"There is a serious matter we must discuss," Jaheira began haughtily.

The mismatched party sat in a ring by their tents on the grass outside of Nashkel, having insufficient gold to spare for both healing potions and the outrageously overpriced inn. Xzar had his spell book open and was muttering to himself. Every so often his fingers emitted purple sparks. Montaron was picking his toenails with his dagger.

"We are paying far too much for our supplies," Jaheira went on. "Potential allies shun us and more importantly our investigations into the Nashkel mines are being seriously hampered by people's unwillingness to share information with us."

"W-we're not blaming any one person… um… please don't take offence," Khalid fumbled. "Only we think it m-may be a leadership issue."

He fiddled with his shield, his face starting to turn red to match his hair. His wife, however, was on her feet with her piercing blue glare fixed firmly on Gorion's ward.

"Calling it a leadership issue kinda makes it sound like you are blaming one person," Arrow ventured after an uncomfortable pause.

"They do have a point Arrow," Imoen chipped in gently. "You know we love you but…"

"…your company is an acquired taste," finished Jaheira firmly.

Arrow glared at her, stung. Imoen sighed. Despite both the girls' relative isolation growing up in the great library of Candlekeep, Imoen had managed through sheer persistence to find adults to chat to. Reluctant monks, visiting nobles, a guard or two. Enough to hone basic conversational skills. Arrow on the other hand…

"Perhaps if you w-were a little friendlier?" suggested Khalid tentatively.

"How am I not friendly?" frowned Arrow.

"Not everyone appreciates your constant sarcasm," said Jaheira.

"Or your bluntness," added Khalid.

"The eyerolling is a bad habit too," said Imoen, scratching at the ground with a small stick.

"I don't roll my eyes!" protested Arrow.

"You are rolling them right now."

"Sod all this pussyfooting around!" Montaron snarled. "What they are trying to tell ye is that ye've the charisma of a sewer dog carrying a dead rat in her mouth!"

Arrow looked horrified.

"Is my breath really that bad? We've been on the road for days! I'm doing my best!"

"It is not your breath," sighed Jaheira, folding her arms. "The issue is not primarily one of personal hygiene but one of personality."

"And lack thereof," added Xzar helpfully, not looking up from his book.

Arrow got to her feet, brushing dirt from her legs. She stood to look her glaring half-elf guardian in the eye. Jaheira's carefully placed use of the word 'primarily' regarding her personal hygiene had not escaped her notice. It was true that compared to the half-elf's perfectly braided locks, Arrow's own hair resembled a basket of wool in a cattery and her face was streaked with mud. She wondered sometimes how the half-elf did her hair so neatly with no mirror. In fact Arrow had never even seen her wash it, and yet there was never so much as a strand out of place. Perhaps Khalid braided it for his wife. That notion amused her.

"Ye couldn't negotiate a bar fight with a pissed off ogre is what she's trying ter tell ye," translated Montaron. At the mention of a bar, Imoen cast a longing glance at the inn. Even from this distance the smell of meat roasting was just detectable. The party had not eaten anything but dry bread and berries for three days in a row and tempers were running high.

"So pick another leader then," shrugged Arrow. "I don't recall volunteering to be party leader. Khalid! Congratulations, you are now leader."

"What? Me?" squeaked the half-elf, looking positively terrified at the notion. "N-no. Jaheira my love, surely?"

"I am the best negotiator in this group," she stated, ignoring Montaron's snort of derision. "I suggest that I take the lead for now."

Montaron shook his head and got to his feet while Xzar let out a faint hiss, closing his spell book with a snap.

"Yer telling me I have to take orders from that shrieking harpy?" the halfling growled, pointing his dagger at Arrow's face.

"I'm not telling you to do anything," smirked Arrow. "I'm not leader any more. Charisma of a sewer dog, remember? The shrieking harpy is the one telling you that you have to take her orders, not me. I don't care what you do."

Jaheira glared at both of them.

"Uncalled for remarks like that, child, are the exact reason that you have lost your leadership responsibilities!"

