The Solitary Arrow Ch. 02

He ate his bread slowly, watching her fidget with her hands. "My hands are idle, Harlen." She said. "Have you things here with which I may keep them busy?"

"I may." He said. He went to the second chest, the one he had not opened yet. From within he extracted a very small wooden frame. "I usually use this for tanning small hides." He said. He handed her a square of the blanket he had been cutting up. Then his little leather roll. You will find thread and such within." He looked at her. "Do you know needlepoint?" He asked.

She nodded. "As a girl I did." She looked at the items. "Thank you." She began to fiddle with the items and managed to stitch the cloth tight onto the little frame, then began to use different bits of thread and lay out a pattern.

Harlen went over to the other chest and picked up where he had left off on the sewing. He would occasionally pilfer some thread from her and then return. More doeskin went into the project and even some cloth salvaged from the already dwindling blanket. She tried to see what he was making, but could not, due to the angle, and the fact that he kept it folded except where he was currently stitching. Somehow, she felt asking would be inappropriate. The day passed with much silence. The two of them simply performing their individual crafts. At the evening meal time, he stood, and said. "Done."

She blinked from her project. "Done?" She said. "And what have you done, Harlen?" She smiled, finally sensing she could ask about his little project.

He took up his bundle of soft doeskin and walked to the bed. She set her needlepoint aside and he sat beside her. He unfolded a piece and laid it over her chest. It was an almost exact copy of the half-top she had been wearing, made mostly of doeskin, with some lining of cloth. He laid the other piece over her hips and, again, it copied her old clothing, almost precisely. She looked with astonishment at it. "That's amazing, Harlen." She said. Picking up the skirt. "So soft." She stroked the doeskin. "I believe its softer than my old garments." Hyandai started to sit up.

Harlen placed a hand upon her chest, gently. "Not yet, tomorrow." He said. "Give yourself a day to mend." She nodded as a cramp clutched her pelvis, and laid back down. He took up the clothes and folded them onto the already crowded shelves. He walked over to her doeskin boots that lay by the little pool. They were reasonably clean, and he sat them beside the folded clothes on the shelf.

Next, he began to clear that shelf of his detritus, storing it on other shelves, or putting it in one or the other of the chests. He placed the now dry and folded blanket onto the shelf, along with half a dozen of the small squares of cloth she had been using for her injury. She realized, this was her shelf now. The thought pleased her inordinately, and she smiled at him as he went about his project. She knew now what that odd feeling had been in her chest this last day or so. It was her heart turning. A single tear rolled down her cheek.

Turning from his task, Harlen saw that tear. "You are pained?" He asked, his face flush with concern.

She smiled widely. "No." She said, then held her arms up to him. He leaned down and she embraced him with all her might. "I am very well now." She said into his neck.

The look of confusion on Harlen's face would have made her laugh had she seen it, but he soon started smiling as well, and he enjoyed the embrace of this lovely woman. "I am glad you're feeling better." He said, and put his arms around her, lifting her a little from the bed. She felt so small in his arms, yet she was strong inside, he thought. He liked the feel of her hair on his cheek, and when he sighed then inhaled. He thought that he smelled a faint scent of cinnamon.

After a long moment, he pulled away and went to his little larder. From it he brought out another two loaves of bread and a jar of butter and some dried apples. He brought them to her and they ate on the blanket, giggling and laughing every time a crumb dropped.

On into the night they sat, and spoke of things, mostly of life in their respective home villages. He marveled at her tales of the wonders of an elven community, and she wondered at the tales of the marvels of human lands. From what she heard, in the fifty or so years that the elves of Windir stopped visiting the humans of the Western Realms, they had done much, and been busy. They had made, from his tales, amazing items of non-magical nature that were a wonder to behold. She hoped to perhaps see some of these things in her days. For his part, his eyes sparkled at the tales of magical doing and things from her home. They spoke long into the night, making each other laugh, gasp, and stare, wide-eyed.

After what surely was middle night, Harlen rose from the bed, and they spent a few moments getting the crumbs out of it. He then stood up and went to the clothing chest, as she called it. He took of his shirt and folded it, and she watched him. She ran her golden eyes over his muscled body and arms, then he turned again and walked to the bed. "You don't mind me shirtless, do you?" He asked.

She stammered a moment. "Need you see my face and still ask that?" She said, smiling up at him. "Your chest and arms are quite lovely to behold, Harlen." She said.

He blushed charmingly at the compliment. "I thank you then. I hate wearing shirts to bed." He said. Hyandai giggled at him, and he looked at her quizzically.

"Sorry, just, well, it is more normal for us elves to sleep unclad." She said, now blushing herself.

His eyes widened at that. Then he got a mischievous grin upon his face. "Do not let ME come between you and your time-honored traditions." He said self-righteously. Then smiling brightly at her laughter. "I'm afraid, however, that I would not sleep well, at all."

"If I were not infirm, Harlen, I might just do that." She said, scooting over to make room for him. "Now into the bed, my pillow."

He laid beside her, and he turned to face her. She lifted her head and he slid is arm beneath it. She laid back down and pressed her hand to his chest near that shoulder. She liked the warm feeling of his skin and the surprising softness of it. Her other hand rested under his head, and he nuzzled it, pricking her with the stubble of his cheek. "You need to shave, my pillow, you are becoming prickly." She said, rubbing his cheek.

He kissed her palm then said. "I will upon the morn, m'lady. I cannot abide prickly pillows myself."

She let the tingle from his kiss die down before saying. "Well, I doubt you will come across much prickly on me." She said, smiling.

Harlen smiled widely and said. "Of that I feel pretty safe." He reached up and picked up the glowing stone, she held the little bag for him and he dropped it in. She then cinched the bag up and place it on her shelf. Both her hands went back to their places on him and his free hand rested on her hip. He squeezed gently on her there, and she liked that, almost too much as she nearly let out a moan. Just as he was nearly dozing, and she could hear his breath become regular and deep, she leaned forward a bit and kissed him.

She grinned in the dark as his eyes popped open. He could not see her, but she, being elven born, could see him perfectly in the dark. He looked into the darkness for a moment, imagining that he could still see her golden eyes even in the inky blackness of the cave, but knew he could not. "You thief." He said quietly, smiling.

She kissed his arm. "Thief, you say?" She whispered.

He nodded into the darkness, and said. "Yes, you stole a kiss."

She giggled gently and quietly and then was silent. They both fell asleep soon after, and dreamed.