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III III III

Delior's tale had accomplished one thing after all: Anne did not spend another thought on bugs that night. It still took a long time for her to fall asleep though, and when the Elf roused her, she felt like she had barely closed her eyes.

The sky was a pale blue and the sun, though barely risen, warmed her face when she stumbled out of the cave. Despite the short night's rest, Anne felt her spirits rising. Nothing like a bright morning to lift the mood, she thought, unable to keep a smile from stealing on her face. Maybe she could get used to this after all. If the weather remained agreeable, that was. In the pale light that now fell in through the entrance, she was able to explore the small cave a little more thoroughly. It was rather unspectacular, and to her great relief, she did not come across a single bug. In a corner, she found, neatly stacked, a small pile of dry wood. Delior guessed that it probably had been left by other travellers rather than by the 'original occupant of the cave' ("Honestly, girl…"), presumably Rangers, who were known to patrol these regions.

Anne asked him whether it would now be safe to build a fire, but he was hesitant, pointedly explaining to her that it would be unwise to draw any more attention to their presence with the rising of smoke. Anne bit her lip and scowled slightly, rightly guessing that he was referring to her performance from the previous evening. She then watched him as he climbed the cliff like a chamois and, at a height of perhaps twenty feet, paused to turn and gaze around, not even bothering to hold on to the rock or the dry weeds and yellowish grass that were sparsely growing here and there.

He looked quite impressive, standing there on the scarp - appearing ridiculously tall (even more than usual, that is), with his hair blowing in the slight breeze and his sharp gaze cast into the distance. No doubt, had anyone seen him, they would have thought to themselves:

What a heroic sight!

What a swank! was all that Anne could think though, still being a little sore from his reminder of last night. It was easy for him to talk. He obviously wasn't bothered by the prospect of bugs the size of… well a couple of sizes too big at any rate, wandering about underneath one's clothes.

Probably a caveman through and through, just like she had first suspected.

The 'caveman' - or cave-elf, if something like that existed – returned from his impromptu observation point and generously informed her that they could risk building a fire. During breakfast (which consisted mainly of cold vegetable stew and overripe blackberries they had found the previous afternoon) Anne's mood improved again. Delior had made a strange herbal tea, also using some of the blackberries. It tasted quite good, she had to admit, and after drinking it she felt refreshed and somewhat much more awake than before. She had seen him mix in some sort of clumpy brown powder as well, although she had no idea what it might have been. Perhaps that was where the spicy flavour came from. There was, at any rate, a fair amount of peppermint in the concoction, the scent of which she had noticed coming from the Elf before, from time to time. Since Anne had also seen him chew the leaves of the herb every so often, she wondered whether this was something he was actually just fond of. Somehow, this notion made him seem a little more human; Anne had to suppress a chortle at the thought.

Once they had finished their meal, Anne went to find the little creek that could be heard burbling down the slope (and probably would meet the Gladden River at some point), in order to do her morning wash. When she returned a little later, Delior gave her an odd look, but she suspected that she had simply taken too long for the noble master's liking once again. Therefore she paid him no mind, but walked over to the horses and began to saddle Peg – which she was now finally able to do by herself. It was probably due to her concentrating on the task at hand that she did not hear him approach, rather than him actually bothering to move soundlessly, but whatever the case - upon turning around to go and fetch her blankets, she found him standing right behind her, causing her to jump.

"What the -" she gasped, reflexively raising her arm, and then glared up at him.

He said nothing, but instead grasped her by the wrist and pulled her arm in front of his face.

"What are you -"

"You smell of Hûdâl."

Anne just stared at him in incomprehension. "I'm… sorry?" she said frowning, not really knowing whether this was an insult or not.

"You should be."

Well, so much for that.

He lowered his head a little and breathed in through the nose. "Yes, certainly Hûdâl – or Dog Feet in your language."

Anne yanked her arm out of his grip, hid both hands behind her back and - only to be on the safe side - also retreated a step before he could tell her that her hair smelled like a horsetail, or something along those lines.

"Ah, well - I am glad we… talked about it," she muttered, incensed.