"A tragic personal loss, yet one I feel I could get over with time," replied Arrow dryly, eyeing Montaron's knife which was still pointing at her.

There was a ping of metal on metal. Khalid had drawn his own sword and used it to gently flip Montaron's dagger from his palm and away from Arrow with a warning look at the halfling.

"Why you-"

"Catch," called Arrow, tossing Montaron her own hunting knife. Unfortunately the halfling caught it by the blade, and dropped it with a curse and a light shower of blood. "Sorry about that," she grinned, not looking sorry at all. "I thought if you were going to stab me you might not want to use your favourite toenail picking knife. With my 'personal hygiene issues' you might catch something nasty!"

"You caught something nasty when you picked up these two," Jaheira snapped, jabbing a finger at Xzar.

"Your knife, my knife... Anything sharp will do girly," growled Montaron, picking up the hunting knife and starting toward Arrow with a nasty glint in his eye.

Xzar stepped between them hastily, with what he probably imagined was a disarming smile.

"Monty, my dear! Numbers!" he managed through a manic grin. The halfling thief looked from his only ally to the rest of the party, his eyes lingering on Khalid's broadsword. With a disgusted grunt he threw the knife at Arrow's feet.

Arrow picked it up and slipped it into her belt.

"I'm going hunting," she said. "With the permission of our glorious new leader of course?"

"Try to bring back something bigger than a pigeon this time," snapped Jaheira.

Arrow set off toward the woods without a backward glance.

Under the cover of the trees and gathering darkness Arrow's irritation began to dissipate. She always felt calmer in the wild. She walked off the path for a good quarter hour until the village and the road were out of earshot and the ground had become thick with twisting roots and fallen leaves. They made a satisfying crunching noise under her boots. At best she had an hour until nightfall. Not that she minded hunting in the dark, but the others would start worrying and come after her.

A quick investigation of the forest floor revealed pellet-droppings and a number of burrows. She quickly set a series of small snares, hoping at least for some breakfast in the morning, and carried on into the wood. There was no sign or sound of any larger prey nearby. A little further in and the tinkle of running water drew her attention. If she concealed herself behind a tree, arrow notched, it was possible that some small prey might come for a drink. It was a slim hope but she decided to chance it anyway.

As she drew closer she heard a shuffling. Her heartrate increased and she snuck forward as quietly as she could, reaching behind her for an arrow. Something was breathing by the water. Something quite large. A wolf perhaps? Wolves did not taste great, but meat was meat. She took a deep breath, burst out of the clearing and loosed her arrow in the direction of the noise.

To her horror it hurtled from her grasp in the direction of a tattooed man. He saw it coming and dodged but not quite quickly enough, and let out a gasp of pain and surprise as it pierced his left shoulder.

"I'm sorry," yelped Arrow. "I didn't see any human tracks, I- I thought you were an animal!"

The man rose to his feet. Arrow was relieved to see that he was unarmed and so unlikely to counter attack. Wincing, he grabbed the arrow shaft and pulled it out. Then, to her astonishment, he cleaned the blood off of it with the corner of his shirt and handed it back to her.

"Excuse me. I did not mean to interrupt your hunt," the stranger said in a low voice.

"Thanks," she murmured, embarrassed. She took the arrow, privately thanking Ilmater that she had not hit a wandering child and vowing to be more careful from now on. "Were you hunting too?"

"I was performing my evening meditations," the man replied. In the fading light, Arrow could see the bald head, the markings. Yes, of course, the man must be a monk. She was used to seeing them around. Gorion had been friends with a pair of them, and they had hung around Candlekeep for years, though they rarely exchanged words with her. "Have you ever stopped to contemplate the moonlight reflected on water?"

"Have I what?" Arrow replied, bemused. This was not a normal reaction to being shot, unprovoked, by a complete stranger.

"My name is Rasaad yn Bashir," he said, bowing politely. "I am a monk of the Sun Soul Order."

He paused, waiting for her name.

