The Elf

Chapter 5: The Huntress in the Hollow (Part 2)

And her world tilted sideways.

Standing in a shaft of pale morning light, no more than ten paces away, was a young woman---perhaps a few years older than herself, with skin the color of pale honey and hair like spun moonlight: silver-white, straight, cascading past her shoulders. Her eyes were a startling pale green, bright and alert, and they regarded Lyra with an expression of frank, slightly weary curiosity. She was dressed in fitted leather armor of deep forest green, a recurved bow slung across her back, a quiver of white-fletched arrows at her hip. Her posture was relaxed---one hip cocked slightly, her arms loosely crossed---as if she had been waiting for Lyra to stop hiding and was beginning to get bored.

And her ears---her ears rose to delicate, upswept points that poked through the fall of her hair.

Lyra stared. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.

Those ears. Those are---that's not---

She blinked. She blinked again. The ears were still there. Delicate, tapered points that no human being had ever possessed. Her mind scrambled for reference points---stories, games, the animated shows she had devoured in her old life. Pointed ears. Silver hair. A bow and leather armor, standing in the middle of an ancient forest. It was impossible. It was absurd.

But the woman was still standing there, solid and real. The leather of her armor creaked faintly as she shifted her weight. The morning breeze stirred the silver strands of her hair. She was not a hallucination.

"You're staring," the woman said, and her voice was wry, almost teasing. "I know I'm having a good hair day, but this is a bit much." She tilted her head, and a few strands of silver fell across her pointed ear. "Is there something on my face?"

"Your---your ears," Lyra managed to choke out. "They're---they're pointed."

The woman's eyebrows rose. Then she laughed---a short, surprised sound, warm and genuine. "Oh. That." She reached up and touched the tip of one ear, as if she'd forgotten it was there. "Yeah, they do that. Comes with being an elf." She dropped her hand and gave Lyra a long, considering look. "And you're a naked human woman, hiding behind a tree and shaking like a leaf. So. Now we've both stated the obvious. Want to try something more interesting?"

An elf. She had said elf. The word echoed in Lyra's skull. Elves weren't real. Elves were fairy tales, fantasy novels, characters in games. Elves did not stand in sunlit forest clearings and crack jokes about good hair days.

Except this one did.

Lyra's mind raced. If elves were real---if this woman was truly an elf---then what else was real? The thought was too vast, too terrifying, too exhilarating to process. She felt dizzy, as if the ground had shifted beneath her feet.

The elf's pale green eyes swept over her, taking in the full picture: the arm clamped over her breasts, the hand pressed between her thighs, the trembling legs, the mud-streaked skin. There was no lechery in her gaze. Just a kind of frank, slightly tired assessment---the look of someone who had seen a lot of strange things in her life and wasn't particularly impressed by this one.

"All right," the elf said, her voice gentler now. "You look like you've had a rough night. Or a rough week. Let's start simple. What happened to your clothes?"

"I---" Lyra swallowed hard. "It got destroyed. In the storm. Everything---" Her voice caught. "I have nothing. Please, if you could just---if you have a spare cloak or something---"

The elf winced sympathetically. "Ah. Sorry. I don't carry spares---pack's light enough as it is. Rations, arrows, a bedroll, and that's about it." She paused, her expression turning thoughtful. "And honestly, even if I had a spare tunic, I'd be a little wary about handing it to a stranger I found hiding in the woods. No offense---you seem nice enough---but I've seen bandits use all kinds of tricks to lure people in. Pretty naked girl crying for help? Classic setup."

Lyra felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in her throat. "I'm not---I'm not a lure. I was with a merchant caravan, and the mercenaries---they tried to---I had to run. I've been lost since last night. I don't have anything. I don't even have shoes." She lifted one foot, showing the elf the raw, bleeding sole. The motion shifted her balance, and her hand slipped on her breast, baring the nipple for a heartbeat before she clamped it back into place. The elf's eyes flicked down, registered the brief exposure, and returned to her face with an expression of mild concern.

"Those feet look bad," the elf said, frowning. "How far have you walked on those?"

"I don't know. Miles. Hours. I don't know." Lyra's voice cracked. "Please. I'm just trying to get to Thornwall. If you can help me find the road, or just point me in the right direction---"

"Thornwall?" The elf's eyebrows rose. "Well, that's lucky. I'm heading there myself." She studied Lyra's face for a moment longer. Then she sighed, a soft, almost reluctant sound, and something in her posture relaxed. "All right. Look. My name's Aelindra. I'm a ranger---scout work, mostly---and I'm on my way back to the city to meet up with my friends. If you can keep up, you can follow me. I can't carry you, and my supplies are pretty thin, but I know the forest well enough to get us both there in one piece." She paused, and a wry smile tugged at her lips. "Fair warning, though: I walk fast, and I'm not much of a conversationalist before midday."

Lyra almost collapsed with relief. "Yes. Yes, absolutely. Thank you. Thank you so much."

"Don't thank me yet." Aelindra turned, her silver hair swaying. "You're still bleeding, you're still naked, and we've got a long walk ahead of us. Save the gratitude for when we're sitting in a Thornwall tavern with a hot meal." She glanced back over her shoulder, her pale eyes glinting. "And maybe some pants."