"It is a plant," he clarified then. "I assume it was one of the herbs which you used on your skin and hair."

Anne felt her cheeks grow hot. "How… how did you –" she spluttered.

"It was rather obvious. Not only the scent on you right after you came back from the river, but also that of the herbs you took with you in your bags."

"I thought they would not smell so intensely after they had dried a bit," Anne muttered, turning away from him to finally get her blankets and skins from the ground, but also —and mainly— in order to hide her red face. She was sure that it was red.

"Not for a human nose, perhaps." The condescension in the Elf's voice was almost corporeal. "You should wash it off," he advised, glancing back at her over his shoulder as he began to ready his horse. "It was probably the scent of the Hûdâl that attracted the insect."

Anne made a noncommittal noise while packing up her bed. Why did she feel so… caught? Certainly that herbal scent of his hair was not natural either? Oh dear, she really hoped that it wasn't. The world was an unfair place.

:::

Since the road was in such a bad condition, they made only slow progress at times, though Delior seemed to be confident that the path would improve on their way down from the pass. Anne did not find that outlook very helpful as she was scrambling along behind him. After all – they would be going downhill then, it had to be at least a little better, had it not?

It was their third night in the mountains with little shelter and no fire. An icy wind was blowing Anne's hair into her face, no matter in which direction she turned her head. She could not sleep. The moon was almost full and shone brightly. Every now and then it would be veiled by rapidly passing shreds of cloud, but that only appeared to add to the general feeling of disquiet and unease. Finally she dozed off, but woke again only minutes later – or at least so it felt to her. Turning around, she saw that Delior was gone.

This did not, at once, overly alarm her, as she was sure that he had to be somewhere nearby. Anne assumed that he was feeling as restless as she was herself, and therefore had probably taken a walk. However, when she waited and waited and he did not return, she began to feel a little anxious. Anne hated to admit it, but she knew that she would never be able to fall asleep again, while he was gone.

With a sigh, she worked herself out of her blankets, pulled on her boots and got to her feet. After wrapping herself into her cloak, she checked on the horses - they stood calmly side by side, shielding each other from the cold wind – and then began following the path down a little slope, where it seemed to disappear between thick growing brambles and low, windswept pines. As a matter of fact, there were only two directions in which the Elf could have wandered off, and by chance, she had chosen the right one.

She heard him before she saw him.

Of course, this alone would have been enough reason to wonder, but the fact got sort of lost in the whole situation, and therefore Anne did not really marvel at it the way she otherwise might have. It was a quiet gasp that reached her ears first, followed by a muffled thud. Suddenly the moon reappeared from behind another wisp of cloud, casting its cold light on a scene that caused the young woman to freeze in place.

The Elf stood near one of the old pines, slightly bent forward, with his head bowed so low that his face was near hidden behind a curtain of his long hair. One of his hands was resting on the slightly twisted trunk, his long fingers spread, ghostly white against the tree's bark. Anne could see his shoulders and back moving, as if he was breathing heavily. His other hand was on his chest, or a little below, a pale shape against the dark fabric of his upper garment.

Later, she would not remember whether or not she had made a sound or a movement that alerted him. Perhaps he had simply sensed her presence. Whatever it had been - he slightly lifted his head, though she still couldn't see his face. Then, slowly, he straightened up and turned towards her; Anne felt the sudden and strange urge to retreat as fast as she could, but her feet appeared to be rooted to the spot. Finally Delior looked up at her; his face looked like that of a skull in the sharp contrast of the moonlight and its shadows.

"What are you doing here?"

His voice was harsh, but apart from that, it sounded – and Anne had no idea why she felt so relieved by this – the same as ever.

"I … I woke up, and … you - you were gone, and … I waited, but –" Anne began to stutter, but was interrupted as he quickly strode towards her, grabbed her arm and began dragging her back the way she had just come.

He was less than tender with her, and Anne could barely suppress a whimper, but her protest remained rather feeble. For the first time in a long while, she was scared of him. Delior only let go of her when they had reached the face of the cliff where their camping-place was.

