The girl sat on the swing, moonlight shone on her dark auburn hair. Her
deep blue eyes reflected the starlight as she gazed wistfully out across
the park. It was nice, when it was empty like this. Peaceful. It gave
her time to think, something she had been doing a lot of, lately. She
loathed the moment that Ten O'Clock would come, when she would be forced to
go home. So absorbed was she, that she didn't even hear the soft footsteps
behind her.
A rough hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream. Trying to whirl, she felt another arm fasten about her neck. But it had worked. The girl felt a slight release on her mouth, and took the opportunity to bite the hand that held her. He- yes, she could se it was a he now- cursed something inaudible, and released her. She aimed a kick at him- and missed, but the dodge threw him off balance enough for her to get away. She turned to run, but he grabbed her ankle. She fell, the fall seemed to take an eternity, and hit the ground with a sickening thud. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the hand descending, rock clutched tightly in the hand, ready to deliver the blow-
Something shot through the air past her head. The hand around her ankle went limp.
A strong hand helped her up, "Mr-Mr. Green?"
The young man smiled, "Elizabeth." Elizabeth's next-door neighbor inclined his head ever so slightly.
"Is he- is he dead?"
Mr. Green shook his blonde head, the long hair had a slightly windswept appearance, "No. It's a drug. Symptoms are similar to that of drunkenness."
"What."
"It was an arrow."
For the first time Elizabeth noticed the bow slung over his back., "How did you."
"Know you were here? I heard the struggle. We'd best be going. He might wake up soon." He glanced with distaste at the fallen man, "Have you ever seen someone drunk? It's not fun."
"Oh." She paused. Nothing Mr. Green was saying was making sense. Then again, nothing about him ever made sense. Even the adults in her neighborhood would say "Hey, Green!" Elizabeth greatly doubted that his name was 'Green Green'. In fact, Elizabeth greatly doubted that that was his last name at all, but simply a nick-name that he had taken on. He obviously wasn't over twenty-five. The rumor was, and rumor spread fast in a small town where everybody knew everyone, that he had graduated high school at age fourteen, and gotten an Oxford education. It was odd, but barely anyone knew anything about him. In this town, secrets were hard to keep, and yet Mr. Green certainly had kept his. Looking for something to do say, Elizabeth asked, "How long have you been. shooting?" She gestured at his bow.
"Quite a long time."
"Since when?" She pressed.
"I held my first bow when I was four years old, against my fathers orders. I had my first lesson, however, when I was nine. My teachers were quite amazed. Of course, some of my father's friends had been. coerced. by me into giving me regular lessons. He never found out."
"Four. That's young."
"More so then you know." He gave a slight smile.
Elizabeth was at a loss. Mr. Green seemed to know exactly what she was going to say almost before she said it, "Am I that easy to read?"
Green looked slightly taken aback, "No. I have had a good deal of practice. I certainly was not expecting that question. I was thinking you would say something more along the lines of 'how old are you.'"
She saw this as an open invitation to ask, "Okay then, how old are you?"
"Older then your father." Again, so good at keeping secrets.
They walked in silence for a moment, turning down the gravel street that led to Elizabeth's house, "Um, Mr. Green?"
"Please. Call me by my name. Legolas."
center***/center
"Legolas Greenleaf. In truth, Greenleaf isn't exactly my last name, either. Legolas means Green Leaf. I don't have a last name, really. My family is, shall we say, very old-fashioned."
"Oh. well. you just answered my question. But now I have another one. What language is that, Latin? Greek? Middle-English? Middle-German*? Gothic? Welsh? It sounds Welsh." Elizabeth's father was a language professor in Bangor.
If Legolas heard her he didn't say and he seemed lost in his own thoughts. Suddenly, he said, "I know how you feel. I can help you."
"What do you mean?"
"I know how you feel when you look at the sky. I know how you feel about your woods. I can see the longing for the woods in your heart. I know that feeling."
All of this was too overwhelming to think about it at once, "Why are you here?" Elizabeth blurted.
"I came here to find you," He paused, "To help you understand."
