orcs in the chest, and
spinning it about, as if it were struck by a spear.  The arrow had pierced
right through the orc's metal plates on its jerkin.  Both of the orcs fell,
the large one slowly, gurgling as it dropped to its knees and then onto its
face.  The small one fell, also, but more slowly, but with equal motion as
it finished its spin then fell to the ground.
   The other large orc said.  "Me finks dat dey likes to play rough, yes
boys?" It said, and all Harlen saw was a huge stone flying as if fired by a
catapult at his head.  He almost 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, or he'll bring down more boys, den we'll haf to
share the bunny wif dem." One of the smaller orcs used his scimitar to cut
the other's head off in one powerful blow.  Harlen managed to keep his
feet, but the big one was on him.  Its fist drove into the hunters chest
like a ram, knocking him sprawling on the ground.  The other small orc, one
of two left, managed to get a swing in at Hyandai, and forced her back,
dropping her bow and drawing out her rapier.
   The little one said.  "Dis bunny's got a sting, she has, its not a
bunny, it's a little pussy cat." He leered and stuck out an amazingly long
tongue, and waggled it at her.  With a 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.  Then yelled "Oo schtupid biss, ima shlut oo
fell shlat!"
   The other small orc laughed at his companion's mistfortune.  "Cat got
yer tongue, Grizzleslot?" He said.  He put his hand on the other's
shoulder. "Put down the sword stupid.  We's gonna haf fun with `er, and we
don't want `er all cut up, yet." The two began to move closer to the elf
maiden.
   The massive orc punched Harlen again, in the ribs as he lay.  There was
a horrible crackling sound as the ribs broke and blood shot from his mouth.
He coughed and fell unconscious.  The big orc looked down the slope at the
two little ones moving toward the girl.  "Ere, you two, move apart, she
can't watch two ways at one time." He looked around and found a small
stone, about the size of a human fist, and hefted it.  As she watched the
two move apart, and prepared to lunge at one, he 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 from his fingers and
they fell to the ground as she whipped the blade around to strike at the
other orc.
   The big orc hurled the stone, and it took her 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 tore several lengths of cloth
from them and bound her hands and feet.  "We's really gonna have fun wit
dis one." He said, winking at Snatbug.  The little one was immensely
excited.  "You go tie up dat man, too, we might be able to get somefing
from him later, if he don't die." Snatbug scurried up the hill and bound
Harlens hands and the big one hefted Hyandai over his shoulder, the little
one dragged Harlen until the big one grabbed him up, also, and put him over
the other shoulder.  "You get dem bows and swords and stuff, dey's good
weapons.  Den come to da hidey hole."
  
The Solitary Arrow - Part 01