"I told you to stay here and not to wander off," he said in a low, but still harsh voice to Anne, who had stumbled a little after being let go so suddenly and was now straightening up.

Strictly speaking, he had told her no such thing, at least not today —though, admittedly, on many other occasions— and Anne was just about to defiantly remind him of that when she saw the look in his eyes - and quickly dropped the idea.

"You were gone," she said instead. "I could not sleep, and since you did not return for quite some time… but... is that really the problem here?"

There was a small pause before his cold reply came. "And what would the problem be?"

She just stared at him for a moment. Had he not been there, too, just now? What was he playing at? Was he perhaps about to suggest that she had imagined it all? Despite her indignation, the following words took all the courage she could muster.

"Something is wrong with..." She had been about to say 'you', but thought better of it. "You cannot deny…"

Due to the moonlight, Anne had no difficulties seeing his eyes, which looked almost black, as they narrowed even further, the anger very clear in them for once. She would not have minded a little clouding over, right about now.

"I assure you, nothing is wrong with me." His voice was an icy wisp.

Anne could not believe it. Was it possible that he, for some strange reason, did not remember anything? But, no – the only reason he was so angry with her was because she had found him there. She had often stolen away from their camping-places before, and, in search of a secluded spot, sometimes walked much further. He had never blinked an eye then.

"I saw you!" she finally said. "How can you say—"

Anne had not even been sure what she was about to ask but it mattered little, since she found herself deprived of her personal space for the second time this night. Now with the added comfort of having her back pressed against a solid and rather jagged wall of rock. Very obliging.

Before she could do anything else than look up at the Elf in shock, he lowered his head until they were almost on eye level and spoke, his voice deepening with every word, while his fingers were painfully digging into her shoulder.

"Never follow me again. And do not speak of things you know nothing about."

Anne winced in his grip. The apparent effortlessness with which he held her against the wall scared her, but at the same time she felt defiance rise in her. Was it her fault that she knew nothing about… anything? He certainly did not help the 'problem' by practically never talking to her. Of course, they hardly knew each other, so whatever was going on with him might be none of her concern, but he could hardly reproach her for her lack of knowledge, could he? She knew it was probably extremely stupid to provoke him even further, but she could not help herself. Perhaps it was the thrill of him finally showing something akin to emotion, or maybe she was just prone to belligerence.

"You never sleep," she whispered shakily.

For a second he seemed perplexed by the apparent and sudden change of subject.

"What?"

"Never… even when sometimes I lie awake for hours, I never see you sleep... ever. And I did not need to follow you anywhere to notice that."

He let go of Anne and turned away, leaving her feeling as if a door had been slammed shut in her face. Whatever had been going on - it was over. He was back in control, the mask was back on. His voice when he answered her was bare of any emotion.

"We do not require sleep as mortals do, we are able to rest in different ways."

"Well, you do not look very rested to me either," Anne said promptly, vaguely wondering whether being slammed against the rock had somehow affected her clear thinking and sense of self-preservation.

He turned his head to look back at her, and under the deceptive moonlight, it almost looked like there was a derisive smile on his lips. As she had never seen him smile and therefore had nothing to compare, it was hard to tell though.

"You worry about me?"

All right, the tone was derisive.

"No! I mean…"

Did she? Technically she had no reason to, it was his business what he did to himself. "I don't know, perhaps… It's just – it does seem like something is amiss. I know it's none of my business, and I understand if you don't want to tell me anything." Although any halfway civilised person might make a little more of an effort, she secretly thought. "But you could at least explain why—"

The Elf stopped her with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"I do not need to explain myself to you," he said coldly. "This is not a situation I would have chosen for myself, had it been in my power. I do not wish for your company, nor for your compassion or pity. And believe me – you do not wish to know any more about me."

:::

Anne still felt upset and humiliated, not to mention slightly unsettled, when they set off in the morning. After those last withering words of the Elf, she had not dared to say anything else, but followed his example of maintaining a deafening silence. (Though in her case it was probably rather a sulky one.) Mostly she was angry with herself for even being offended. That was actually the crux of the matter -

Why did she care?

