NOTE: This story starts off right where Stone left off. A couple of things inspired the elements of this story, and Romeo and Juliet happens to be one of them. Consider the quote a teaser of things to come!

Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end:—

O churl! drink all, and left no friendly drop

To help me after?—I will kiss thy lips;

Haply some poison yet doth hang on them,

To make me die with a restorative.

Thy lips are warm!

-Act Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare

CHAPTER 1

The chromatic, shimmering light that emanated from the walls of the massive palace structure danced across the milky white skin of Balen's face. Arrowstorm found it impossible to look away as the exquisite elf took a step backward and sat gingerly upon a bench that formed moments before the rock-shaper made contact upon it. Balen's eyes became downcast and the ever-flowing stream of sending that passed between them closed suddenly. His lovemate's thoughts were now kept from him, which left Arrowstorm feeling as though he was standing on an unsteady surface. A whiff of Rayek's scent reminded the Wolfrider that peering eyes were not far from the pair. Arrowstorm shrugged away any care for the audience of the black-haired Master of the Palace and possibly his companion Ekuar.

"Mother," Balen murmured. "She will be devastated. She will…"

As Balen's words trailed off to silence, Arrowstorm found himself kneeling before his lovemate. This was not the first time he had pried Balen from the edge of despair. Every time he did, he uncovered more festering wounds of the rock-shaper's mind and could apply the much-needed balm.

"What have I done?" Balen's silver, crystalline eyes raised to meet Arrowstorm's. The thought of High Ones fluttered momentarily through Arrowstorm's mind, as it so often did when he looked straight into Balen's eyes. With immense power unlike anything he had felt before, even from Timmain herself, Arrowstorm knew that Balen carried the magic and memory of the first born – as if he had come directly from the far away home of the elves. And, of course, there was his beauty, which continued to surprise and excite him with each encounter, each glance he had of Balen.

Even now as Balen's face overcame with anguish, Arrowstorm was full of joy to know that Balen was coming home with him, away from all the darkness inside The Mountain.

"Crestamin," Balen slumped his shoulders, his head falling into his hands. "What is wrong with me, Arrowstorm? How could I have done that? I never wanted to hurt him." Arrowstorm outstretched his hands to touch Balen, but Balen recoiled and stood, moving around the archer to pace toward the door leading to the Scroll of Colors. Rayek's present shadow remained vigilant within.

Balen slowed and stopped, the burden of painful regret visible in the hunch of his shoulders. Arrowstorm rose but did not approach Balen. He was wise enough to know not to smother Balen in comforting embraces or words and wait.

"He could be right you know. I do these awful things, think awful things. About the people who care about me. Have I gone mad? Maybe I have always been," Balen said aloud, though obviously to himself. Arrowstorm felt a pang to interject, to prove Balen wrong, to remind him that a caged animal can't be blamed for his behavior towards his captors, but, rather, he remained silent. He would continue to wait.

The press of a cold, lupine nose against his hand and the sound of a gruff sniff forced Arrowstorm's ears to prick up. The sound was faint but undeniable: the Wolfriders had retrieved the remainder of the wolves and were coming. His second, younger wolf, padded toward the entrance to the palace and let out an eager whine. Balen turned to look at the wolves and momentarily met Arrowstorm's gaze before turning back to face the open doorway to the adjacent room. The time was up.

Arrowstorm approached Balen, who turned and folded into the archer's arms. Tentatively, he opened his mind to Balen who accepted and allowed him to absorb as much of the suffering in Balen's soul as the archer could. Though a few stray tears fell from his eyes, Balen seemed, for the moment, stable, having retreated from that all too familiar edge.

The sound of approaching feet and paws grew louder as Arrowstorm led Balen to once again sit upon a mind-formed bench that the pair could share. The rock-shaper rested his head on Arrowstorm's shoulder, which thrilled the archer as he breathed in the scent of his hair. His feelings were now far beyond a latent affection, and had somehow become fiercely protective of and enraptured with the slender rock-shaper, who's size gave no indication of the great power the dwelled within him but was ever-apparent to any elf in his presence. His lips parted for a moment without thought, to almost voice his feelings, but Arrowstorm thought it better to remain silent – for now.

