Dorion put Laurëa down on the forest floor out of pure exhaustion. After three hours of carrying the girl over his back his strength was nearly spent.
"Alright," he said, catching his breath, "you sit here. I'll get us some food."
He wandered to his pack and got out a dried loaf of bread and fruit. He turned around to see a very agitated young individual giving him the glare only women can give.
Dorion smirked, handed her a piece of bread, and sat down across from her. Once the silence was overwhelming, he spoke up. "It's nice out today, isn't it?"

Laurëa ignored the Prince's peace offering of food. She would not touch anything his vile hands had prepared, she vowed. The sounds of early morning in the forest echoed around them as neither of them said anything. Laurëa smirked. Silence she could handle.
The silence was finally broken by the Prince, as she knew it would be. Pathetic, thought Laurëa. He lasted a minute only to talk about the weather.
"I suppose," Laurëa sneered. "That is, of course if you don't mind the sun glaring too brightly or the birds chirping too loudly or your company braying like a mule." It was the Prince who had decided to pick her up and haul her into the forest. Laurëa decided she might as well have a little fun. He'll have me home by noon, she thought wickedly.

Dorion choked on his bread. Mule!
He brushed that comment off and laid down his food, situating himself directly across from her. He wanted to make a complete connection. This was going to be fun, taming the beast within.
"That's a lovely observation," he lied, "I've never been called a mule. You know, mules are hardy creatures. They are very good at working and maintaining the land on which our food is produced." Dorion twisted his mouth in what he hoped was more than a precarious grin.

Laurëa smirked at the irritated look behind the Prince's smile. "That may be so, but I've never thought of them good for anything but hard labor. They are stubborn, single-minded, loud, ungrateful for what they are given, have quite a loathsome stench, and," her eyes glittered maliciously as she looked pointedly at Dorion, "they are half-breeds. Both donkey and horse, but possessing qualities of neither."

Dorion froze at her last comment. His hands became clammy and cold and sweat began to appear on his forehead. But he had to keep his composure; she couldn't win. The triumphant and smug look on her face as they stared each other down finally made him avert his eyes.
"I suppose half breeds aren't that great, are they…," he muttered to himself. He stood up, stretching out a bit and cracking his neck.
"Well, miss, I will leave you now. I will continue on my own, but you can go back home if you'd like. But know there are terribly frightening things in the woods, many terrible things. I just hope you make it out alive." With that he bowed cheerily to her. "Good-bye Laurëa."
He picked up his things and walked briskly off toward the general direction of a small valley, wondering if she really had the nerve to go back home after all this. Was he being stupid for giving her this chance?

Laurëa sneered at Prince Dorion as he stomped off into the denser forest. He'll be back, she thought sourly. She remained sitting on the forest floor, in as dignified a position as she could muster, glaring after the Prince. After a minute or so, a worried look crossed Laurëa's face when a sudden thought entered her mind. He's got my clothes! She looked around her quickly, the absence of her things proving what she had dreaded to be true.
Grumbling at having to concede this victory to the Prince, Laurëa got up, dusted off her night dress, and strode off in the direction Prince Dorion had left. When she thought she was within hearing distance of him she called out, "Prince! Return me my clothes at once!" She waited a moment, but there was no response. "Prince Dorion! You may go on your merry way but I need my clothes first!"
Laurëa let out an aggravated growl when she still did not see or hear the Prince. The sudden thought crossed her mind that she may have gotten...No. A daughter of Leeum would never be lost, she thought firmly. This did little to reassure her, but still she walked on through the trees, calling after Prince Dorion.
Suddenly, Laurëa heard a twig snap behind her. She whirled around, expecting to see the Prince and give him a good lashing at, but to her surprise no one was there. "Prince Dorion?" she ventured.

Dorion walked without a thought for about ten minutes, then he began to worry. The girl wasn't following him; he didn't hear a thing. The silence of the woods made him shiver. He decided to turn back. Within a short while, he heard her irritated voice once again. Laughing, he hid behind a tree, close enough to hear her but not to be heard or seen.
Laurëa seemed fine at first, but how fine can a women be without her most precious belongings? He snickered as he looked down into his sacs. I do have her clothing, don't I? he thought to himself.
He was about to make a move toward her when a twig snap caught his attention. Laurëa had heard it to. She called out to him, but he did not answer, his ears strained for another sound.
Shortly a strange noise emanated from behind Laurëa and a low growl was heard. Dorion suddenly realized what was happening: it was an animal.
All at once he beast lunged out of the shrubs and put itself in between Laurëa and Dorion. It appeared to be a wolf. It was gray with blacked tipped ears and tail, its eyes like fire, its fangs foaming with hunger or rage. It began to corner Laurëa up against a tree, snarling viciously.
Dorion unsheathed his sword and jumped out in front of the beast, Laurëa taking in sharp breaths behind him.
The wolf snarled and growled, edging closer to Dorion with its teeth bared.
"Come and get me," said Dorion with laughter and malice behind his gaze. The wolf lunged at him, knocking him and his sword down. Dorion was able to get his sword in time before the wolf made another move. With quick efficiency, Dorion plunged the sword into the wolf's side, hitting a vital organ. It died and lay still.
Dorion stood up, breathing hard, and returned his sword to his side. Upon stepping closer to the dead wolf, Dorion could see the beast had some kind of leather collar around its neck.
Engraved in Elvish scrawl on the collar was the name "Elf Killer."

