Elaethyia walks away from Drannon slowly; her shoulders itch where she can feel him watching her. She fights the urge to turn around and look at him. Ella knows well enough by now that he would reveal no more secrets, and she couldn't risk betraying any more herself. As soon as she is sure she is out of his sight, she quickens her pace.

It is still early and the sun hasn't yet crested the horizon. No one had been able to sleep after the dreams that night, so they had decided to get an early-very early-start that day. There is a thin cloud cover overhead; they threaten to shower rain down on the companions at any moment. Not, Ella hopes, a foul weather like the night before. Blessedly, when the clouds do break, it is for nothing more than a light drizzle. She could avoid the worst of it by staying under the covering trees.

When she reaches the camp, she sees that Broc was already saddling up her horse. Ignoring the rest of the activity in the camp, Ella heads straight over to the man. She admires his form, the play of muscles over his arms as he reaches down to cinch the saddle straps snugly around the mare's belly.

Ella reaches him just as he is turning away from the animal. A slight smile plays at his lips, and he starts to greet her. Ella interrupts, disinclined to play at politeness. "I need to talk to you." The tinge of urgency and worry in her voice turns the smile into a frown of concern. He nods simply and turns away to briefly make sure the saddle and bridle are arranged to his satisfaction. Ella watches his movements curiously; she intended to one day learn how all those complicated-looking bits of leather worked, so she would not be so dependant on others' help.

Broc finishes swiftly and turns over to Leetha, who is preparing her own horse for the journey. "We'll be back in a minute." He assures her in a light voice. Whatever concern Ella saw in his face she cannot hear in his voice; she cannot help but admire the control he has over his own voice.

"I'm assuming you want some privacy?" He asks, although not really needing to hear her answer. He gestures to the forest in the direction Ella just came from. She starts out that way, but she is careful to angle away from Drannon's last position. What a disaster, she thinks, if Drannon were to appear. Baron leaps up from his comfortable sprawl near the clearing's edge and bounds out into the forest ahead of his two friends. After a short walk, Broc takes the lead, gesturing towards an old oak tree.

A few of the roots from the tree stand out enough to sit on, while the branches above protect the two travelers from a very light rain-more of an invisible mist, really. Though it is still mostly dark out, Broc seems to have no trouble navigating through the undergrowth. Somewhere nearby, Baron can be heard crashing through the brush in pursuit of game.

Broc reaches the roots first. He unclasps his cloak and spreads over one of the damp roots. He gestures, asking Ella if she would sit. "I feel like I should be offering you something to drink. You know I've been out in the wilderness too long when I consider this," and he gestures at the wildlife around him, "to be my parlour." A slight, rueful smile touches his lips.

Ella smiles briefly at Broc's offer for a drink. Her smile chases away the blank, unrevealing expression that she normally shows to the world. At first, Broc and the others might have assumed her face was so devoid of personality because of the series of shocks she had suffered, but she remains impersonal even after most people would have recovered. That is, except for her eyes, which almost always betray her.

Looking down at Ella's uncertain, fearful eyes turns Broc's smile back into a frown of concern.

"What is it, Ella?"

Her smile fades, too, as she surveys the area around the old oak tree Broc has chosen, and the brief moment of personality flees, leaving behind her mask and her darting, nervous eyes. She moves over to the offered root and sits facing Broc. She has to tilt her head at a slight angle to still be looking at Broc's face.

"I understand that, for a time, a shape shifter traveled with you in the guise of Vax," she pauses here, waiting for a confirming word or nod, before continuing on. When none seemed forthcoming, Ella continued anyway, "and I would like to know how you discovered the true identity of the shape shifter Vax."

Ella sighs, but the rest of her body is curiously still. A light breeze dances in and out of the branches of the tree, and it has taken an especial liking to the trailing ends of her long hair, drawing it across her shoulders and face, but Ella makes no gesture to settle the stray hairs.

"I'm afraid you will not like my reasons for being curious about the shape shifter. You see, ever since I met Drannon, I've had this lingering feeling that I've seen him before, and this morning, it finally came clear to me. Whatever or whoever that man is, he cannot be the Drannon I saw before."