** * **
*Those languages (Middle-English, Middle-German, there's Middle-French, as well) are archaic versions of those current languages. The speech was so different from what is currently used, that it has been referred to as a different language entirely, thus the name. The name refers to the time period in which they were spoken, the Middle Ages (AD 500- AD 1200)
A rough hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her scream. Trying to whirl, she felt another arm fasten about her neck. But it had worked. The girl felt a slight release on her mouth, and took the opportunity to bite the hand that held her. He- yes, she could se it was a he now- cursed something inaudible, and released her. She aimed a kick at him- and missed, but the dodge threw him off balance enough for her to get away. She turned to run, but he grabbed her ankle. She fell, the fall seemed to take an eternity, and hit the ground with a sickening thud. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the hand descending, rock clutched tightly in the hand, ready to deliver the blow-
Something shot through the air past her head. The hand around her ankle went limp.
A strong hand helped her up, "Mr-Mr. Green?"
The young man smiled, "Elizabeth." Elizabeth's next-door neighbor inclined his head ever so slightly.
"Is he- is he dead?"
Mr. Green shook his blonde head, the long hair had a slightly windswept appearance, "No. It's a drug. Symptoms are similar to that of drunkenness."
"What."
"It was an arrow."
For the first time Elizabeth noticed the bow slung over his back., "How did you."
"Know you were here? I heard the struggle. We'd best be going. He might wake up soon." He glanced with distaste at the fallen man, "Have you ever seen someone drunk? It's not fun."
"Oh." She paused. Nothing Mr. Green was saying was making sense. Then again, nothing about him ever made sense. Even the adults in her neighborhood would say "Hey, Green!" Elizabeth greatly doubted that his name was 'Green Green'. In fact, Elizabeth greatly doubted that that was his last name at all, but simply a nick-name that he had taken on. He obviously wasn't over twenty-five. The rumor was, and rumor spread fast in a small town where everybody knew everyone, that he had graduated high school at age fourteen, and gotten an Oxford education. It was odd, but barely anyone knew anything about him. In this town, secrets were hard to keep, and yet Mr. Green certainly had kept his. Looking for something to do say, Elizabeth asked, "How long have you been. shooting?" She gestured at his bow.
"Quite a long time."
"Since when?" She pressed.
"I held my first bow when I was four years old, against my fathers orders. I had my first lesson, however, when I was nine. My teachers were quite amazed. Of course, some of my father's friends had been. coerced. by me into giving me regular lessons. He never found out."
"Four. That's young."
"More so then you know." He gave a slight smile.
Elizabeth was at a loss. Mr. Green seemed to know exactly what she was going to say almost before she said it, "Am I that easy to read?"
Green looked slightly taken aback, "No. I have had a good deal of practice. I certainly was not expecting that question. I was thinking you would say something more along the lines of 'how old are you.'"
She saw this as an open invitation to ask, "Okay then, how old are you?"
"Older then your father." Again, so good at keeping secrets.
They walked in silence for a moment, turning down the gravel street that led to Elizabeth's house, "Um, Mr. Green?"
"Please. Call me by my name. Legolas."
center***/center
"Legolas Greenleaf. In truth, Greenleaf isn't exactly my last name, either. Legolas means Green Leaf. I don't have a last name, really. My family is, shall we say, very old-fashioned."
"Oh. well. you just answered my question. But now I have another one. What language is that, Latin? Greek? Middle-English? Middle-German*? Gothic? Welsh? It sounds Welsh." Elizabeth's father was a language professor in Bangor.
If Legolas heard her he didn't say and he seemed lost in his own thoughts. Suddenly, he said, "I know how you feel. I can help you."
"What do you mean?"
"I know how you feel when you look at the sky. I know how you feel about your woods. I can see the longing for the woods in your heart. I know that feeling."
All of this was too overwhelming to think about it at once, "Why are you here?" Elizabeth blurted.
"I came here to find you," He paused, "To help you understand."
** * **
*Those languages (Middle-English, Middle-German, there's Middle-French, as well) are archaic versions of those current languages. The speech was so different from what is currently used, that it has been referred to as a different language entirely, thus the name. The name refers to the time period in which they were spoken, the Middle Ages (AD 500- AD 1200)