“Not an elf? Then what are you m’lady?” Jack asked with raised eyebrows.
“Give me my bow and arrows.”
“Give me my bow. They took it from me and gave it to you.”
“Why should I give it back?”
“Just do it.”
Jack pulled out Rowen’s bow, a medium sized arc of some red wood. She waited expectantly a moment, then, seeing he made no notion of producing anything else, she grabbed at his quiver which held her arrows as well as his own. He caught her hand, a lopsided grin on his face, and with his other hand pulled out her black- and red-feathered arrows. Smirking, he held them just out of her reach. “Oh, you want these?” His grin widened. Rowen leapt at his suddenly, taking him by surprise. Even she could not hide a small grin as they wrestled. Jack was surprised at how strong Rowen was. Suddenly grabbed his own bow and shot one of her arrows over her head. Rowen got up and looked behind her: an orc lay dead five feet away. Jack looked dumbfounded himself.
“It was a poor shot, I only hit the arm. Why is it dead?”
Rowen walked over and pulled out a red-feathered arrow from the arm of the hideous creature. She looked at it, then looked at Jack with an indignant pout.
“You wasted my arrow.”
Jack looked at her incredulously, then shrugged. “Go figure,” he muttered, and put his bow away. Rowen got up from her crouching position, grabbed the rest of her arrows roughly from Jack’s quiver (not without a satisfied smirk), and began to walk away.
“Where are you going?” Jack called after her.
“Hey, well thanks for saving me an all, but I think I can take it from here.” Rowen called over her shoulder.
“Wait – you don’t understand – the elves think you’re a-“
Jack’s frantic statement cut short as an arrow sang through the air, followed shortly by a yelp from Rowen. Elvish shouts suddenly pierced the wind.
“Oh no…” Jack muttered, and whistled for his horse. The mare came galloping across the fields, a beautiful black horse with brown expressionate eyes. The mane and tail were more of a dark brown, but the rest of the horse was black except for white strips around the base of the feet, just above the hooves. One white stripe began at the tip of the horse’s right ear and ran down over the nose and onto the lip. Her elvish name was Morgalad because of her duel colors, but Jack just called her Dragon for her fiery spirit. Jack jumped on as Dragon ran by and made straight for the hunched form of Rowen. Elves recognized Jack’s cloak as one of their own and did not shoot him, which was fortunate due to the fact that Lorien shots do not go amiss. Jack bent down over the side of Dragon as he neared Rowen, and hooked his arm around her middle as they galloped by. When Jack did not turn around, angry shouts roared up, but Jack was too far away to care.