Broc's body had gone completely still as Ella spoke. When she finishes, he lets out a deep sigh, and his shoulders slump. Someplace off in the early morning darkness, Baron goes quiet too. Ella feels her heart still, for a moment, so shocked as she is to see this man, who had seemed so strong, look so haunted, so defeated. She feels a pang of guilt for bringing this trouble to him. And yet, despite knowing she is only warning of a trouble that might already exist; she cannot help but want to doubt herself, for his sake.

Looking down to rub his temples, Broc comes forward to stand near Ella. He crouches down, going to one knee before her. Baron appears suddenly. The dog is moving very quietly.

With a glance towards Baron, Broc signals the dog, flicking one finger out towards camp, then drawing a small circle in the air. Noiselessly, Baron turns tail and heads into the woods, in the direction of the nearby travelers. Somewhere, off in the distance, the sound of horses breaks the morning stillness.

Broc looks up to Ella. He squares his shoulders. Ella looks down on the man; the handle of his two-handed sword standing up over his right shoulder. Dull gunmetal blue chain mail armor, slightly damp from the morning mist, reflects the sheen of the near-morning light. Well used and easily worn equipment marks him as someone who has traveled great distances and faced terrible dangers.

"Tell me what happened to Drannon. Tell me everything." His voice is very, very, low. His look: that of a man who has seen hardship, and knows that his task is still far from done.

Ella had known, in a detached sort of way, that Broc would want to know her story; he would have to know why she suspected Drannon. But that knowledge did not prepare her for actually relating the story. She suddenly does not want to be here; she longs for the comfort of the temple, for the innocent life she lost. Ella closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. She holds the air for a moment, savoring the fresh scent of the morning. When she opens her eyes, she lets her gaze slide away from Broc's face, looking out into the forest somewhere over his shoulder.

She does not want to tell the story. She does not want to remember it.

"The last time I saw Drannon, he wore the garb of a hunter, not the armor of a Knight. He had come to Evermeet only a day or two before then. I wouldn't remember, except half-elves are so rare, and it created a stir. Most of the gossip was whispered over my head..." Ella trails off, quiet for a moment.

Broc lifts his hand from where it rests on his knee and extends it towards hers. He stops before their hands touch, but it hovers, for just a moment, near Ella's hand. She blinks, and her gaze shifts back to Broc's face. His hand withdraws to rest on a low-lying root, still close but not intrusive.

"I didn't know his name, then, of course, but that sort of moment never really fades. It was a brief moment, confused by too many people, too much noise.. too much blood.." Ella pauses again and her focus slides once more from Broc's face. She glances at his hand, silently acknowledging the offer, but she makes no move to accept it or invite it further. Her glance becomes a stare. She lets her eyes roam out from his hand, following the fine lines of the knotted and gnarled root with her eyes.

She is stalling, hesitant to relate the story. But stalling is a weakness she does not want to give into; at least, not one she will give into for long. Finally, Ella takes another deep breath and lets it out slowly. When she is done, she seems calm again. She finishes:

"The last time I saw Drannon, he was fighting a horde of Illitherians. I saw his arm chopped off, Broc... Either that's not Drannon, or he made some deal with the Illitherians... But that would not explain the arm."

Broc is silent for a few seconds after Ella finishes, waiting to see if she will offer any more information. Ella, however, appears more interested in staring at the hands neatly folded in her lap than in speaking. Her mind is far away, reliving memories she dares not speak aloud.

"This is no light matter you bring up." Broc's voice breaks into her reverie, forcing her again to focus on the present instead of the past. "What *else* do you know. What did you see? Did you see him fall in battle? Did you actually see him dead?" Broc's voice is low -- too low for anyone other than Ella to hear him, but it is growing in intensity. "There is more to this. There *must* be more! Otherwise all we have is suspicion. What you have described.... It is a situation that can be escaped from. Perhaps he was left for dead? Magic is a powerful thing. Life can be restored. Given that, returning a man's arm must be possible.

"What more do you know? Why did you bring this up now, after we have Dreamed?" Broc's voice fades away, but the question lingers. Ella remains quiet; she is uncertain, and that makes her cautious.

"I know that life can be restored," Ella says after a few moments have passed, "and even grievous wounds can be healed. Though I have never seen it, I believe it is within the gods' powers to restore even a severed limb.." Ella looks up at the branches that sway overhead with the breeze.

