[Rimbaud]

The air was cold about them, and the tall Elf could see the boy's breath, misting by the lamplight and pale starlight.

The boy took another step towards him, but the Elf did not move. Kalohern's blade faltered somewhat, although his eyes still raged.

The Elf laughed, a crisp, clear sound in the night. Further up the path, they heard Telefax whicker in reply and a faint smile even came to Kalohern's face. He lowered his sword.

"Do you mock me again?" he asked,but some of the pride had ebbed.

"I do not mock thee, Kalohern of the Mark," said Elwood calmly. "I respect your abilities too much to mock. You are a fine horseman and in you burns a noble spirit. But the finest steel must be tempered. For if it is not chilled in waters or oils after forging, the best steel blade will snap in its first test. Let that sword not be thee, Kalohern."

The boy stared at the ground. His rage seemed to have dissipated. Elwood sensed Arenia and Volkmar straining to hear, some distance away.

"Sheathe your blade, Kalohern," said the Elf, and the boy did so, but stubbornly.

"You do not lead me, or any of the Mark," he whispered fiercely.

"Indeed, I do not," said Elwood. "And as this started as a mission of Rohan's, so shall it be. The command of our party is up to you."

The boy stared at him. "Just like that?" he wondered aloud. Then, suddenly, his face paled and he looked down at his feet again, which were shifting.

The Elf stood impassive. The night was silent about them. "Young master, our quest," he prodded, after a time.

Kalohern shook himself. "Very good, Master Elwood," he said, only the slightest tremor in his voice. "Let us carry on."

They turned and made their way forwards, towards the others. Elwood followed the boy, checking the night behind, and the string of his bow. His left hand let the slim dagger remain undrawn in its sheath, relaxing its grip.

[ December 11, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]