The palace doors opening. Lupine feet scritch-scritch on the palace floor, smooth as any stone. The young Wolfrider senses the tension. The tight shoulders of building anger and an inevitable confrontation. He is ready for this. He was ready the moment he took the hand of his rock-shaper and fled.

Arrowstorm stood abruptly as the figure of his father grew larger at a pace that only confirmed the archer's predictions. Strongbow had been angry at his son for many things before. Careless, loud play on the forest floor when humans were in range. Reckless aim. Hunting alone. But Arrowstorm always obeyed, listened, and followed. Arrowstorm always trusted The Way, which seemed to be a part of his very life force since birth. Strongbow is The Way, and Strongbow told him to leave that sad, broken bird where he lay. Arrowstorm took that bird, trimmed his bloody feathers, and gave him the courage to fly. He decided in that short moment as he watched his father approach that he was not and would never be sorry for that.

The elder Wolfrider was before him, lips curled into a sneer, a slight growl in his heaving breaths. Arrowstorm planted his feet as firmly into the ground as he could. His mind was open and ready.

To his surprise, his father did not send right away and did not stop moving as he slammed his body into Arrowstorm's with impressive force. Arrowstorm stumbled backwards until his back hit the wall next to where Balen and he had just sat together. Strongbow painfully pressed his elbow to Arrowstorm's shoulder and pinned his son with his arm across his throat.

**You dare endanger us all with this…** Strongbow stopped his lock-sending sending for an instant to focus his attention momentarily on the stunned Balen frozen on the palace bench.

**How am I endangering anyone?** Arrowstorm sent in response with all of his power, and he squirmed futilely beneath Strongbow's hold.

His father's blazing eyes bore into Arrowstorm which would have normally caused his resolve to weaken. Today, Arrowstorm felt empowered for a cause all of his own and could not allow his resolve to falter. He bared his teeth.

**You know nothing of what it means to make an enemy!** Strongbow roared into Arrowstorm's head, causing him to wince.

With this, Arrowstorm made a push to free himself from Strongbow. His father released him but kept his looming stance over him.

"What enemy? The Mountain elves?" Arrowstorm cried, outstretching his arms in the direction of the now-distant mountain.

Arrowstorm moved forward, and his father reminded his son of his dominance by forcing Arrowstorm to hit against his father's shoulder with his own before he could pass. Arrowstorm knew he could not let these signs stop him. He would not show throat.

"Where are they, huh? Are they following you? No!" Arrowstorm screamed, though his voice grew tight and strained no matter how hard he tried to stop it.

**You know nothing!** Strongbow sent, but this time it was open, to be received for all who wanted it.

Arrowstorm swallowed and let out a sniff of air from his flared nostrils. He felt the eyes of the Wolfriders on him. "I did what was right. What needed to be done. I wasn't going to leave him there with those vipers, poisoning his thoughts, denying him the truth. You saw it yourself! And at one time, a Wolfrider would have done the same thing and said it was right!"

Strongbow glowered at his son. He approached him and let out another open sending. **A Wolfrider would have let the dead ones lie.**

"By the High Ones, stop," Balen wailed. Arrowstorm wanted to go to him, but he was unsure of the consequences of relinquishing his ground. "I will not hear any more of this." Balen stood on trembling legs and brushed away the tears that had never quite stopped falling.

Arrowstorm watched as Cutter moved to stand between Balen, Strongbow, and him, which allowed the young archer to let out a relieved breath. Cutter would never intervene in a struggle between two wolves; this gesture meant only that Strongbow's assault was over.

"Arrowstorm is right about one thing: the Mountain elves are not following us. Lord Umber forbid anyone from pursuing," Cutter said, looking at Balen as he spoke, then turning to face the archers.

"Exactly! They're all too terrified to leave that Mountain!" Arrowstorm scoffed and immediately regretted the outburst. His father continued to glare at him, and only then, did Arrowstorm's eyes look downcast in an attempt to show humility.