"I was pulled away before I could see whether Drannon truly lived or died, but I know enough about Illitherians and their evil ways to know that they would burn the body of every dead elf, just to make sure we never rise again, nor would they be so careless as to leave any elf for dead without first slitting his throat to be sure." Balling her hands into fists at her side, Ella stands abruptly with a little hiss of frustration.

Stepping lightly around Broc, she walks to the edge of the tree's shelter before turning around. Broc stands also, picking up the cloak as he does. Before turning to face Ella, he brushes traces of mud and other forest refuse of his right knee. He sighs, softly, and Ella continues:

"I bring it up now because I had a chance to talk to Drannon this morning, and because I did not know shape shifters were enemies of yours before last night. But you're right.. I have nothing but my fears and my suspicions." Shivering, Ella wraps her arms across her chest and hugs tightly, although her expression suggests she's warding off more than just an early morning chill. She closes her eyes and her breathing eventually slows and calms.

"Ella.... Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... to minimize your concerns. Or to challenge what it is you had to go through when your home was attacked." His voice grows distant. "I know what that is like."

Broc walks to the edge of the tree's shelter, a few feet away from Ella. Beyond him, on the other side of the tree, Ella notices Baron move quietly across a small game path. He is circling the two conspirators, hunting for prey. Or perhaps predators. Broc speaks again, after a moment's silence. "When you told me that Drannon may not be... trustworthy, I panicked." He looks intense for a moment. "It scared me."

Ella stands quietly, not certain how to react. The thought that Broc might be frightened terrifies her, quite simply. With a little shock, she realizes how much she had come to depend on Broc's solidity and strength since the attack at the inn. She chides herself; she hardly knows any of the companions. How can she let herself be so dependant on even one? And yet, the truth remains, that she feels safer with Broc. Stubbornly, she pushes away the little voice that reminded her what happened last time she dared to feel safe. Before Ella can decide what to do, Broc speaks again:

"I... I haven't told anyone yet. Maybe because I didn't want to accept it. But I've been tasked with leading this group. The responsibility to stop all of this," he gestures in a wide arc towards the south, "is mine, and mine alone." Turning, he lowers his voice again, and his words come to Ella filled with passion, but a bit of distance. His eyes roam the ground.

"It was Elhonna herself who told me this." Shaking his head, Broc adds, "More than once."

Broc's eyes dart up, suddenly, to lock with Ella's. Whatever he sees there, seems to calm him, or at least encourage him. Ella dares not think what she might be showing in her traitorous eyes. His whole body goes still, and his voice drops again. It is barely a whisper.

"I died once. Did you know that? My body was broken, cut, useless. I found myself in a supernatural wood, with Elhonna walking by my side. Or perhaps I walked by hers. She told me that I had died, but that she had it in her power to send me back. I had a choice, there. I could spend the rest of existence in her Elysium. In her... domain. Or I could return to the world, to the cold pain of my existence, and continue the fight.

"It wasn't a hard choice, really. I'm not one to give up easily. But I will never forget that moment. That perfect place." The longing in his voice reminds Ella of her own Dream that night, of the pain she felt when she opened her eyes and saw not the Lady Goldheart's grotto, but this ugly, painful world. She wants to cry; for him or for her, she couldn't say.

Broc shakes himself, looking away for a moment before turning back. "And so I'm here. In this war that too few people understand, and no one is in charge of. We have few allies. Very few. When you told me that Drannon may not be trustworthy, well, it scared me."

Ella closes the distance between herself and Broc with a few steps as he speaks and lays a hand against his forearm in silent appeal. She waits, watching him patiently, with compassion in her eyes. "I can't do this alone," he continues anyway. "I've never liked being alone. These people have become my family. My community. And now, once again, there may be a betrayer in our midst. For a moment, it was just too much to bear." He finishes and looks down at Ella, finally meeting her eyes.

"You understand then," Ella says quietly. Her voice is low and intimate; it carries no further than Broc's ears. "why I wept last night when I woke, just as I understand what beauty and tranquility you ache for. It was a brave choice you made; I'm not sure I would have the strength to make the same." Ella pauses, glancing away from Broc's intense eyes. She glimpses Baron through the trees and listens to the faint stirrings of the forest. The distant, sweet song of a morning bird warns that the sun will soon crest the horizon.

