II: Companionship

Werlyn rarely talked to anyone besides the guards of Du Weldenvarden, so when he spotted a caravan of horses heading directly for him, he smiled in anticipation.

A small group of seven men, from the south judging by their skin's dark hue, led as many horses towards the mighty elf-forest of Du Weldenvarden. Each horse was burdened with huge saddlebags, bulging nearly to the point of overflowing with gold, jewels and other riches. as such, the men were heavily armed and armored, carrying huge, curved blades by their sides and round, ornate shields in their hands. The man leading the caravan wore a crest on his head, which was a foot tall and appeared to be made of gold. He wielded in his left hand a banner, which bore a green flag with a golden crown and sword. The procession was still a day's ride from the forest and the late hours of the day were upon them, so the leader raised his fist as a signal. The others stopped, weary from the weeks they had been on the road. Dismounting, the men untied the saddlebags to let their steeds rest, placing their goods in a heap in the center of their camp. They set up their tents in a circle around the wares and tied a horse in front of each tent. The men lit a campfire near the middle of their circle, next to a pile of gold, and sat down, chattering excitedly in a strange language, unstopping barrels of mead and roasting a stag on a spit over their campfire.

In a nearby bush, Werlyn's mouth started to water. It had been weeks since he had a decent meal, besides a few rabbits and roots. Also he longed for some company, which surprised him because he usually liked to keep to himself. So it was that, out of desire for company or maybe just sheer boredom, he decided to approach the traders.

The elf stepped into the circle of firelight, his hand in the pommel of his shortsword, but not aggressively.

As soon as they saw him,

The men jumped to their feet, fumbling for their weapons. Werlyn was not surprised by their alarm. He was sure the men had been attacked by enough bandits to always be on their guard. The elf lifted his hand off his pommel and twisted it onto his sternum in the traditional elf greeting.

"Atra estetní ono thelduin" he said, showing his respect for them by speaking first. The men seemed to relax slightly, but they kept their weapons close.

"And may th'stars watch over ye." the captain retaliated, also twisting his hand over his sternum.

"Good evening, master elf. Please understand tha' I don't speak yer language as well as I should. We are naugh' bu' simple tra'ers on our way to Sílthrim, hopin' to sell our wares to the people there. Perhaps you would like ta take a look-see. Who knows? Mayhap ye'll find a little somethin'?"

Werlyn gave an amused chuckle.

"My sincere apologies, friend. I'm afraid I've no money to speak of on me. I lead a simple enough life and I am content without currency. I'm sure that you will find a better bargain in the people of Sílthrim."

Thankfully, the tradesman did not seem hurt, judging by his face.

"Right ye are, lad. Is there anything else we can do ya for?" his tone of voice was direct, but not impolite.

"Actually, I was rather hoping to be able to join in your festivities tonight? I hear that you travelers can weave

Many a good tale. And while my purse may not be bulging enough for gold or jewels, I'm sure it will suffice. If it pleases you, I could swear in the ancient language that I mean you no harm, though I'd rather you trust me."

The men murmured amongst themselves for a while in an alien language, then the captain bade him to a spot near the fire, where a man was slowly turning the spit, the smell of venison filling the air.