Chapter 1 - The Hunt
I hadn’t intended to ruin anyone’s dinner. In my defence, I didn’t even know there was a dinner to ruin.
I’d spent the afternoon wandering deeper into the forest than planned, gathering wild lavender, winter-root and tiny white starflowers. The late afternoon light came through the canopy in broken shafts, turning drifting pollen to gold and painting the moss beneath my boots in patches of green fire. My basket was half-full when I spotted another cluster beneath a fallen log.
Beautiful. And annoyingly difficult to reach.
I crouched beneath a branch and stretched for them. Damp earth pressed beneath my palm, the sharp clean scent of crushed fern rising around me.
Something large exploded from the undergrowth beside me. I screamed. The deer bolted. Somewhere behind me, a bowstring snapped through suddenly empty air. Then silence. Slowly, I turned. That was the first time I saw him.
He stood between the trees, bow still raised. Tall, dressed in dark leather and fur, with black hair falling past his shoulders. Intricate markings covered one arm. The forest seemed to fit around him in a way it never did around me, as though the roots and shadows had already agreed he belonged there.
But it was his eyes that held me. Pale blue. His gaze moved from the empty clearing, to me, then to the flowers still clutched in my hand. I stood and brushed the leaves from my skirt.
“That appears to have gone badly.”
Nothing.
“Although, from the deer’s perspective, I imagine it went remarkably well.”
One dark eyebrow lifted.
“I assume that was yours?”
“My dinner.”
His voice was low and remarkably calm. I glanced toward the trees, then lifted my basket.
“Well... I have herbs.”
His gaze dropped to it.
“Do they run?”
I stared at him. The corner of his mouth moved. The bastard had a sense of humour.
“Fine. I frightened away your dinner. I’ll replace it.”
“You hunt?”
“I can.”
His eyes travelled over my basket, flowers and the small knife at my belt.
“Good.”
He lowered his bow and stepped past me.
“You’ll cook it too.”
I spun around. “Excuse me?”
“You frightened away my meal.”
“Accidentally!”
“You offered to replace it.”
“I did not offer to become your personal cook.”
He stopped and looked back at me.
“No.”
That almost-smile returned.
“You volunteered.”
Then he simply walked away. I stood beneath the trees, crushed starflowers still in my hand, staring after the most infuriating elf I’d ever encountered. I didn’t know his name. Apparently, however, I owed him dinner. I shoved the flowers into my basket and followed.
“Just so we’re clear,” I called after him, “if I catch something, you’re cleaning it.”
He didn’t turn.
“We’ll see.”
I narrowed my eyes at his back. Fine. I was going to find this arrogant bastard his dinner. And I was already regretting it.
Great opening.