"You need not be alone, Broc. Elhonna has put a heavy weight on your shoulders, but I cannot imagine she meant for you to bear it without aid. Even the strongest must bow or break under the weight of the world, if they have no help." She smiles wanly at Broc, but it fades quickly, replaced by a serious and unflinching gaze.

"I want to help you, if you will accept me." Ella raises her hand off Broc's arm to ward off an interruption. She doesn't want him to make rash promises, not until he knows. "But first you must know that I have not been entirely frank with you. You have been honest and true to me, and I owe you the same." Stepping away, Ella holds herself in her arms again. When she speaks again, her voice is very low and betrays no emotion. Her voice is almost mechanical as she recites her full name.

"My full name is Elaethyia Mariel Ryloran. I am the youngest daughter of the late Queen Annemarialana Ryloran of Evermeet. When the Illitherians rose in defiance, I alone escaped the death sentence meted out to the royal family." Ella glances up at Broc, trying to gauge his reaction. The play of emotions across his face and eyes are too quick for her to interpret. There is terror in Ella's eyes, but her face itself seems calm.

"The Illitherians are hunting me because they need to destroy the royal family.. the symbol of their oppression. I spent most of my life in a temple, learning from the priests and priestesses of Hanali Celanil and so did not tour the lands with the elven court. Few, perhaps not even the Illitherians, know me by sight or manner." Pausing, Ella sucks in a deep breath and lets it out in a slow sigh. She lets her arms relax and fall to her sides.

"If I have any allies, I know them not. When we, Jaerre and I, escaped across the sea, I sought refuge in a temple of Sune, because both Goddesses have always favored me. They gave us a safe home for a time, but they knew that eventually the Illitherians would look for me there, so they sent us on a 'pilgrimage.' I am sure I would be welcomed again another temple in another city, but death would follow me... So many have died for me already." As she speaks, Ella's body becomes tense, as if ready to spring away and flee far from the place. Her eyes seek out Broc's, but timidly. By the end, her voice is thick with guilt and unshed tears.

"Drannon was fighting so I could live. He lost his arm, and probably his life, so I could get away. If that is truly Drannon, I owe him much.. But if he has changed as I fear, or he is not what he seems, there is great danger in that. The Betrayal has taught me to be suspicious." With another heart-wrenching sigh, Ella falls silent. Her eyes are wet with unshed tears, but she stoically holds them back.

Broc steps close to Ella, his hand reaching out to touch the side of her arm. When she does not move away, he takes it as silent assent. He rests his hand, warm, against her. Ella closes her eyes again, appreciating the lightness of his touch, but not daring to accept any more of the offered comfort for fear it will break her oh-so-tenuous control. She is determined not to cry.

"Then what are you doing here?" He asks incredulously. "If Drannon was there protecting you at the end, then he will recognize you. Whether coerced, replaced, or escaped, the man in that camp will know you. If he works for our enemies then they will know where you are soon enough. If you doubt him, then this is probably the most dangerous place you could be right now.

"Flee! Run away from here. Return to your people at Silver Falls. There are enough refugees there that you could blend in easily enough. No one would need to know who you really are. Leave, now, and I will cover your escape."

Ella's whole body tenses, ready to obey his command despite her determination not to. She had decided not to run anymore. But still, the urge to flee is deeply ingrained, and she has been long used to obeying the command. Her very toes itch with the desire to run; she can almost feel the wind whipping through her hair as she weaves through the trees, as fast as she can go-until what? Until the Illitherians catch her? No, she wouldn't wait for that.

Broc steps back and quickly surveys the area before looking at Ella once again. He continues. "I can send Baron with you, for your protection." The briefest look of annoyance crosses his face, as he glances suddenly towards the forest. The look and the glance pass though, happening almost too quick to register.

"There's someplace else you can go, if you don't trust the people at Silver Falls. It's an elven community. Survivors of a distant attack. It's farther away, but very well protected. Baron can guide you there. They are good people, all of them."

