Himelilek was sitting on a tree stump, sharpening her blade. She glanced up, her eyes like steeled ice, but her face showing nothing but contempt and boredom. "Are you done flashing your tongue and your knife, uh, silver one?" She said mockingly.
The silver cloaked one turned to her, his eyes narrowed with dislike "What is wrong with you? Do you not know that your life is in danger, woman?"
"Fear is to show weakness." She sighed, standing and tossing the piece of wood over her shoulder. "Something that I like to think of myself as not."
"Vanity is a weakness that elves so often fall prey to, especially your kind." He eyed her armor and saw the symbols that adorned it.
With a flash of white, Himelilek's blade shot through the air like a stricking cobra, and embedded itself in the tree just a hair beside the elf. "You don't know anything about anything so shut your mouth, gypsy elf."
[ July 15, 2002: Message edited by: Manelwen ]
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Victory favors neither the righteous nor the wicked. It favors the prepared.
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