[Lyra Greenleaf]

"OOF!" the air was expelled from Telpeheled's lungs as the man hit him across the face. He wanted to argue, to tell them he had not been insulting them but had no breath left.

"What kind of fighters are we?" The man spoke furiously, towering over Telpeheled on the floor. "What kind of fighters are we? You insult me, insult my people, insult my companions...my dead companions...because...because I wouldnt kill an unarmed man?"

Gasping for air, Telpeheled once again could not reply.
"You are injured."
That's what hitting someone across the face usually results in! thought Telpeheled dryly, trying even inside his own head to mask the fear that maybe this time the man had been pushed too far.

"As am I." The man dropped to his knees, the fight visibly leaving him. He leant torwards Telpeheled, and touched the Elf's arm.
"Its impossible. Anything I may do, anything she does, towards anything you do...its seen through different eyes, interpreted with different minds, eyes and minds that change our actions and words into terrible things, so different from anything we may do, or say... You spoke of honour, and I shot the arrow away from your friend. Yet then I am critisised."

With a growing sense of unease, Telpeheled realised that this was true. He had been brought up to see men as brutal, less sophisticated, with the possible exception of Gondorians, but it didn't seem to be true. How much have I got wrong? he wondered.

“It’s impossible.” sighed the man, sitting back.
“What is? My arm?” croaked Telpeheled. Another joke? he thought. Because it works so well! Surprisingly, the man smiled back at him.

“No. Your arm shall be easily fixed. Yet I fear the bond our races share with such hatred shall not be so easily mended. If they are not drowned in wine, we brought medicines along that can clean such gashes as you have,” put in the woman.

She's offering us help! thought Telpeheled stunned.

"Besides, even if you don't want to use the medicines, we probably will be. Kane, we should start figuring how to bury our dead and make a pyre for the orcs,"

"I'm not going to argue with medicine" he said with another smile at the man still kneeling in front of him. He stood, brushed himself down and offered his hand to help the man up. With surprise on his face the man accepted the gesture.

"I didn't mean to insult you, when I asked what kind of fighters you are." continued Telpeheled "I am certainly not one to talk in that area! It's just...well, it seemed funny to me. I have a gift of seeing the comedy in strange situations. Perhaps a battlefield is not the most suitable place though." He sighed.
"You are certainly right that we judge you a certain way, as I'm sure you do to us. But, I am willing to put aside enmity for now, if you are? Our grudges may or may not be equal, as we do not know what your kind have done to our home, but shall we forget recriminations for a while at least?"