"Arrow," she said.

He frowned in a slightly puzzled way. Then, like a light switching on, his expression changed as though he had understood something. His heavily inked face split into a compassionate smile.

"Yes," he said gently. He had a lovely soft voice, with a Calishite accent. "It is an arrow. That's very clever. A-rr-ow. Arrows can be dangerous though. I think you should go home and give the arrow back to your parents don't you? Do you know where home is? Can you find it by yourself or do you need me to come with you?"

He was speaking very slowly and carefully as one might address a young child. Arrow felt her cheeks burn.

"No, you don't understand," she said hastily. "Arrow is my-"

"Of course. The arrow is yours," he said gently. "I won't steal your nice arrow. You can get home ok?"

"Yes but-"

"Don't worry," he smiled reassuringly. "You are not in any trouble. Be careful playing with arrows though. Remember they can be dangerous."

He tapped the wound on his shoulder and started to walk at speed back in the direction of Nashkel. Arrow gave up, mortified, and headed back toward camp. Though it was pitch black when she returned she located it at a distance by the flickering orange glow of the campfire. Jaheira was still up waiting for her, arms crossed.

"Did you manage to catch us anything edible?" she asked imperiously.

"My love," implored Khalid. "You can see she didn't catch anything and she only had a couple of hours."

"I shot something," said Arrow miserably. "But it wasn't edible."

"Arrow!" exclaimed Jaheira. "You know better than to shoot things you are not going to eat! Show some respect to mother nature!"

"Don't worry. It got away," Arrow replied. "I'm tired and I don't want to talk about it," she added before the other woman could ask what it was she had shot.

"Bah! Useless brat!" came a disappointed grunt from Montaron's tent.

They fell asleep one by one, hungry and grumpy. In the morning Arrow got up early to check her snares but returned with nothing more than a pair of dew soaked boots. She did not dawdle long in the woods to spare herself the embarrassment of running into the bald monk who believed her to be mentally incapacitated a second time.

"Since our conversations with the locals have been unproductive," Jaheira began with a reproving glare at Arrow. "We will try a more direct approach by travelling to the mines themselves."

They packed their tents, finished what little bread they had left and set off toward the town. It was hard to ignore the smell of bacon and eggs wafting from the tavern door as they crossed the bridge leading into Nashkel. Arrow could hear Imoen's stomach growling. She found herself hoping to encounter monsters in the mines for a few scraps of coin… or failing that their meat.

"Such feats are easy when you learn to focus their energies through the light of Selune."

A calm Calishite voice, the top of a bald head above a small circle of onlookers. Oh gods. The monk from last night. Arrow froze in horror. She scanned around for a way to avoid him but he was right on the other side of the bridge and there was no easy escape. He seemed preoccupied with his audience though. If the group just kept walking…

"Hey! What are you doing there?" called Imoen loudly. Arrow cringed.

"Thank you for asking. My name is Rasaad. I am merely demonstrating some of the ways in which we Sun Soul monks reflect our spiritual light through physical activity."

Arrow pulled her ranger's hood down low over her face, tucking away her long brown hair.

"May I tell you more about the Sun Soul Order?"

"Actually we were kind of in a hurry," said Arrow urgently from under her hood.

"Please do Rasaad! OUCH!" cried Imoen. Arrow had stepped violently on her foot. "You trod on me!" Arrow cursed silently. "What did you do that for?"

"Accident. Sorry," replied Arrow between gritted teeth, trying to keep her face concealed.

"Idiot!" Imoen snapped. "It'd help if you could see where you were going!" With a sharp yank she pulled the other girl's hood down.

Arrow rolled her eyes heavenward and sighed. There was no getting out of this situation now. She sent a last desperate plea to Ilmater that the monk would not recognize her (it had been quite dark after all) but her prayer was in vain.

"Please, do not call this poor lady an idiot," Rasaad said, looking at Arrow with deep concern. "Selune calls upon us all to exercise patience and compassion when dealing with those… in difficulty." He smiled kindly at Arrow. "Well met again my friend."

