The rain came down on Arlen's hood heavily as he looked for a place to camp. It had been two days since leaving Jerrell's caravan and already he was tired. He wasn't a very good rider, and while he managed to keep a good pace, he had fallen off his borrowed horse and into mud multiple times. He was bruised and dirty, but he was sure that he was making good time.

The place he was going through was hilly and flooded. His last campsite was in a bad spot, and he may have a cold. He was looking for a cave or something to camp in, but he doubted he would tonight.

Out of nowhere he sneezed and fell off his horse. As he crashed to the ground, the horse ran off and hurt his shoulder. As he got up to chase after the darn horse, he felt a great pain in his shoulder. It was dislocated, and he didn't have the means to fix it right now. He still ran after the horse, hoping that he could catch it.

As he followed it past a hill he found a campsite. The campsite was void of all life, but there were signs that someone had been there recently. As he looked around he was tackled to the ground by someone. When he finally got a good look at his attacker his foot was on his muddy chest.

It was an Elf man with a curved sword and black hair. His garb looked as if he had been traveling for a while, and he had a long scar on his face—something he had never seen an Elf have. He looked at Arlen gravely. "Human, is that your horse?" he asked.

"Yes," Arlen said, strained by the pressure of the Elf's foot on his chest.

"He does not seem to like you," the Elf replied. "Perhaps he is stolen."

"My sister's betrothed gave it to me so that I could get to Aberon faster," Arlen said. "I'm not a great rider."

"I suppose not," the Elf said. "But what reason do you have for me to believe you, thief?"

"None, I suppose," Arlen replied. His father taught him to be truthful when you're cornered because you can't get in much more trouble and the truth could help you out of it. Of course, there were many things that he could tell the Elf that he probably wouldn't believe because he didn't have much proof of it. "But you may have shattered the mirror I was given."

The Elf cocked an eyebrow. "What mirror?"

"It's in my shirt left of your foot."

The Elf shifted his foot slightly, touching the mirror's edge. Confused, the Elf nudged it again. "It seems to be intact. Whoever built it did sturdy work." That made sense; they probably used magic to make it so durable. "Now how should I determine your guilt or innocence?"

Suddenly Arlen felt his mind being attacked. He held fast to his defenses, being strong and sturdy like cold steel. The Elf attacked and attacked, at which point Arlen decided to be bold and counterattacked. He kicked the Elf in the side, surprising him and allowing Arlen to gain a foothold in their mental battle. The Elf retreated into his mind and frowned at Arlen. "Now that doesn't make me believe your innocence in the slightest," the Elf said.

"I'm sorry but the last time my mind was invaded I didn't like it too much," Arlen replied. Perhaps it wasn't the best thing to do, but he really didn't want a random stranger to know anything about his mind other than his defenses and attacks. "Though do you know of Kitharvie?"

The Elf cocked an eyebrow. "Why do you bring him up?"

"Because I have his sword; Mor'ranr," Arlen replied.

The Elf scoffed. "I do not care. An object can be stolen, as can knowledge."

"Well this sword has a history of only being taken from the owner's cold dead hands," Arlen said.

"So? History does not always repeat itself like that. Try something else."

Arlen frowned. "You remind me of someone I know."

"What, another Elf?"

"I suppose," Arlen replied. "She's not a very normal Elf. Doesn't look or act like one, but she's as sure an Elf as you are."

"Now what would her name be?" the Elf asked.

"I knew her as Rose, but her Elven name is Lilyon."

The Elf looked shocked. "What were her titles?"

"Redcloak, the Wanderer…"

"No!" the Elf said. "I do not care for those. I mean did she say anything that seemed a little odd to you?"

Thinking back Arlen could remember something. "She called herself a Daughter of the Bow and the Last of the Red Sisters."

"But which Daughter of the Bow?"

"The sixth I think."

The Elf removed his foot from Arlen's chest. He then helped Arlen up saying, "I'm very sorry; I didn't realize that you were a friend of Lilyon's."

"Well I would have told you so if I thought you'd believe me," Arlen replied. He then thought to introduce himself. "Arlen of Cathalorn."

"I am Tesinol," the Elf replied. "And you are welcome at my fire."

As Arlen followed Tesinol over, he saw that the fire didn't have any meat over it. He then remembered Rose's comment on Elves not eating meat and understood. He hoped that the Elf had a good alternative or else he would go to bed hungry.

When they were sitting down, Tesinol looked at Arlen for a moment. "Is your shoulder dislocated?" Arlen nodded. "Well then, I'll relocate it." With a quick snap and great pain Arlen's arm was back in place. "There, all better now or at least as good as it will get here."

"Thank you," Arlen replied, looking suspiciously at his shoulder. "Couldn't have you used some spell to do that?"

"I could have, but I prefer to think of magic as a last resort, as Lilyon most likely does," Tesinol explained. "We are cut from the same cloth, you might say. Of course, we are not entirely the same. She is a Daughter of the Bow and I am a Son of the Sword."

Arlen cocked an eyebrow. "What does that all mean?"

Tesinol frowned. "If Lilyon didn't tell you, then you don't deserve to be told. But know that it is an Elven tradition that we prefer to keep a secret to everyone else." Arlen didn't like the insult that he didn't deserve to be told, but before he could object Tesinol asked, "How did you learn she was a Daughter of the Bow?"

"Well, she said it to an enemy," Arlen said. "I was present, but it wasn't me she was telling it to directly. We were not fighting!"

"Of course not," Tesinol replied. "If you were her enemy you would be dead." There was some truth in that. He didn't think he had the skill necessary to defeat Rose or even give her a hard time. "A Daughter of the Bow is a deadly adversary, but Lilyon may be the most overconfident one I have known of. She was so sure in her skill with a bow that she swore not to ever use a sword—or at least, I believe that's why. But she is a rather skill archer, being both accurate and strong. She would be no match for me of course, but that is only in a fair fight, something that—if given the chance—she would avoid."

Arlen sighed. "I've seen all this; I don't need you to tell me more."

Tesinol frowned. "You have just as much impatience as she does! And for all the Elven blood in her, she is less than an Elf if her traits are counted. But that is enough of that." He was glad for that to be over. "Now, tell me what you are doing riding a horse that you clearly shouldn't ride?"

"I'm trying to get to Aberon as quickly as possible," Arlen replied. "If that means a few bruises from falling out of the saddle, so be it."

Tesinol looked at him curiously. "And why do you make such speed there?"

"I have to help a friend who made a bad decision."

"And I am going to the Beor Mountains because I don't like this country right now," Tesinol said. "I was told by a trusted friend that things would soon take a turn for the worse in this country and I should get out as soon as I could. Of course, as much as I trust them, I've heard the border between the Empire and Surda is closed, and as much fun as it would be to go past the border anyway, I've never seen the Beors so I might as well head there."

"Well, good luck I suppose."

Tesinol smiled. "Some people wait for luck to bless them, but I prefer to make my own. Perhaps you should, but I do not know. Our meeting could be attributed to chance, but perhaps not. I do not know, and perhaps I never will." Arlen preferred not to think about how much luck he'd had, or to think of it as more than luck, but it did seem odd that both he and Tesinol would meet the way they did. He might want to think on this later. For now, Tesinol asked him a simple question, "Are you ready for dinner?"