Broc stands there, his body tense, ready, himself, to jump into action. Silently, Baron approaches, coming out of the woods nearby. He sits down on the ground, ready to move in any direction but focused solely on Ella and the words she will speak next. His eyes show an unusual intelligence, and his ears are perked forward, straining to hear what has not been spoken.

Ella reaches over to cover Broc's hand with her own. She speaks softly, calmly. Firmly. "No. I've left enough people behind to fight or die in my name. I have been running since the attack, and I am weary of it. It's time I fought my own battle, too." Ella sighs, and then smiles briefly at Broc.

"Besides, I've seen enough of Drannon to know he is an accomplished woodsman. Do you think there is any place in these woods I can run where he cannot follow? Any elven community I can go to that he cannot find? There are children in those places. Girls, boys, and women who do not know how to fight. As long as the Illitherians are still looking for me, and still suspect I am somewhere in the wilds out here, they will not be slaughtering innocent people there in my name."

Broc grins a wicked grin. He speaks slowly, and with great passion. "And if leaves to hunt you, do you not think that we would hunt him? Should he betray himself like that, there is no place in this world were he would escape my wrath. We would track him down before he got to you, and he would pay the price."

Ella lets her hand fall away from Broc's. She watches Baron's expressive eyes for a few minutes, but doesn't seem to find any answers there. When she speaks again, her voice holds a tinge of regret. "However, if you feel that you and your people will be safer and better able to fight your battles without my enemies, I will go.. But please understand, I won't run for myself. Not anymore."

Ella's statement takes Broc completely by surprise. He steps forward and reaches to take her hand. Ella does not pull away; indeed, she enjoys the warmth of her hand in his. "NO!" Broc exclaims, "that's the last thing I wa...." He stops and takes a deep breath, recovering from his surprise.

"That is...." He searches for something to say for a moment, before looking back at Ella. "I want you to stay here with us. I, too, have seen good people die. Your enemies are our enemies. They would hunt us as soon as they would hunt you. You are not a burden on this group."

His voice lowers, as he looks into Ella's lavender eyes. "Far from it. You have been a great comfort, so far."

For an instant, Ella meets Broc's gaze unreservedly, but then her eyes register first surprise, then shock, and finally fear. Fear of the look in his eyes, the play of emotion over his face. She is not certain what he is implying, or what he is asking for, but it is most definitely not something she should respond to. She is terrified of the emotions that must be so clear in her own eyes. Princess indeed, she chides herself.

Her eyes slide away at once, before the war of emotions has even fully exhausted itself. She looks first over Broc's shoulder, and then turns her head. Her eyes finally find safety in looking at the massive tangle of roots at the old oak tree. She studies them for the space of a few quickened heartbeats, until those same pulses are calm and regular again.

She steps away, lightly, and gently pulls away the hand that had previous lain unresisting in Broc's grasp. "We do not know for sure that Drannon is false. Please, tell me of the shape shifters and Vax." When she looks back at Broc, her expression is once again calm and impassive.

"I have hurt you. Or maybe just surprised you. I'm sorry. It's just that it's been so long since... since someone showed us any sort of compassion." Broc sighs heavily, and runs his hand through his hair. He turns around and takes a few steps away, then turns back. Ella resists the urge to explain, to beg his forgiveness. She resists the urge to weep at the unfairness of it all.

"You want to know about shape shifters?" He continues, unaware of Ella's internal struggle. "I'll tell you everything I know, little as it is."

Broc stands beneath the canopy of the old oak tree, just at the edge of the tree's protection. Beyond, the rest of the wood is hazy, seen through the low light of early-morning. A misty rain falls softly to the ground, forming a veil outside of this shelter that gives the rest of the world an ephemeral, fey quality. As if everything outside of this one time, this one place, was viewed through a looking glass.

With the exception of the occasional drip of gathered rain-water, the world is silent. Watching in quiet anticipation as two people speak.

"Everything we know comes from hard-fought experience. Doppelgangers -- the most dangerous of the shape shifters -- come in two varieties. The lesser shifters are able to change form, but little else, as far as I know. The greater shifters are the real problem. They not only take the form of their target, but the memories, skills, and abilities as well.

