“I hate Orcs” she said, a cold statement of fact supported by the nearby heap of arrow pierced bodies.
“I hate Elves” I replied, watching her closely. I did not intend to be her next victim.
Oh, she was a fighter this one, the likes of which I had rarely seen. A tall, lithe whirlwind of destruction with that bow and twin blades she wielded. The Orc party had not stood a chance.
She regarded me with emotionless grey eyes a moment, then suddenly grinned. It was a feral grin, one of a supreme predator, but there was something else. There was fire!
“This Elf has cleared your path back to Hrimbarg, master Dwarf.”
“And this Dwarf cleared the orc who had a knife at your back, mistress Elf.”
“Ha!”
Now I would know what sort she was. If she was one of the honourless kind, then it would be strength against speed that decided who walked away. At a distance she had the advantage. But she stood close.
“I would have slit his throat too had you not intervened. But...” She paused, knowing a lot depended on her next words. And she bobbed her head at me. “I shall watch out for you, that I may return the favour.. some day.”
I bobbed my head, cautiously but politely, in turn. “So you don't hate Dwarves who hate Elves?”
The fire in her spread to her eyes, a fire of amusement. Her grin turned into a genuine smile as she made to retrieve her arrows, pulling them from the corpses with swift efficiency.
“Your tone does not sound convincing, master Dwarf, neither do I believe you would...save...one you hated.”
She stood straight and still a moment, those pointy ears straining for any hint of sound.
“I am out of Rivendell” she added, moving to clean her blades. “Lord Elrond does not hold with any unnecessary hatred. And before Rivendell I dwelt in a region where Elves and Dwarves were allies.”
She could only mean the lands bordering Khazad Dum. Only there was it recorded our kinds had truly worked as one. So long ago that had been, but Elves had long memories along with their long lives, it was said.
“You are nimble for your age then, Elf” I quipped, relaxing my stance a little more. “I'd have not thought you a day over fifty.”
“That old!”
She acted as if insulted, but I was beginning to know she was one of a very few Elves with a sense of humour. I was glad the axe I had thrown had lodged in the back of her would-be assailant. She was tall and scrawny and gaunt of feature. It was not her fault she was an Elf, and lacking in comely beauty. Yet I was beginning to like her.
“Throthi, of the Blue Mountains, at your service.” I bowed formally.
“Yrill of Eregion, at yours.”