In full daylight she could see that the monk had a pleasant, handsome face under the tattoos. He had removed his shirt for his martial arts demonstration. Her eyes drifted from his muscular physique to the partially healed arrow wound through his shoulder. Apparently, the monk could not afford a more expensive healing spell. She winced guiltily.

Jaheira had noticed the arrow wound too.

"When you said you shot something last night but it wasn't edible?" she began suspiciously. Arrow pretended not to hear her.

"Well met indeed," Arrow addressed Rasaad. "I… er… I'm sorry about before. Shooting you, I mean."

"Arrow…?" Jaheira began dangerously.

"Yes, indeed. She shot me with an arrow but I have visited the temple and am relatively unharmed," replied Rasaad graciously.

"You shot a Sun Soul monk?" gasped Khalid, horrified. "Oh, h-how could you?"

"Not on purpose obviously!" moaned Arrow, wishing that the ground would part beneath her feet and suck her under.

"Are you this girl's parents?" enquired Rasaad.

"Do we look old enough to be her parents?" snapped Jaheira indignantly. "We have the profound misfortune to be her guardians!"

Rasaad looked at Arrow with deepest pity. The small crowd of onlookers had now focussed their attention on the monk and the poor slow ward travelling with her unkind guardians. Arrow detested being the centre of attention even when it was for positive reasons. Last year she had even slipped away from her own birthday party to avoid the stares and people making small talk. She had never understood why Gorion had put her through the annual hell of birthday parties. Maybe he believed forcing her to be sociable once a year would be enough to rescue her failing charisma. If so, it hadn't worked.

"As her guardians I feel I must caution you against allowing your charge to play unsupervised with weapons. My training and discipline allowed me to walk away without lasting damage, but a child in the woods might not be so fortunate. Or were she to accidentally shoot at one of the militia they may not be so understanding. Forgive me. I do not wish to speak out of turn. I say this only out of concern."

Montaron let out a snort of laughter. Out of the corner of her eye Arrow could see Imoen's shoulders shaking silently and even Khalid seemed to be struggling to suppress a smile.

"This is all a misunderstanding," she began, her face scarlet. "I'm not-"

"Oh, she is a tragic case sir," interjected Montaron. "Mother was a troll ye see, father was a human. The hope was she'd grow up to be as smart as a human and as strong as a troll. As it turned out she's as smart as a troll and as strong as a human."

"I am… sorry to hear that," said Rasaad. Arrow pinched the bridge of her nose. Surely this could get no worse.

"Tis a hard thing to keep her fed though," sighed Montaron. "She inherited her appetite from her mother you see. Her guardians are left without a gold coin to their name. Poor things had to sell their hovel and take to the road. Ate them out of house and home she did."

"That's enough Montaron," said Jaheira.

"Penny for the freak sir, that's all we ask," Montaron appealed to the monk.

Fortunately for Arrow, at that moment salvation came stumbling out of the tavern in the form of a drunken heckler.

"Hey! What are you supposed to be then? Some sort of kickpuncher? Come on, take a poke at me I dares ya!" the man swayed slightly as he spoke. Arrow could have kissed his beer-scented lips.

"I come not to fight but to demonstrate a few-" Rasaad began.

"Oh so that's how it is eh?" the drunk cut in tapping the side of his nose. "You prance about pretending to be some sort of hard man but really you're just a coward, right?"

"Ok let's go now," hissed Arrow. "We're wasting time here. The mines await."

"Nah, I'm enjoying this," said Montaron cheerfully. "Besides yer not the leader no more. Ye don't get to say when we go."

Arrow looked to Jaheira for support but received nothing but a disapproving glare.

"You have injured this man through sheer incompetence," she said. "We are going nowhere until we have healed him. Properly."

Rasaad was still talking to the tavern drunk who, despite a very clear difference in physique between them, nevertheless seemed determined to provoke a conflict.