"We don't know when Vax was replaced, but it must have been sometime in those early days at Hamlet, based on the time of her capture and imprisonment. I've known her for quite some time -- years, in fact. But still I couldn't tell the difference. No change in attitude, movement, or activity gave her away. She even smelled the same; Baron, whose sense of smell rivals that of any bloodhound, couldn't tell the difference."

"We were in Salt Marsh, reveling in our first real taste of civilization after being on the run for so many months, nearly lost in the wilderness. A few of us, Vax, Leetha, myself, and a former companion, Silhouette, were in a glass-blower's shop. He collected all sorts of glass-related antiques, so it was a pretty interesting place.

"On the back wall of the shop was a large mirror. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that Vax's reflection wasn't Vax. It was something else. Tall, gangly, mostly feature-less with greyish skin. Whatever it was, it wasn't Vax.

"I confronted the Vax-creature, right there in the shop. That gave Silhouette time to see the image herself. I'm still not sure why, but she threw something at the mirror. Later, she said that she assumed that the mirror was casting some sort of spell on Vax." Broc shrugs, obviously unhappy. "The mirror shattered, completely broken.

"Well, the Vax-creature got away from us. You haven't seen how fast Vax can really move. When she got far enough away, she changed again, into something that could more easily leave town. We tracked her down, though. When we finally caught up to it a day or two later, she shifted back into the Vax-form to fight. When she died, she kept that form. They don't revert to their natural form when you kill them.

"I've done everything I can to find another way to reveal shape shifters. The witches of Lesbos knew about them, but couldn't help me. Neither could the elven sages at Silver Falls, nor any temple I have gone to. There *must* be a way to detect them, but we haven't been able to find it yet.

"There is no test I know, no question that I could ask, no spell that I have heard of, that would reveal a shape shifter for what it truly is.

"I'm still completely lost on this one. I have no answers at all."

When Broc has finished his tale, Ella sits abruptly. She suddenly looks small, frail, and defeated. Her confidence has disappeared; her courtly face melted away. She looks, for the moment, very much like a child. She opens her mouth, once, twice, to speak, but no words issue forth.

Tears form again in her eyes, and biting her bottom lip, she struggles against them. In one fluid movement, she pulls her knees to her chest and slides her hands up over her face. She mutters something, elvish from the sound of it, repeatedly into the heels of her hands.

Finally, she laughs.

"I thought it would be some simple charm," she says ironically and pulls her hands away from her face, "some magic dust we could throw on him to make him revert. A spell, or a prayer, that would make us see the souls of those around us. I should have known.." She trails off, sniffing in a most unladylike manner. Ella searches around the hidden pockets in the folds of her layers of clothing, pulling out a series of useless "necessities" before she finally finds a handkerchief with which to wipe her face.

"I hate this, Broc. You know what I hate most of all? Even if by some miracle we survive, and we drive back the darkness and rebuild all our homes.. You know what they'll expect of me, don't you?" She looks down at her hands, folding the bit of cloth in her hands, smoothing it into a neat square. "I'm a coward, that's why I won't reveal myself in Silver Falls. I'm afraid of the responsibilities they might pile on me, things they'll expect that I don't know. I was never meant to lead.. It wasn't supposed to be my destiny." Realizing she's rambling, Ella falls silent.

Broc approaches Ella, not saying anything. Lost in her own thoughts, she cannot read his. A woolen cloak is placed over Ella's shoulders. Cool, initially, it quickly warms up.

When Ella finally looks up, Broc is there. He stands just a few feet away, in a half-crouch, one foot propped on a high root and bearing his weight, the other leg extended down and back towards the damp ground. He seems both relaxed and anxious. Patient concern is clearly visible on his face.

"A coward? I think not. A coward would have given up by now. A coward would not have chosen to fight. Until now, your enemies have overwhelmed you. You have found friends, now. You are among those who have chosen to not only stand up against those who hunt you, but capable of hurting them. And before you knew any of that, you decided to do the same."

He stands back, kicking off of the root then walking slowly around towards Ella.

"The time will come when you reveal yourself to your people. They will expect you to be their Queen. They will expect you to be what you are not. But you will be yourself. You are strong. I can see that. You have chosen to stand, when others would run. You are compassionate, beautiful, intelligent, and wise. You will be yourself, and they will love you for it."

Broc stops in front of Ella, and goes down to one knee so that they can look levelly at each other: eye to eye.

