Thread: Lost and found (Tristeza and  Lanolyt)

It had been a light day. He'd only bagged a few rabbits and one wounded doe. He scowled. Only he could hunt his lands, and half of what he got went to his direct lord, his Majesty. It might be listed as only a small Baronetcy on the books, but his lands were wide and deep, and the woods very thick. Looking at him, one might pause for many reasons. He was a little too good looking, almost boyish, though he was no youth. Broad shoulders on a slim frame, with muscles packed in like twisted ropes. His gray eyes missed nothing that moved, and saw much that didn't. As he moved with silken grace through the forest, he made no sound, and even the crickets kept their song near him, for he belonged here. His five times great grandfather, a warrior of reknown and a halfelf to boot, had been given this fief for his services to the king. Now, centuries later, he performed the same duties, giving the royal kitchen fresh game, and tracking criminals or hunting as required for the kingdom. Yet one could also notice that there had been other infusions of the elven blood...the latest being his grandmother, who awaited his return this day. One would also note the feral wolflike gaze as his lips curled back from his teeth in ire. If told he was a shapeshifter, one would not doubt it. Being the best, he never thought of it as work. It was his joy. Killing only what was needed with perfect shots that slew painlessly. The poor doe was an offense. He saved the arrow...someone would pay for this. Tucking it into his functional jerkin, which, like his other clothing merged in colors with the forest around, he narrowed is eyes. Who would have dared? As he waited and thought, distant steps came to his ears...of a type he'd never known. Intrigued, he stowed the carcasses and raced silently to the edge of his lands. Just over the border into the darklands was a...a woman? A female...horribly treated. His morals warred. He was prevented by treaty from interfering with the darklands, so long as they stayed on their side. The hounds of the distance grew louder. In an instant he decided. Staying on his side, he looped his bow over her arm and dragged her across. Then he urinated in a line paralleling the border. Though she weighed almost as much as he, he put her across his shoulders like a toddler, and raced back into the forest. His grandmother might have answers. He had none....other than this - in his 51 years alive well, his people aged very slowly, he had never wanted to chase a female of any race. He had worried on this and his grandmother had chided him. all in time dear boy. Now, her touch, her scent, her exotic beauty...all had him incensed and he had to fight to force the wolf portion of himself down. By Corellon, she was cattish...he could see it if she was canine...but this made little sense. Pausing at a fresh brook, he cleaned her wounds, marveling at the number and severity. She was made of stronger stuff than most. He idly wondered if, when awakened, she would claw his eyes out. Bandaged, he leaned her against a soft moss-covered rock and retrieved the meat, which he expertly dressed. Returning, he pinched some wild mustard under her nose, to awaken her, and offered her a rabbit. Wildish lady, would you prefer it cooked? Worry not, you are safe in my desmesne. I have saved you from whatever peril followed, and they will not follow. Not today. Here is fresh water, good meat, and a strong arm to assist you when you wish. Life is looking up for you, I think. Beyond their hearing, the hound had approached the border and then recoiled in fear, smelling his scent, they ran back tail tucked. The lead hunter looked at the ground, noting no prints on this side but hers. Master is going to be in a rage about this. Guess we'd better return quickly.