Chapter 1: Arrow
She could feel eyes upon her. Not at all threatened, the maiden continued her swim, patiently anticipating her visitor. There were few who would have followed her here. Nor any who would bother to steal her garments, which she didn't concern herself with keeping an eye on. No matter the intruder, neither greeting nor fighting nude concerned her. Besides, she thought, I know this territory like Skywise knows his stars. This lake is mine.
The rest of her tribe had been slow to adopt the Wolfriders' ways, but for this huntress, it was the reason she'd made the journey. She was also the first to call herself by a new name.
Deepsong.
Noticing fresh tracks on his path, unknown to the others, he'd been compelled to follow them. There was really nothing else to do. After all, he was a quick learner, and desired no more of the elves' teachings. He felt he fulfilled his tribal obligations and spent no extra effort for their sake. This was not to say that he didn't care for them, just that he wouldn't be one to coddle, and never had been. It was well known that he was one of the most responsible in terms of duties and always finished with time to spare, which he used to contemplate what to do with this new life, having been satisfied to leave his old one behind.
Happy? An elusive feeling for him, and so satisfaction had been more than enough. Which is why he'd ceased to care what name he was called by. Heather, who now called herself Deepsong, had given him his new name. He knew she'd thought intensely about it, and quite possibly he wouldn't have accepted it from anyone else.
Lonestep.
Deepsong hugged herself against the cold, waistlength hair draped over her back and breasts. "Damn!" she cursed aloud, detesting the fact that she was still so sensitive to such everyday things. Nonetheless, it was time to go. The day's moment of seclusion had been indulged, and there was still the matter of her hesitant company. With her back to the woods, Deepsong began to wring out her hair. "You can come out now", she called without fear. Must be and elf, she mused. One of mine would have clumsily made themselves known by now.
"All right, Wolfrider. Tell me what my humans have done now!" While most of them had readily accepted her tribe after Cutter and Leetah's reassurances, one or two elders remained set in their opinion of humans. Cutter, the blessed kinseeker that he was, saw it as a great opportunity to bridge the gap of hate and ignorance. A few Wolfriders playfully took it upon themselves to test the humans' ability to adapt, and would play pranks or games of chase-tail.
Deepsong suspected her visitor to be one of them. But when she turned to face her nameless compainion, and entirely different being filled her view.
And she suddenly wondered how she had ever seen anyone else.
Lonestep wouldn't have been at all suprised to see and elf maiden enjoying the revitalization of an au naturale dip, but he didn't expect a Wolfrider to wander this far from the Holt. The humans had the freedom to trek as far and often as they liked, while their neighbors had to restrict themselves to traditional territory. But territory or not, he'd been traveling this path regularly for months and this was the first time he'd found tracks other than the wolves' or his own. If ever he had considered himself territorial, it would be over this. Although he did not regret leaving his old life behind, he still had to endure the constant skepticism and mistrust not only among the four-fingered one, but his own people as well.
The lake--his lake--was the only refuge he had other than the friendship of Farvoice and Deepsong. The only escape from the pulsing monotony of surviving day to day. He'd left one meaningless existence for another.
And so he gave chase. He'd never run to reach something so trivial, never wanted to protect anything in this new land. Yet his feet coludn't be stilled, his heart kept from pounding. He sprinted forward in complete silence, mindful not to turn a single leaf. Everything he had learned from the Wolfriders had been without saying thank you, and few questioned it.
He found himself thanking them now. Lonestep reached an arm over his head, fingers curling around the fletch of one of his arrows. Notching it just as he sprang into the open, Lonestep raised his bow eye-level, and thought on his foolishness. How obvious. The only female of ours to travel this far on foot. Though he wasn't at all suprised to see her unclothed, and had on several occasions before their exodus, it had never affected him.
Until now.
Deepsong had ceased being modest once in her new home, but suddenly felt ashamed. She would have made a scramble for her clothes, but knew better than to panic with an arrow pointed at her, be it friend or foe. And she didn't put it past him, with all that he'd suffered in his young life. Of course, she thought. This would be his. How selfish of me. Taking slow, deliberate steps, Deepsong trudged up onto the bank, subconciously feeling out every grain of silt sliding beneathe her feet.
Lonestep gave no slack to his bowstring as she approached and faced him straight down the shaft of his arrow. Deepsong took in its earthen scent, mingled with the afterglow of Treestump's forge. Whatever he intended to do, she didn't care. He was her cherished one, whom she had charged herself with taking care of, with protecting him from himself. From the beginning she had accepted that she was responsible for the collective well being of her tribe.
Down to the last insecure arrow.
Lonestep gave little thought to what he was doing. He only knew that she had intruded upon his sanctuary, something he would not tolerate. Even in his old life, he had always been disgusted with the thought that he may have treated someone differently due to biases. That included being gentler with any particular person for friendship's sake, and while he cherished hers greatly, Lonestep refused to let it overthrow his reasoning.
Heather understood this, he knew. But did Deepsong?
Suddenly all the rules were changed, and Lonestep resolved to let this new person know that things would not be different, they couldn't. He would make this clear. Shoot her, he urged himself. The shoulder, or maybe the foot. Just a warning. It doesn't matter, as long as you SHOOT!
And then his heart lept for her, and he let the arrow carry it to Deepsong, not Heather, without thinking.