"When you reveal yourself is your concern. Everything we have seen says that this is not the time. The world is still too dangerous. We still do not know exactly what is going on; who our enemies are; what they are doing. If destiny is not in our hands, then you are doing exactly as you should. If it is ours to decide, then the choices you have made over the last few days have set you on a path where you can make a difference in these horrible times."

"And I, for one, think you have made the right decision."

Ella brightens with a genuine smile. She pulls the cloak closer around her shoulders, welcoming the comforting weight and warmth. For a few moments she allows herself the luxury of forgetting all worries and being thankful for all the small happinesses of the moment. The freshness of the morning, Broc, the sheltering tree above, the cloak, the sound of the awakening forest...

"Thank you, Broc." She whispers softly, hardly daring to look at him straight on.

Alas, the freedom passes, and weightier matters press close on her mind. "But there is still Drannon." Ella looks at Broc expectantly, an unvoiced question clear in her eyes. What is to be done? What can be done?

"There is still Drannon," he agrees quietly. Broc thinks for a moment, watching the surrounding woods. He glances up at the sky, as if measuring how much time has gone by since the two of them came to this quiet place.

A calculating look comes over his face as he glances for a moment back towards Ella. Turning, he says, "and something will have to be done about it.

"You may not like part of what I'm going to ask you, but this is what I would like. First, ignore all that you do not know about Drannon. Remember him only as someone who tried to save you. Remember him as one of your own. If he knows who you are, he will try to get closer to you. To protect you or to watch you. Probably both. Allow this to happen.

"I will ask Ruffin to watch after you. This is something that he will gladly do. Accept his help, too. He will stay close enough to protect you. If Drannon is there also, then Ruffin will be watching him, as well.

"I will be watching everyone." Broc pauses, watching Ella's reaction. If he expected more tears or violent disagreement, he was disappointed. She looks a little numb; feels a little numb. She is content to follow his lead.

When it is clear that Ella isn't going to say anything, Broc continues. "The second thing that I ask of you is that you pray for us. You have spent many years in study. Pray, and reflect on what you have been taught, seeking an answer to our problem: how do we uncover shape shifters? Ask your goddess. Seek the answers in your own heart, and in your memories. The gods are helping us. If there is an answer, perhaps you can uncover it. With their help.

"Our first priority is now answering this riddle. Somewhere, there must be an answer."

Ella stands, after Broc is finished. Shaking it gently first, Ella offers Broc his cloak. He steps forward to take it and immediately puts it on. "Are you going to tell Ruffin everything? About who I am?" Ella is used to keeping her identity a secret now; she is not at all comfortable with revealing it to the rest of their companions. On the other hand, she realizes it may be information Ruffin needs, in order to know what exactly he is protecting her from. She is willing to leave it to Broc's wisdom. It is enough.

"I am going to tell Ruffin nothing," he says, smiling. "This is your story to tell, and I will protect it for as long as you choose to do the same. He knows enough that he will gladly watch over you. That is all we need him to do right now."

Pausing a moment to formulate his next statement, Broc adds, "Ruffin is... more likely to act without thinking than some people. Telling him something that you don't want others to know is not a burden that we need give him." He studies Ella's reaction for a moment.

Ella is about to say something further when the Sun finally, fully crests the horizon, burning away the whisper-thin cloud cover that had been providing the morning mist. New shafts of light stab down through the breaks in the forest, speckling the ground with a brilliant variety of colors.

"We've been out here a while," Ella observes quietly, with most of her attention focused on the awakening forest. She is glad for the distraction, distrusting her own impulses. She had been on the verge of saying something that was better left unsaid. Ella turns toward camp and glances over her shoulder at Broc, who is also taking in the beauty of a living wood coming fully awake. "Will we be traveling in the forest for long? It would be nice to have the protection, should we encounter fish and frogs in the sky again.."

The canopy of trees that the two conspirators stand in is fully lit now by the morning sun. Broc turns back to Ella before answering her question, "this seems to be just a localized wood. The hills we are getting into are too rocky to support many stands like this one. I'm afraid we'll be under the open sky soon enough. I wouldn't worry about it, though. The woman who brought down those plagues went off in a completely different direction. Hopefully, we won't run into her again for quite a long while."

