MidSummer
1

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Waken lords and ladies gay,
To the greenwood haste away;
We can show you where he lies,
Fleet of foot and tall of size
-- Sir Walter Scott
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Elves are wonderful. They provoke wonder.

The fleeing figure gasped for breath as his feet pounded against the ground, propelling him further from those pursuing him. One hand was gripping his bicep, which was bleeding profusely from an arrow wound. He could hear them behind him, hear their laughter and their enjoyment of the hunt. He snarled angrily; he was not prey, and he would not fall to such as them.

Elves are marvellous. They cause marvels.

Stupid! he berated himself. He'd been so caught up in his own hunt, he'd not noticed he'd crossed the boundary, entered their territory. He hadn't even been able to smell their approach; the wind had been blowing wrong. His first hint of trouble had been the twang of a bow string and searing pain in his left arm.

Elves are fantastic. They create fantasies.

He could smell them now; their scent was unmistakeably delightful, yet at the same time reeking of danger. Their cries were growing closer; he took a hard right and ducked under a low-hanging branch, his breath coming from his throat in short, ragged gasps. How long had he been running?

Elves are glamorous. They project glamour.

There was a new scent, a metallic scent. He honed in on it and changed directions once more, heading for it and the safety it promised. If he could hold onto his lead long enough to cross the new boundary, he would be safe. He pushed himself all the harder, ignoring the worrying dizziness creeping into his mind, the darkness crawling at the edges of his vision. Pain pierced his shoulder; he'd been hit again. A howl of pain tore from his throat as he ripped the arrow from his flesh, which was greeted by amused laughter from his pursuers.

Elves are enchanting. They weave enchantment.

Doggedly, he kept going, refusing to yield to those who chased him. He was so close to safety… There was a light shining; he could see the boundary. Gathering what was left of his strength, he cleared the fence in a mighty leap, hitting the ground and rolling until he hit a car, eliciting a pained grunt from him. They couldn't chase him here, could not cross the boundary. His eyes closed as darkness overtook him.

Elves are terrific. They beget terror.

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Robin Goodfellow heard a thud and looked up from her book, frowning. The girl had chosen this cabin specifically because of its distance from the city, to lessen her chance of visitors. She wasn't a very sociable person, by far preferring the quiet and solitude of this forest to the constant noise of the city an hour's drive away. With a vexed sigh, she strode to her door and opened it, peering around her yard.

She almost didn't see him at first – he was but a shadow within shadows. If he hadn't groaned in pain, she would have missed him entirely. All thoughts of caution went out of her head as she at last spotted the man lying near her car – the thump had apparently been him slamming into it – and ran outside the safety of her house, her book falling from numbed fingers as she knelt by the huddled figure.

"Are you all right?" she asked, wide-eyed, touching his shoulder. She could feel something wet and reflexively pulled back. Robin bit her lip – was that hooves she heard? – and attempted to haul him over her shoulder.

It was no go, he was too tall, too heavy.

The girl took him by the other shoulder and gave him a shake. "Hey. Hey! Come on, pull yourself together! I can't carry you inside."

He sat up without warning; Robin jumped back., landing painfully on her rump. Before she could react otherwise, he'd grabbed her by the arms, yellow eyes looking into hers. "You must get inside; they're coming! Can't you smell them?"

"Wh-what?"

He turned his head, looking back the way he must have come; there was something strange about his profile. Before she could figure it out, he swore and rose to his feet in one fluid motion –

And promptly collapsed in a decidedly less graceful one.

"Damn it!" he growled, sounding scared.

Robin took him by the wrist – she dismissed the fur as being part of his jacket, albeit a strange part – and looped one of his arms around her shoulders. "Lean on me," she told him, struggling upright. He came with her, and she nearly fell under his weight. Somehow, he managed to hold enough of his own weight that she could assist him inside. The girl helped him to the couch, then ran back outside for her book.

She didn't see the blood on her hands.

However, she did see the four figures outside her fence, tall and slim, dressed in hooded cloaks. "For God's sake," she muttered softly, "what does a girl have to do to get some solitude these days?" Louder, Robin called, "What do you want?"

A male's voice, strangely sweet, drifted back to her: "Come here, girl."

Robin picked the book up before crossing her arms over her chest. "No."

The male voice – at least she thought it was male, the timbre of the voice had a strange, almost surreal quality to it – laughed lightly, then replied, "Come, child… we only wish to talk to you about your visitor."

Robin's eyes narrowed. How in the nine circles of hell…?

"What visitor?" she asked, pretending ignorance.

