The Ties that Bind by Hoglorfen

Flaming Red Eyes

The wind was a blessing in the scorching heat of late summer. It made the dappled sunlight dance on the path and played with Whindaër's long hair as she ran. Finally she had been allowed to escape her uncle and his constant insistence that she practise to improve her letter writing. She enjoyed writing, but too often her pen strayed and turned to drawing images of forest animals instead of flowing Tengwar letters, and so her uncle had once again scolded her for wasting precious ink before releasing her.

Now she had an excuse to venture beyond the small haven. Elvëanië the healer needed herbs that could not be grown in the gardens near the sea, so Whindaër had volunteered to gather them for her. An important task, but she knew where they grew and the evening was still young. She had time to roam for a while yet. And so she ran, leaping through the trees like a deer, her summer robes and hair flowing behind her. Trees did not scold, they whispered fairy tales of distant futures and days long past as she ran. There was a small stream up ahead, a clear brook with cold water. It came from the mountains, spilling from the everwhite at their peaks and traveling all the way to the sea. A silver ribbon connecting sea and sky...

Graznikh crouched beside a thorny shrub, eyeing the slope behind him to make sure no one had followed. When it remained empty, he went down to the foaming mountain stream. The water was so cold it almost hurt his tongue and cleaner than anything he had ever tasted, not at all like the underground pools that provided water to the stronghold. He grinned and threw a rock in the stream. The rays of the evening sun stung his skin, but it was bearable. He knew Tarnakh would have his hide when he found out that he had sneaked out alone again, but Graznikh didn't care much. Soon he would be going on the next raid-run with the band but for now, he was free.

He followed the stream downward, towards those curious, forbidden shadows that were the forest. The elders said that Elves lived there, those deadly apparitions of myth and legend. Their eyes and blades burned with the cruel light of the sun and the stars, and their only reason to exist was to wipe out every last Orc in the world. Graznikh had never seen an Elf. Supposedly they were swarming in the north, but no one who went there had ever come back so Graznikh didn't know what to think. Some claimed the Elves in this forest were different, that they turned you into a pincushion if you entered ”their” forest but couldn't care less if Orcs made the tarks' roads dangerous. Like wasps then, dangerous if you poke their nest but nice and calm if you leave 'em alone, he thought.

He was too busy trying to imagine what Elves looked like and what it would be like to have a pet wasp that he did not notice the shadows deepening and the trees growing taller. He looked up and found himself in an unfamiliar clearing. The stream meandered calmly and there were strange plants on the ground. Silvery shapes darted back and forth in the water and he noticed deer tracks in the mud. Maybe I could catch one, he thought. The memory of the taste of fresh deer liver came to him and he wiped some drool off his chin. He crouched behind a fallen tree as he heard a faint sound and readied his knife.

Whindaër did not think about Orcs. She did not know of them, other than as a dark whisper that her parents had done their best to shelter her from as they had sheltered her from other evils of the world. The sun was setting and the air cooled noticeably as she followed the brook upstream toward the place where the herbs grew, a glade with little white flowers that looked like bells and old gnarly trees that looked like the horns of great stags. Deer often came to drink and rest there. Although she could not get close enough to touch them they did not fear her, and she could sit for hours watching the mothers graze as the little fawns leapt and tested their long legs. But there were no deer in the clearing as she stepped out into the moonlight where the healing herbs grew.

Graznikh froze. This was no deer, although it had long legs like one. And it was no Orc or Man, it was too thin and frail-looking. Once a trader from Dunland had shown him a statue made from a transparent colourless material called glass, and that came to mind as he stared at the creature before him. Could this be one of the monsters from the elders' stories? It looked more frightened than frightening. It had blue eyes that did not shine with any cruel light at all, and silky dark hair that spilled down its back. It made a strange sound as it picked leaves from the ground. It almost sounded like a song, but not like any song that Graznikh had ever heard. Where the moonlight broke through the canopy of leaves to reach bare skin it reflected, a soft faint glow that was rather pleasant to look at. He fought the sudden urge to reach out, to touch that soft skin, to grab that silky hair and pull the Elf close, so close... To hear those lips whisper his name in mingled fear and want...

Whindaër looked up as a strange rasping sound reached her ears. She had not noticed that the moon had clouded over and the stars were gone. A strange fear suddenly gripped her heart, and she quickly gathered the last herbs and hurried back towards home, oblivious to a pair of red, hungry eyes following her as she disappeared among the trees. Run along, little Elf, run all you want. One day I'll catch ya, just wait and see...