Murtagh cursed softly to himself as his boot got caught in the mud. How could this day possibly get any worse? He thought, trying in vain to pull his foot out of the muck. It had been only three hours since he and Thorn had destroyed one of the Varden's small camps, but he felt like it had been days. He had taken a spear shaft to the head from one of the Empire's soldiers trying to rebel, and had woken up in the middle of a forest, his hands bound, head aching, and with no idea where he was. His brain also wasn't functioning properly, so he assumed that he had been drugged. He managed to get the ropes off, but shortly after it had started raining. He tried to shelter under a small out cropping of rock, yet he was still soaked from head to toe. He couldn't reach Thorn at all, and he was wandering in circles, until his foot got stuck. Now he was sitting in the dirt, one shoe irrevocably lodged in the mud, and no clue how to get out.

He was just about to resume his efforts, when he heard a soft whoosh from off to his left. His instincts took over, causing him to go flat on his back. Over his head, he watched the shaft of an arrow fly where his heart was moments ago. He ripped his boot off, jumped to his feet, and whirled around to see a young elf glaring at him, a strung bow in his hand. He drew zar'roc, the crimson blade almost glowing in the anticipation of blood shed. The elf knocked another arrow. They stood thus, glaring at each other, until the elven boy decided to speak. "Look" he said, his voice like a flutes music " We can not remain staring at each other forever. We are both outcasts and criminals in the eyes of our communities. Why don't we work together?" He said this all very fast, his eyes never leaving Murtagh's. Of all of the things that this boy could have said, that seemed the least likely.

Murtagh carefully lowered his weapon and the elf followed suit. " I don't trust you" Murtagh muttered sheathing his blade " but I see no other option." Apparently satisfied, the elf gestured with one hand, and strode through a small group of bushes. They walked for what seemed like hours but it couldn't have been more than a few minutes. In a vague attempt to break the silence Murtagh carefully asked, "So, why are you an out cast anywa-" Before the sentence was over the boy had a knife to his throat.

"Do not ask me anything about that!" He yelled. The knife drew a small line of blood. His point proven, he wiped the blood on his tunic, and continued walking. Murtagh was very quiet for the rest of the trip. They emerged into a small clearing and the elf sat down o the ground. He undid the black cloth from around his head to reveal hair like star light and ears tapered to fine points. Murtagh couldn't help wondering what an elf would be doing all alone out here, let alone one so young. Trying to settle his disquiet he sat down few paces away and sat glaring at the ground, occasionally casting fervent glances at the elf. Finally the elf reached out a delicate hand for Murtagh to shake, which he did, then said " Names are far to precious to be shared under our circumstances, but you may call me Lark."

"Lark, isn't that a sort of bird? Why would I call you that."

In answer the boy sang a few notes and Murtagh was left completely speechless. Even for an elf, his voice was incredible. "Song bird" Lark corrected him "They don't do very well in captivity, and neither do I."

Murtagh was about to introduce himself, when suddenly he changed his mind. "You can call me Tornac" he said.

"Tornac... " the boy said, tasting the word. " It's a nice name"

Murtagh nodded his thanks and stretched out on the ground, his back to the small fire the elf had made. He had dreams about Thorn and when he woke he cheeks had a thin layer of tears dried to them.

They spent the whole day walking. All the while Murtagh was trying to contact Thorn still with no success. He must be to far away! he realized eventually. Suddenly, he felt panicked. He and Thorn had not been apart since he had hatched. The morning was uneventful, just hours of walking under the trees, occasionally stopping to sit or drink from a stream. They ate from their small bit of provisions, Both of them keeping mainly to themselves. When they again resumed walking, the elf had removed his cloak to reveal a large red marking on his neck. Murtagh was just going to ask him about it, when their was a small snap of a twig behind them. They both whirled around to see a small group of elves, all of them aiming their bows at their chests. Lark drew his bow and knocked an arrow in one fluid motion while Murtagh gripped zar'roc's pommel, planning to avoid a conflict. The elven soldiers charged forward, and Lark felled two of them in just a few strokes. Murtagh ripped zar'roc out of its sheath and cut down another five or so. Finally only one stood there, his leg folded under him and his arm bleeding. Lark strode up to the elf and with a final look of disdain, he slit the elves throat. Murtagh felt a twinge of discomfort as his blood pooled in the soil. That night the pair sat eating .bowls of vegetable stew, and talking about the days events.

"You aren't at all bothered with killing another elf like that?" Murtgh said setting his bowl aside and propping himself on one elbow.

Lark seemed offended. " Do you cry every time you have to kill another human?" He said accusingly "Do you break down in the middle of battle because the sight of blood scares you?"

"I didn't say that." Murtagh said "I suppose you're right, but still, are you alright? You can't be very old, yet you kill with a finess like a trained soldier."

" I wouldn't say that," He said trying to change the subject "I mean, I'm only just learning this kind of thing"

"Really? You're a natural with that bow." Murtagh said

"well, I had a really good teacher-"

"AND you're rather smooth with that dagger too."

"Um, thanks but really,"

"It's almost like you're a natural born killer"

At this Lark was speechless for a moment but managed to stutter out, his voice cracking, "It's nothing really, just you know-"

"No I really can see that taking a life is almost second nature to some one like-"

"Look!" Lark had tears rolling down his face. " I didn't say that I liked to kill!" He yelled, his voice oddly strong " But if I must to survive then I will!" He merely sat there and cried for a , Murtagh was struck by just how young the elf must be. He scooted over to where he was sitting and wrapped a muscled arm around the sobbing elf. They sat thus for almost ten minutes, Lark just shaking and eventually hugging the older man. That night when they lay down to rest, Lark curled up pressed against his chest. Murtagh stretched a protective arm around the boy as his soft snores filled his ears. Mabye, just MABYE, he thought slipping into his own dreams, I've found a friend here.

It was the middle of the night when Murtagh was jerked awake by the tortured roar filling his mind. He sat up, his eyes wide with fear, and screamed with his mind, the animals stirring with the force of his mental shout, THORN! WHERE ARE YOU!