Of an Elven Lad

Thunder rolled in the Sky. Unseen to the naked eye, the elf cowered, high among the branches. A runaway elf, a youngling, even by the reckoning of men. Lightning flashed, revealing the hidden elf momentarily to his pursuer. The elf panicked, his sharp elven eyes darted here and there, looking for denser foliage, in the vain attempt to keep his presence hidden. Realising that further concealment is futile, his lithe elven body shivers from both fear and cold. He nocks a slick arrow on his elven bow. hIs sharp pointed ears raised in anticipation, trying to figure from which direction his pursuer would come.

He would not go back to Elehadras, the fair elven city, the city which he now despise. The city where she lives: the fair elven maiden who broke his young heart; he could no longer face his kindred, in shame of his heart. It has been a week since he left the city; he has not eaten since. It has been merely a few moments since was first aware of his pursuer; and he is frightened.

Suddenly a hand sprang out from the foliage behind him and grabbed his shoulder. The young elf yelped in fright and dropped his elven bows; and he fell. He fell and there was darkness.