[Elora]

Barrold

Barrold switched a dubious stare at Avanill to the shack ahead. He did not exactly know what to trust Avanill with. His concern for Vanwe's comfort had been most incongruous from the start. Besides, Naiore had promised her to him. Then again, Avanill knew about this 'Tallas' and Barrold didn't. He hesitated as he weighed up the greater risk. Then, he pushed Vanwe towards the younger man.

"Just you remember who she belongs to, boyo." Vanwe managed to right heself with the customary grace of her kindred. Avanill was slow to take custody. Once he was sure that Avanill had her in hand, Barrold left some instructions.

"Keep an eye on 'er. I'm gonna take a look about first. And you, Princess," he said to Vanwe in a low growl, "you'd better be here when I get back." With that, Barrold started to pick his way through the undergrowth. If Avanill had created a waiting snare with some hired swords, then Barrold would see to it. Feeling very pleased with his craftiness, Barrold slunk about and left Avanill and Vanwe together alone.

Vanwe stared at Avanill and then pulled as far away from him as she could, until the ropes between her wrists tugged. She was coiled, quiet. Opportunities to escape came but once. She'd have to take it when it arrived and get it right or face the consequences of not being there when Barrold returned. Her eyes combed the trees around them, as if looking for a hole to slip through.

"I'm sorry about Barrold, Vanwe," Avanill said conversationally as he inspected the Elf he held onto. Her wrists were chafed and raw, the faintest hint of blood starting to show from all the pulling of the rope. "I wish I could somehow take these off," Avanill said thoughtfully. Vanwe turned large eyes back to him for a moment and then dropped them.

"I don't think you'd be troublesome if we treated you well, would you?" Avanill peered at her as if waiting a reply. Vanwe looked solemly back, silent still, and waiting, waiting for that one opportunity. It would come, surely it would, and she would find the Forsaken Inn and help there. Of course she would. Without a reply to his question, Avanill dropped it and looked about the wood himself.

"He'd better not blunder too close, else Tallas will sense him. He's a canny old man." Minutes passed and nearby a smooth boulder perfect to perch upon soaked up a patch of morning sunlight. Avanill decided that if he had to wait, he'd do so comfortably.

"Let's sit, shall we," he suggested politely as though it were a request. Once seated and with nothing else to do, he posed some more questions to Vanwe. Light banter as to her name, hobbies, even a jest. All of it was met with silence and the occassional return of his gaze with her wide blue eyes.

"You sure are a quiet one," he commented dryly. More minutes passed, Avanill steadily becoming more and more uncomfortable with the idea of sitting on a rock, out in the open, whilst Barrold had disappeared and Rangers were about... with the incriminating evidence roped and in his custody what's more.

His booted right foot started to tap impatiently. It was then he felt the first sting of an ant bite. Absently, he swiped at it with his free hand. It was soon followed by another and another. Avanill looked down at his boots with a start and saw that ants were busily invading. With a yell, he reached for them to tug them urgently off.

It was then that Vanwe uncoiled and burst off in an explosion of desperate speed. Her only plan was to run in the direction leading away from Barrold and Avanill. Avanill spun and lunged to catch her and narrowly missed by a mere fraction.

"Hey," he yelled, stamping his feet back into his ant infested boots.

"Oi," a second voice bellowed. Barrold returned just in time to see the long blonde hair of their aforetonow prisoner fly through the trees. Avanill was on his feet and racing after her as Barrold took off as well. Barrold paused only to shoot Avanill a murderously angry glare before he yelled ahead of him, "A mistake, Princess!"

The threat was enough to send surges of terror through Vanwe, but all she could do was run, blindly, and hope. And that she did, as though her very life depended upon it, for it did. Tears of desperation silently streamed down her face as she sprinted, whipping through the trees and grabbing branches, plunging headlong for as long as her strength would hold out. One trip, one stumble, could bring her undone.

Behind her, the sound of pursuit followed like a nightmare that refuse to heed the clarion call of dawn and wakefulness. Escape or die...

[ October 17, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]