Broc scans the ground underneath the tree, perhaps looking to see that nothing was disturbed by their visit. His eyes seems to trace the passage of the two intruders through the old tree's root structure, until they come to Ella's feet. As his gaze drifts up Ella's form, stopping only when he can look her in the eye, a small smile comes to his lips. He steps forward.

"Look at you." Broc's voice is soft, caring. Reaching up towards Ella's face, he gently brushes one calloused thumb across her cheek. A dampness Ella had not noticed is wiped away by his touch. She hates her own weaknesses, and yet she feels a moment of joy; it has brought him close. Ella savors his presence, the warmth of his body, and, for a precious few moments, she revels in the safe feeling that fills her. Her mind reacts faster than her body, though, and she holds herself tightly, unwilling to relax. She becomes tense.

"People are going to think you've been crying." His voice turns more playful, his grin more mischievous. "Maybe you should hit me," he gestures to his own eye, "just so that they know that you won whatever fight we had...."

She looks back at him with wide eyes and an affronted expression on her face. "You would ask me to mar a handsome face?" She smiles then, and her eyes reflect the mischievousness in Broc's grin. Ella lifts her own hand, cupping it around Broc's. Leaning her cheek against Broc's hand, she seems to draw some comfort from the closeness. Her eyes close and she breathes deeply the scent of the man.

There is comfort in him; a comfort she wants so badly, and yet one she dares not ask for, or even take when offered. Broc seems equally surprised by Ella's response to his touch. His hand twitches, once, as she lays hold of it, then trembles slightly as her embrace continues. She sees none of it; senses none of it. She is too wrapped up in her own emotions.

She opens her eyes again to look at Broc, and her lavender orbs are darkened by sorrow. His reaction, as Ella looks up, is lost, however, replaced immediately by concern at her sorrowed expression. She drops her hand once more to her side and takes a step backwards. Her smile, which shined so bright before, now seems regretful.

"I will just have to wash before returning to camp." She says, trying to make her voice light and carefree, although unsuccessfully. Ella raises a hand between herself and Broc, palm facing towards him, perhaps to ward off an advance. She seems on the verge of saying something more, her lips tremble with the words, but Ella makes no sound. She turns away from Broc. Ella hears him take a hesitant step forward. Her whole form echoes an internal struggle; to stay or go. Her body thrums with the energy of readiness to flee; yet she does not step out of the tree's leafy protection.

The sounds of the awakening wood are bright and cheery on this springtime morning, in fair counterpoint to the troubled emotions that seem to ravage these two interlopers. The blowing wind seems to take notice of their struggles, though, fading to nothing-holding its breath, as it were-so as not to interrupt. Neither man nor woman takes notice.

A footfall sounds, and Broc has moved a short step closer to Ella. She cannot see what he is doing, though from the sounds of it, he is still moving. For a moment-six heartbeats-only his breathing can be heard. Then silence.

His voice is sorrow. "Everything that I was, they took from me. I can offer you nothing, Lady, but hardship and suffering."

He places a water skin down on a raised root, near Ella but behind her. She can see it out of the corner of her eye.

Broc turns, and his hoarse voice comes as though from a distant place. "We will be ready to go when you return to camp." Determined steps move him back towards camp.

He stops again, after having gone just a few paces, and half-turns towards the elven woman still under the protection of the tree. "Take your time. Ella."

The footfalls begin again, and Broc begins his march back towards camp.

Ella turns to watch Broc walk away. Her expression is of both agony and regret. Once, she starts to call out to him, but she holds back the sounds. Better to end it before it begins.

"And I can only offer us heartbreak." Ella whispers softly. She turns, then, back to the water skin. Mechanically, she scrubs her face with another handkerchief, produced mysteriously from within a pocket of her clothing.

Afterwards, she pulls out a very battered, very scratched old mirror. Peering into it, she inspects her face and finds that all is well-the trials of the morning have been successfully washed away. However, no matter how composed she makes her face, her eyes continue to betray her. She sighs, closes them, and puts the mirror away.

With the water skin in hand, she follows Broc back to camp. Without a word, she hands it back to him and walks away to her own horse. She'd get over it. Eventually. Probably.