"Oh I gets it. You're some kind of simpering priest. Just pretending you knows how to fight but really just begging for coins, yeah?"

Arrow was impressed to see that the monk was still refusing to take the bait.

"A Sun Soul monk uses mind, body and spirit in equal portions, but not to prove his martial superiority. Rather, he seeks to better the lives of those around him."

"Yeah, yeah. Save it for temple school boy. If you're not going to fight nobody I wont waste any more time on you."

"Good for you Rasaad. I admire a man who stands up for his principles, even in the face of ignorance," Arrow said maturely, spotting an opportunity to correct his mistaken impression that she was half-witted. Rasaad looked at her, clearly surprised by her capacity to produce an intelligent sentence.

"I thank you," said the monk. "It is not always easy. In truth I enjoy a good fight if it is to improve my skills or to defend a just cause. Fighting that man would have enlightened no one. You seem like someone who would appreciate the tenets of my order. May I tell you more about Selune and the Sun Soul monks?"

"Certainly," she replied, trying to sound intelligent. She held out a hand. "Arrow."

"I already returned your arrow," he replied, confused. "At least I think I did. My memory of yesterday evening is a little hazy. The walk to the temple was long and I'm afraid I lost quite a lot of blood on the way."

Arrow flinched and bit her lip, feeling Jaheira's glare drilling into the back of her skull.

"I misremembered and have failed to retain your arrow," he said bowing. "I apologise."

"Arrow is my name," she said awkwardly. "Actually it's really Arowan but when I was five I stole a bow from the guard house and I've been shooting ever since so the monks started calling me Arrow instead and… erm… it kind of stuck."

She babbled all this very quickly. So much for sounding intelligent.

"We er… we have a druid in our party. If you like we could heal the rest of that wound?"

Rasaad perked up at this offer.

"Yes, please do. If you can," he said enthusiastically. "Truth be told it is quite sore but I was not able to afford the full services of the temple. I have had trouble making ends meet since coming to Nashkel."

"Haven't we all?" said Montaron. "Still at least we have an accomplished ranger in our group who can keep us well fed with her expert hunting skills."

"Oh do shut up and let me concentrate," said Jaheira, inspecting the monk's shoulder.

"She has been practising archery since she was five," Montaron said to Rasaad conversationally. Arrow said nothing. Having seen the monk's example of calm in the face of provocation, she resolved to prove herself equally restrained.

"Indeed," said Rasaad, almost innocently. "Most archers would require enchanted arrows to deliver so much damage to a trained monk with a single shot."

Arrow bit down on her tongue to stop herself from responding.

"Oh yes," agreed Montaron. "We are never short of food in this group." Arrow kept her face determinedly neutral. Rasaad had not risen to it with the drunk man and she would not rise to it with Montaron.

"What do you mean?" cried Imoen. "Arrow hasn't caught anything for days and even then it was just a couple of mangy pigeons! I'm literally starving!"

Arrow's neutral façade broke at this and her face split into a strained grin.

"Yes Imoen, I think that was Montaron's point," said Arrow testily. "He was being sarcastic. We've discussed the concept."

Though intelligent in many ways, sarcasm was always lost on Imoen. Either she genuinely did not understand it, or she intentionally feigned naiveite in the face of Arrow's daily bombardment of comments. It was probably why Imoen was one of the very few people who actually liked spending time with her.

"There," said Jaheira, "You are healed. Onward to the mines. We must take our leave of you monk, unless you would care to accompany us? We are investigating the iron shortage. There may be some fighting involved when we get there."

"W-we could use some less e-evil additions to the group," added Khalid. "W-we'd be happy to h-have you."

"S-s-s-speak for yourself," hissed Xzar in a cruel imitation of Khalid's stutter.

"If doing so would help others to find their inner light, I would be glad to join you," said Rasaad. "If… if that is acceptable to you of course Arrow. You seemed somewhat keen to avoid me earlier and I would prefer not to find myself on the receiving end of another of your shots."

"I will try to avoid it," grinned Arrow. "Welcome to the party."