For some reason, she felt almost rejected by him, and that was ridiculous, so she told herself. So he did not want to share his strange and dark secrets with her, why was that a big deal? They were, after all, not exactly friends. Or, to be more precise, they were most definitely not friends. And he was right about one thing: she did not want to know any more about him. They would not be together for much longer, so why would it matter - what would be the point? Was it, perhaps, because it felt easier and better to think about him than about herself? That would be the only halfway acceptable explanation for her irrational feelings…

Needless to say, Anne spent – contrary to her inner declarations - most of the day in a sullen mood. Delior was cool, indifferent and unapproachable – in other words, he was the same as always.

And yet…

Anne could not put a finger on it, and it might very well have been her imagination, but somehow the atmosphere seemed different. Later, Anne would sometimes wonder whether her discovering Delior that night and the following 'dispute' might not have had another, or stronger influence on their relationship —the term being arguable— if it had not been for the events of this afternoon.

The scenery had become gradually greener; matted undergrowth and thorny bushes fringed their path, and even the meagre birches and crooked maples made for a nice change. They had reached a spot where the thickets almost formed a hedge, when Dûrfang suddenly gave a loud snort and shied. Delior spoke calmingly to the horse, one hand flat against the animal's neck, until it settled and stood still.

"Wait here," Delior said, without turning his head. Then he urged Dûrfang into a walk again; although still puffing nervously, the stallion obeyed, and the pair of them vanished between the high bushes.

Feeling a mix of puzzlement, annoyance and a little fear, Anne struggled to steady Peg, who seemed reluctant to stay behind after the other horse had gone.

Delior did not take long, however. Soon he reappeared from behind the thicket, motioning for Anne to follow. She looked at him questioningly.

"It is safe," he said by way of explanation. "Come now, there is no other secure path down these slopes."

Anne rode after him in utter bewilderment. What was safe? Why would they need another way down?

A minute later she knew why.

As soon as they had passed the last sprawling scrub, Anne could see that they had reached a small, open space. Several tents and awnings of varying sizes had been erected on the grass- and moss-covered ground. It seemed completely deserted; the remnants of fire pits could be seen here and there, as well as, for some reason, bundles of cloth and old sacks. It was deathly quiet. Anne noticed a strange, sweetish smell. She stared down at one of the sacks. Something yellowish-grey and pale was visible under the dark material…

It was a human hand.

She felt horror and nausea build up inside her and gasped, clapping a hand in front of her mouth as she gazed around and realised that what she had thought to be bundles and sacks were, in fact, bodies.

"What… what happened?" she muttered from behind her hand.

"Wood Men… they were ambushed here, it would appear," came Delior's calm reply.

"By whom?" Anne suddenly remembered the strange sound they had heard during their night in the little cave. Delior had said it was far away, then.

She swallowed, feeling like she was trying to gulp down something very large and hard. "Them… the altered…"

The Elf turned to look at her for what seemed like the first time that day. His gaze was as quiet as his voice, though there was something searching in his grey eyes.

"Yes, I think."

Delior cast a last glance around. "Come," he then said, urging his horse forward and to a faster pace.

Anne followed, trying not to breathe too deeply and deliberately kept her eyes away from the bundles on the ground. They had just left the last tent behind them, when something bright red caught her eye. It was so strange because she had not seen the colour for so long, otherwise she probably would not even have looked.

It was not the red of blood. There was a lot of blood, but it had long dried and was not red anymore.

The woman was lying on her back, her arms tied above her head, which had lolled to the side. Someone had wrapped a coarse piece of cloth around her face. A few strands of auburn hair had escaped from underneath the linen and were gleaming in the afternoon sun. The top of her dress had been crudely ripped open, and her white breasts were exposed, or rather what was left of them. The whole chest was covered in deep gashes, as if someone had tried to carve something into the flesh. The skirt was shoved up around her waist, and her legs were spread unnaturally wide. The inside of her thighs and the ground underneath was rust-coloured. And there, between the woman's legs were the bright red spots, Anne had seen out of the corner of her eyes: Berries, scarlet-red berries on a long, thorny branch. Bound to it was a feather, like some grotesque caricature of a flagpole.