The seeming leader of the quartet reached up to remove his hood, but his features were obscured by the night. However, she could see that he was beckoning to her. "The wounded one you so kindly took in," he murmured in a pleasant tone.

Alarm bells started going off in Robin's mind. How had he known? "What about him?" she asked, stalling for time.

Again he beckoned to her, saying in a sort of sing-song, "The wolfling, tall and broad… the wolfling, sweetly bleeding…." Despite the disturbing phrases coming from his mouth, Robin found herself walking towards him and his companions. The song continued, "The wolfling, whitely whimpering, stumbling to your dooryard…"

By sheer force of will, she stopped walking, staring at the four. "You are disturbing me. Go away."

If anything, the musical tone of the man's words only increased. "The wolfling in your chamber… come, sweet maiden! Coyness ill becomes your kindness…" Again he beckoned to her. Robin shook her head, the book falling to the ground again as she brought her hands to her temples. What was wrong with her?

The man stepped forward, his voice weaving soft silver in the darkness as he said, "Give us our desire. Come! So small a favour… Closer, lovely, closer… come to fair Lysander."

Robin felt as though she were in a dream as she approached them. Her musician's ear had never head such a sweet voice, male yet ethereal, and so compelling…

She found herself at the iron fence separating them from her, staring up at the four figures. This close, she could see how alien they were, see the leader's pointed ears, the leaf-shaped clasp holding his cloak together. A bit of her natural smart-assed-ness reared up and managed to say, "Okay, all Legolas wannabes can go home now."

The male – Lysander – simply smiled, an expression that only highlighted his inhuman face as he fixed his eyes on Robin's. "Open your gate, little sparrow," he said, his voice a seductive murmur. "Open your iron cage."

Robin dreamily reached for the latch, but stayed her hand, frowning. What was wrong with her? She did not see his eyes narrow – the human had more willpower than he'd bargained for – as he sang even more clearly, "Open your gate in the moonlight, come to the wildwood dance!" One slim hand, outfitted in a doeskin glove trimmed in ermine, was extended to her. "Take my hand, little mortal…"

This close, she could see how beautiful he was, far beyond any man she'd ever seen. As she reached for his hand, a close observer could see the blankness in her eyes. As it was, the man inside her home swore as he watched the poor girl falling prey to Their spell. No mortal could long resist the glamour, he reflected as he readied himself to flee.

Outside, the leader allowed Robin's fingers to touch his for the barest moment, then drew them away from her. Smiling, Lysander whispered, "Open the gate, and join me." He stepped back, silently drawing the girl to him. She could no longer feel the night's autumn chill, nor even the ground beneath her feet. All she wanted was to obey this lovely man, to make him happy, to feel his arms around her… and yet, even as she reached for the latch, a small voice in the back of her mind insisted something was wrong. However, she ignored it, her hand brushing against the latch –

Another voice sounded from her driveway, a dark voice like metal grinding against metal: "Lysander, is it?"

Instantly, Robin snapped back to her right mind as Lysander spun, a snarl marring his elegant features. With a cry of horror and disgust, Robin sprang away from him and the gate, her eyes wide… and then the gunfire started.

The girl screamed and fell to the ground, her hands over her head, whimpering as she curled up into the foetal position, closing her eyes. There was a shriek as a bullet ricocheted off the fence, and Robin closed her eyes all the tighter. She couldn't see Lysander and his companions turn and flee for the trees, though she heard a cry of pain, clear and musical, in addition to a few whistle-THOK! sounds that seemed to be arrows. It was all over in six seconds; the gunfire ceased as if on cue, and then there was silence.

The silence was broken by Robin's frightened whimpers, then by measured, deliberate footsteps coming up her driveway. They stopped just outside the gate, not a yard from the girl, and that dark voice spoke again, clear and precise: "You've been getting careless, Lysander. Sloppy. People are starting to take notice. More to the point… we are starting to take notice." He seemed to be speaking towards the tree line where the… whatever they'd been… had fled, his tone slightly above conversational, but nonetheless declarative. "Don't make us come out here again."

Then the voice spoke to Robin: "Get up."

After a moment, she uncurled and rose to her feet, looking up at the suited man as he slipped a gun back inside his jacket, moonlight reflecting off his sunglasses. He seemed to be a government agent, perhaps in his late thirties or so. These reflections did not alleviate her fear; her voice shook as she asked, "Who are you?"

He raised an eyebrow, as if her question amused him. "That's not important. What is important is that we were never here. You never saw us, or them. And if you should ever happen to remember that you did, and get the impulse to tell anyone about it, remember this: We can come back… for you.