Dorion grimaced. "Who would name their dog, Elf Killer?" he wondered aloud.
He then looked back at Laurëa, who was trembling against a tree. "It's okay," he said to her.
Not waiting for her reply, Dorion bent down and examined the wolf. Not only did it have the collar, but it had a strange mark on its back, apparently chemically put on, in the shape of an arrow and some bird of prey, not unlike the bird of Hunvel.
Knowing he had seen it somewhere, Dorion silently pulled out his history book. He turned to the first page where the steward Authon had written to his father many years ago. Next to Authon's name was the same emblem engraved on the wolf. He froze.

Laurëa was hardly reassured by the Prince's words. "Okay? A savage beast nearly kills me and you say it's okay?" she snarled, still breathing hard. However, the Prince seemed not to hear her. He was examining the wolf's neck with an expression Laurëa could not quite define. Still staring at the neck, the Prince pulled out a book---that history book again!---and opened it to the first page. Laurëa watched him read for a moment, then suddenly he froze, a frightened and confused look on his face. Despite herself, Laurëa stepped over to him. "What is it?"

Dorion clutched the book, making a fist with his other hand and slamming it hard on the ground.
The air of the forest grew thick and the sun beams from above cast down on the scene. It was about noon but Dorion felt like it could very well be midnight.
He stood up next to Laurëa. "I don't know exactly, but if my instincts are correct, we have an enemy on our tails."

He rolled the wolf carcass over to show Laurëa the mark in comparison to the symbol in the book.
"See," he said, "the mark of the Steward."

"The Steward? But my father is..." Laurëa trailed off as her eyes skimmed the page of the Prince's book. Authon? Why is that name so familiar? she thought as she read. Her father had been the Steward of Hunvel for nearly eighteen years, she was told. My father... Laurëa let out a small gasp as she remembered the look in her father's eyes not too long ago as he was reading the letter that had been nailed to their front door. Authon has returned, he said.
"Authon, former Steward of Hunvel," Laurëa said after a moment. "You told me of him not too long ago. But what does he have to do with anything? Why would an enemy be following us?" Though she tried to convince herself it was of little importance, nothing could shake the image of that look in her father's eyes as he had whispered the former Steward's name.

"I don't know why. But I have a feeling that he is no good," said Dorion quietly. He began to pick up his things and handed Laurëa her sack of clothes. "We need to get out of here. Who knows if other animals will come after us?"

Once inside his room, Gerard saw Anita with her ear against the wall and Ronin standing beside her, awake now but slightly pale. "Gerard, come here! Listen! It's the elf and those men. They're talking about Hunvel!" she whispered to him. The redhead hurried over to the wall to listen.

Though Ronin was standing at the wall listening, hardly a word registered. His head was pounding fiercely and he could not concentrate.

Anita, Gerard and Ronin eavesdropped in complete silence, except for the harsh voices of the occupants in the other room.

"The princes are gone, this is just what we have been waiting for," said a drawling voice with a dark timbre. "If we can kill them off now, goodbye to the heirs of the throne." Anita could almost hear his smirk.
"But what about that steward, Leeum?" one voice asked.
"Him?" The voice held such malice that even the silence was loud in the other room, there was a long pause. "I shall take care of him. His family, too. He is already disliked by many Elves on account of his past. We can stir some rumors up, get the public angry, and frame him for the kidnapping of the princes. Any form of disloyalty to the throne, be it in thought or action, can rip one of the title 'steward.' We have to get him out of the way, make the Elves see my way, and then I will rule Hunvel, once the King, Queen and their two sniveling children are dead!"

"They're going to kill my mother and father!" Ronin yelled, pushing himself off the wall and standing up. The others winced at the sudden break in the silence, hoping he hadn't been heard through the startlingly thin walls.
"We have to get back to Hunvel and warn them," he said, ignoring his pounding headache as he began to gather his things and shove them into his bag.

There was a crash in the other room, and a string of profanities wafted through the walls. "They heard," Gerard whispered, his face white.

"I know!" Anita replied with wide eyes. "Quick, outside!" Anita grabbed her things as well as Ronin's hand. Gerard flung open the door and the three of them sprinted across the room, knocking over chairs as they went.

Although the Elf and his thugs raced to discover their eavesdroppers in the next room, they weren't fast enough; when they threw open the door to the youths' room, they found it empty. "They're getting away boss!" the scrawny one whined.
"I know," the Elf, Authon, snarled. "Tirithiel! Let's go!"