Chapter 3
Oh heavens.
This was actually happening. She’d been dreaming of this moment since she was eight years old, imagining what she might say, and yet now that she was here—finally face to face with a living night elf—it was as if every bit of her careful study of the language suddenly deserted her.
He was just so… real. There was no other word for it. Nothing in Camryn’s studies, nothing she had learned from the pages of books could have prepared her to confront the reality of this creature before her.
Should she have been terrified? Probably.
The storm cat could have eaten her whole and still needed to go back for seconds, but it was so unbelievably beautiful—a vast, sinewy predator with a mouthful of sharp teeth, paws the size of her head, and yet covered in the most gorgeous, silky fur in a rippling silvery gray.
“You probably know exactly how incredible you are, and I shouldn’t feed your vanity, but truly… you are stunning.”
She remembered too late that she wasn’t actually talking to a cat and felt herself blush in horror.
The cat laughed again, silently, and then, utterly without sound or warning, it disappeared.
The change was instantaneous, and Ryn’s mouth dropped open as she found herself confronting not a silver-furred predator, but a man.
Well, not a man in the human sense, but… definitely a male—a very tall, extremely intimidating night elf male in a leather cuirass worn over dark clothing that flowed and clung to his form, somehow materializing at the same time he did.
That part was fascinating, actually. She’d always wondered how the shape-changing worked—whether it was magically quick or agonizingly slow, whether the magic enabled them to remain clothed, or whether they had to carry extra clothing wherever they went.
There was very little information on the subject, as the night elves had always been reticent, even when they still traded with humans…
A moment later, she realized that the night elf was staring at her oddly, with one eyebrow quirked—a response that typically meant her brain had wandered off again.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she apologized. “I didn’t mean to stare. I’ve only… I’ve wanted to meet a night elf for so long, and my curiosity seems to have gotten the better of my manners. It often does, I’m afraid.”
He did not smile or make any other movement, only regarded her sternly out of strange dark eyes with the faintest hint of red glimmering in their depths.
Alas, she was compelled to admit that this version of him was fully as beautiful as the storm cat, with a similarly lithe, powerful form, silvery-gray skin, and long white hair that flowed down his back in a somewhat disorderly mane.
The top half of his hair was tied back, giving her a clear view of sharply pointed ears and a face that could have been cut from the same polished marble that graced the hearth of her family’s ancestral home.
Otherwise, he appeared like enough to humans in general, his honed and muscular body shaped along perfectly masculine lines.
His lips curled slightly under her scrutiny, revealing white teeth that her brain insisted ought to be somewhat pointed, like those of the predator he clearly was. Perhaps if she could get him to smile just a bit more, she might be able to see…
“You are a long way from home, little human.”
The sound of his voice sent a thrill straight through her chest. His tone was rough, almost as if he seldom spoke, but resonant with an accent her language studies could not possibly have described.
“Oh goodness, my accent is terrible, isn’t it?” she breathed. “I hope you weren’t offended.”
“Only surprised that you speak the language of Dunmaren at all.”
“Well, I had to,” she admitted candidly. “If I was going to speak to a night elf, I should at least know enough words to have a proper conversation, shouldn’t I?”
One of the night elf’s elegant eyebrows twitched at her statement. Had she said something odd? Probably. She usually did.
“Were you looking for me then, little human?”
“Yes, of course. Why else would I come here?”
Wait, that came out wrong.
“Well, actually, no. Not exactly. I mean, not you specifically. But I did have every hope of eventually meeting and conversing with a night elf.” Good heavens, she sounded like a ninny.
“Bold of you,” the night elf returned in a soft, deadly tone. “Or do you not know that most of your kind avoid this place for a reason?”
“Well, of course I know,” she retorted. “It’s why I was forced to resort to spending an unimaginable fortune hiring Blink and his crew to escort me. Money poorly spent, as it turns out. He came very highly recommended, but perhaps I was overestimating the amount of courage money can buy.”
The night elf did not visibly react, but Ryn could not shake the impression that he was now laughing at her.
“You do understand,” he said, “that I could kill you whenever I wish.”
He said the words without feeling or emotion of any kind—simply stating a fact.
“Yes?” She frowned up at him. He didn’t seem particularly murderous, but night elf body language wasn’t a topic on which she’d uncovered any authoritative sources.
“You could. Though, to be fair, most people could if they were trying hard enough. So could a determined duck. This doesn’t exactly make you special. ”
At that, he did let out a quick burst of laughter, but the sound was oddly hollow, and resonated with mockery and despair. Was he mocking her? Or himself? Had she offended him? There was no way to tell.
“You amuse me, human,” he stated at last. “And as it happens, I don’t care to murder soft, defenseless creatures unless they are at least somewhat edible.
Perhaps I will not kill you. Tell me, then—what brings you here?
Why have you thrown away both money and safety to seek out a land and a people who could so easily end your life? ”
A thrill of excitement shot through her, but somehow she held back the torrent of words that threatened to burst through the dam she’d been building in her mind since she was eight years old.
One thing at a time. If she harangued him all at once with her litany of annoying questions, he might reconsider his stance on murder.
And he probably wouldn’t react any better to the dreams than humans did.
“I am… Well, I’m a scholar,” she stammered, practically tripping over her own tongue, “and I’ve spent the last eight years working on a compendium of the legends and myths of Dunmaren.
I’ve always felt that our people should work towards a clearer understanding of one another, and I believe there is no better way to learn about other lands and peoples than to study the stories they tell themselves.
In Abreia, even at the university, we simply have so few sources that I knew I could get no further unless I could speak to someone who was raised within the oral tradition I am trying to catalogue. ”
For the first time, a recognizable expression appeared on the night elf’s face—pure, genuine shock.
His eyes glittered oddly as he stared down at her, his arms folded across his chest. “Am I to understand that you came here, on the doorstep of winter, dressed like that, without weapons or a plan, all because you wanted someone to tell you a story?”