"It does not matter if they follow. You do not have to let me return to the Holt with all of you. But I am not going back. Nothing can make me," Balen said sullenly. He looked at Arrowstorm with his bright silver eyes that glistened as the light from the palace walls reflected off his tears. Arrowstorm furrowed his brow as he studied Balen. His thumping heart had quieted, but still he felt a painful fear within it that he would so soon lose what he had found. Powerless, Arrowstorm looked desperately and silently over to Cutter. No matter how much it pained him, he knew he must defer the fate of his lovemate to his chief.

A moving shadow in the corner of his vision cause Arrowstorm to jerk his head around to see Rayek approaching the cluster of elves. He peered at them and then to Balen, and Arrowstorm shifted his weight upon his feet involuntarily as he watched Rayek reach out to touch Balen's shoulder.

"Let me show him around the palace," Rayek said to Cutter, "so you can have a chance to council… alone." Cutter nodded swiftly, and Arrowstorm's eyes widened at the prospect. "Come, Balen, let me show you the Scroll of Colors. I insist." Rayek smiled at Balen who look bewilderedly at him and glanced at Arrowstorm for a moment before he was led away, though Leetah silently followed after them. Arrowstorm watched them leave and felt a boiling disgust rise within him.

"Cutter…" Arrowstorm pleaded. It was all he could muster.

Cutter let out a sigh and shook his head. He took a few steps away from the brewing archers, and glanced around the room at the eager faces of the tribe.

"If Balen wants to leave his home, that's okay. He has that right. But Timmorn's Blood, Arrowstorm, you didn't have to go running out of there like you had a tuftcat on your heels."

Arrowstorm tried desperately to stop the smile from appearing on his face, but he knew his father saw it. He looked back down to the ground.

"Strongbow's right. We don't know if they might retaliate. They may come looking for him." Cutter continued.

"Let them come!" Arrowstorm shouted, much too loudly. The frustration at his situation, and his own inability to control his outbursts forced Arrowstorm to back towards the mind-formed bench and sit heavily down, crossing his arms tightly across his chest. He looked back down at the floor.

"Well, Father," Ember chimed in, "To be fair, you did tell Arrowstorm that Balen could come to the Holt with us." She tilted her head and grinned. Cutter raised his eyebrows thoughtfully and looked at the doorway leading into the Scroll of Colors room. He shrugged and smiled.

"You're right, Ember. Though this wasn't how I imagined that happening." Cutter rubbed his chin with one hand and peered over at Arrowstorm once more. Arrowstorm felt his chief's stare, but, fearing another outburst, avoided his eyes.

"Cutter?" Aroree said with her small, delicate voice that rarely emerged during council. "You gave me a home in the Holt, after Blue Mountain fell. And I had done little to deserve your trust. He's just a child. The sickness that took over Blue Mountain is brewing in that mountain once again."

Cutter nodded, contemplating her words. "That's one thing that bothers me about all this, Aroree. He is just a cub. He has a mother and a whole tribe that looks after him."

"I don't know Cutter," Skywise said, reluctantly. "If he wants to get out, he might be better off with us. I think the calling Suntop felt was more than just rock-shaping magic. He wanted us to come. Anyone to come."

Arrowstorm saw Suntop nodding in response to Skywise's words. "I also think that he could benefit greatly from Savah's teachings. He has great power but has not fully learned how to wield it," Cutter's gentle son responded.

Cutter listened carefully before turning to face Strongbow once more. "Well?" he said to the eldest archer.

Strongbow stood silently, unmoving as he looked for a moment over to Moonshade who gave him an expression that was unreadable to all but him. Arrowstorm felt his heart quicken, for he knew that after all of the deliberation, the vote came down to his father.

A channel of lock-sending was opened between father and son. No words were exchanged at first, but Arrowstorm knew instantly that the jaws upon his throat were being lifted. Their eyes met.

**I love him.** Arrowstorm said silently to only his father.

Strongbow turned to Cutter. It was decided.