"Anne!" Somehow Delior's sharp voice penetrated her stupor. Slowly and disorientated she looked up at his alarmed face. "Come," he said again, more urgently than she had ever heard him speak. He then gave another sharp command – Anne did not understand the word, so it was probably the Elf's own tongue and directed at Dûrfang – and sure enough, both horses fell into a swift trot. Anne turned her head to look back, but the gruesome sight had already disappeared behind the shrubbery. Soon they were forced to slow down to a walk once more, as the ground became steeper again.

Anne barely noticed it – barely noticed that they were moving at all. Her brain seemed to be numb with shock. Or perhaps not… at least it was alternating between showing her a very clear image of what she had just seen, and replaying another scene that already seemed so long ago… herself lying on the ground in the forest with strange men surrounding her, bending over her, holding her down… ripping at her clothes, forcing her legs apart…

Anne's thoughts were working like a clockwork. 'The altered ones… that dead woman… that might have been me… could have been me… it would have been me, if Delior had not… if he had not…'

She felt strange. As if something very heavy was pressing down on her – it made it hard to breathe, to think clearly. Dimly she became aware that they had stopped, and that Delior had half turned his horse and seemed to be looking at her. Without a word – her throat felt so tight, surely she would not have been able to speak anyway – she slid out of the saddle and staggered a couple of steps away from the path and into the underbrush. There she paused – black spots were dancing in front of her eyes – and held on to a gnarled little tree while trying to calm the ragged gasps that she only now realised were coming from her.

The heavy thing now seemed to be inside of her, squeezing her lungs together for a change. Why did it feel like she was breathing only in her throat? She was not supposed to, she was sure; there was not enough room...

She sensed a movement behind her; turning, she saw that Delior had followed her into the copsewood. At the same time, she felt something run down her cheek and automatically raised a hand to wipe it off. Why was she crying?

Her first attempt to speak produced no words, but merely a weak, squeaking noise, so she swallowed a couple of times and tried again.

"Than- thank you…," she finally managed to hoarsely press out.

The Elf stood there mutely, calmly holding her gaze. At length, his eyes wandered away from her face, as if seeking something distant, before flitting back to her.

"We should not linger here," he said quietly, in a tone he had never used with her before.

Anne felt nothing but numb surprise at suddenly leaning against him; she had not noticed how her knees had given in, had barely realised that she had stumbled forward. Now she was aware of his warm chest moving almost unnoticeable against her, and his slow heartbeat - somewhere next to her right temple - but of little else.

He stood quite still, made no move to touch or comfort her in any way — but he did not back away either.

She was unable to stop the flow of her tears, but somehow, by drawing deep, calming breaths, she managed to remain silent – for that seemed important to her for some reason. The dying remnants of her dignity, perhaps, or a final thread of composure… composure she needed to keep her hands at her sides - balled into fists to keep herself from reaching for him, clinging to his arms.

A few strands of his hair fell onto her shoulder and lightly brushed her cheek, as he tilted his head. His warm breath grazed her forehead when his gentle voice reached her ears.

"I thought I told you to wash off that dreadful scent."

"I tried," she half-whispered, half-sobbed.

She felt his warm fingers close over her clenched hands.

III III III

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AN: God, I don't think I've ever uploaded anything this early in the morning (late night doesn't count), but I'm off to a very rainy Denmark and wanted to update before leaving.

About that scene in the camp with the dead woman – I know it's a lot darker than anything we've had so far, and you may rest assured that I will not make that a habit from now on, but it had to be shown. For one thing, I wanted to make it clear what people are up against, and for another, it's necessary for Anne to face what she experienced herself. At least I think I'm still within my rating… :-/

I actually debated with myself whether or not I should place a warning at the beginning of the chapter, but I couldn't have done that without putting up a major spoiler. Therefore I apologize in case anyone found this too upsetting.