"Do you understand?"

She nodded silently, adding under her breath, "Like anyone would believe me…"

"Good," he said, and, without another word, turned and walked away. She could see eight other men in suits converge on him, following him as she softly muttered, "Prick." Even in the shadows, she could see him cock his head fractionally to one side, his relentless stride pausing for the barest second, then he moved on.

Wisely, Robin fled inside, her book all but forgotten.

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A young-looking man dropped from the sky to land beside a tall, elegant blonde with a worried expression on her face. "Baital, any sign of Fenris?" she asked him.

He shook his head, sable bangs flying into his face. "None," he replied, folding his bat-like wings against his back. "And they were out."

The woman swore viciously. "Who was leading, could you tell?"

Baital's milky eyes closed. "Cobra… it was him. Lysander."

The woman's slit-pupiled eyes widened. "Source," she whispered. "If that sadist catches Fenris…"

Baital moved towards her, placing a hand on the taller woman's shoulder. "I know, Cobra. I know." He tilted his head to one side. "Get back to the colony. I'll keep looking for him; send Aquila out once it's light."

Cobra took his hand in hers and squeezed it gently. "Take care of yourself, bat. We can't lose you as well."

He nodded, then, unfurling his leathery wings once more, took to the skies in search of his leader. Cobra watched him, then made her way back home. Fenris… you can't fall to him. Not to Lysander.

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A slim, feminine figure exploded out of the water, dragging another figure with her. Both girls gulped in air before gravity dragged them under; the smaller figure immediately kicked for the surface once more, still dragging the other with her as she swam for the edge. Two similar figures followed them; their programs had all terminated in the same instant, when a human had tossed their animal selves into the river. They had started with five; one of them hadn't made it to the surface.

The four remaining, felines all, had only one thought in their minds – survival. The males drew even with the females, then went ahead. The largest of them made it to the shore, staggered out of the river –

A loud crack, almost like thunder –

And he fell back into the river, his expression one of shock. As his body sank below the surface, it slowly reverted back to the form of a stray tom cat. The three remaining submerged immediately, unsure of what to do next. Agents had been deployed almost immediately; there was no way they could make it out!

Again they surfaced, towards the middle of the river. The larger female clung to the smaller, sobbing; the smaller female and the male looked evenly at each other. "I'll distract them," he said quietly. "I'll join you if I can." He touched the smaller female's cheek gently. "Hurry."

She nodded and ducked underwater again, swimming for her life and the life of the frightened girl in her arms. Even under the river, she could hear the gunfire and splash indicating that the other tom had also been deleted. Closing her eyes for a moment, she kept swimming until she reached the other bank, where she dragged the frightened, sobbing girl out of the water with her.

Moonlight bathed them both, revealing triangular ears resting sedately atop their skulls, poking up from wet, tangled hair, and soaked tails protruding from their spines. The smaller anthropomorph was clearly the younger, her face resembling that of a human prepubescent, though covered in short grey-striped fur.

The other anthro was feline as well, though her fur was longer and white, indicating Persian lineage. The tabby held her close, letting her sob desperately into her shoulder.

Her sharp ears caught the click of a gun's hammer pulling back, and she closed her eyes, curling around the Persian. They'd been caught; their Exile was at an end.

Before the Agent could pull the trigger, there was a fearsome snarl, then another anthropomorph sprang out of hiding at the Agent, raking sharp claws across its chest. "Run, you idiot girl!" the newcomer yelled at the tabby, grabbing the Agent's gun hand and wrenching it upwards.

The tabby didn't wait to see the outcome, hauling the Persian to her feet and fleeing the scene. She quickly heard the pounding feet of their saviour, then without warning he had snatched her off the ground, holding her under his arm as he carried the Persian over his shoulder. "Hang on!" he snapped, then jumped.

Startled, frightened, the tabby squeezed her eyes shut and clung to him, waiting for the ride to end.

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The 'elves are' wordplay comes entirely from Lords and Ladies by Terry Pratchett and I claim no ownership to it. However, I highly recommend this book by the world's greatest satirist since the d00d who wrote Gulliver's Travels.

This fic is a work-in-progress as well as a side-story to a Matrix Alternate Universe fanfic series (Strange Attractors) by Laurie E. Smith. Updating schedule may vary.

Spelling is UK, grammar varies between UK and US. Slang varies depending upon the character's origins; default is US.

Constructive criticism welcome.

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Current music: Hey, Mama by Black-Eyed Peas