[Amanaduial the archer]

Nuhrive made herself comfortable in a tree. Shifting carefully, she managed to not attract the attention of the guards and smiled to herself. They would be changing in a few moments and they hadnt noticed her in the hour she had been here.

The sound of a horn echoed through the wood and the sentries looked up, relieved. Coming down from his place, the sentry near Nuhrive walked away. Then he stopped and yawned, stretching his arms up. The elfmaid less than a foot above him froze, shifting her foot slightly so that his hand would avoid it. Then he left.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Nuhrive placed her foot on the branch to come down...

"Nuhrive! Nuhrive?!"

...and once again froze. Two voices she recognised very well; Sultir and Feadhros. Now was the point in the stories when the hero would make a tearjerking farewell to fine friends, and they would resolve to come with him, but then would make do with giving useful and often magical items-

"Nuhrive! Where are you?"

-which was so not going to happen. She could see them coming now and gasped. Well, she hadnt waited here for that long, completely still without a reason.

This is a mistake Nuhrive Fleetwood.

Leaping down in a fluid movement, Nuhrive landed running, ignoring a twinge in her leg as she ignored the small voice of reason. Turning briefly, she waved cheerfully at her two friends, then turned back and ran into the open.

Feadhros would not have ratted on you Nuhrive. You know that. You just wanted an excuse

Running into the open, Nuhrive gasped, standing still suddenly. The trees...she could see beyond them, see them fading out.

Why are you leaving your best friend? Act your age Fleetheart. You shouldnt be doing this; its pure folly.

Leaping over a ledge, hearing her friends calls in her ears, she rolled as she hit the ground and stood, taking a moment to be pleased with herself.

Mistake.

"Hello my pretty." A voice murmered darkly behind her and a hand clamped her shoulder. Glancing at it, horrifed, she saw it was huge and rough, scarred and sword callused; definitly not an elven hand. Spinning away she looked at the huge men standing in front of her. One made a lunge for her. Nuhrive yelped and jumped backwards. Turning she started to sprint. Now her leg was really starting to hurt! Grunts and harsh sounding, brutish voices sounded behind her and she heard them start running as well.

Told you.

Ignoring the gloating voice of reason she sprinted through the wood, dodging the tress nimbly.

But not nimbly enough.

She felt the root beneath her feet and started to fly through the air, her mind pounding...

[ December 31, 2002: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]