He held her back tightly, a murderous glare storming his features as the inept war party continued arguing the merits of various plans. Layel lifted Priscilla into his arms, the better to hold and comfort her. He mustered a gentle smile while he used his handkerchief to dab at her tears. He whispered, "Have peaceful dreams," and gently blew into her face. She seemed relieved to leave reality behind, swiftly slipping out of consciousness from the spell on his breath. He gently laid her back down on the crushed stems.
Swiftly dropping into a warrior`s crouch, he took a twisted dagger from a sheath hidden in his sleeve, and a broadsword squirreled away between his two shoulder blades. He held a guard position in front of the girl when the shifters stopped their arguing long enough to notice he had stolen their captive. The shifter warriors took out their own weapons and charged him. He sliced, pivoting at the heel, dragging the sword through the closest enemies ringed around him. His dagger was an impenetrable guard. Those behind him who swooped in for the kill died instantly. He flicked his hand out, oh so swiftly, and his dagger flew around the circle to kill the last of the remaining fighters, as Ortek and Arlec ran away from the battle. In twenty minutes of fighting, he had over a hundred warriors whose hearts were sluggishly pumping their last drops of blood and lungs were giving their very last breaths.
A man gasped, his own rattle-like breathing shallow. "You won't beat us all," he croaked. "Even if all of our group are felled by your hand, there will be others. We are all," he gasped, "united by hatred for your monarchy." His voice was rough and cracked, worn away by life and battle.
With one last desperate move, he clung to Layel`s sleeve. "I want mine away from this. Take mine away," he pleaded.
"Yours?" Layel asked thickly. "Your body?" The warrior shook his head. "Of..." he croaked, "mine, not mine." One more breath, and he spent it on the word, "Love." His eyelids fluttered and closed. Layel popped them back open, looking, but the irises had already rolled back in his head. He checked the pulse, and it was silent. Closing the eyelids again, he turned away. There was a flash of movement, of glowing eyes only a few feet from the ground, and then nothing.
"Who... "Layel stumbled over the word, "Who's there?" No one responded.
With a sigh, the warrior turned back to the child, the scent of her crushed fireblossoms permeating her hair. He picked her up and put her in his pack. Priscilla was still small enough to just barely fit as he carefully hefted the pack on over his sheaths. She murmured softly, sleepily, and he craned his neck to look at her. She was still in the midst of some happy dream, smiling even in sleep. Her hands twitched, and the field of flowers rustled. Small sprouts sprang up. There were buds, then leaves and blooms. The wondrous fireblossom blooms had been fully restored in a second. The blooms carpeting the clearing were thicker and lusher and brighter and more intense than they had been before her interference. Layel looked at her again in shock, and was surprised to see that she truly was still asleep. So powerful, he thought, even when she sleeps. Even as a member of a different species he knew the basics of their kind. Everyone knew a nymph's power was directly connected to its contractor`s health and vitality. A nymph had to concentrate on connecting with the heart of its tree or stream directly. The average nyad could easily call forth and manipulate such a large field of flowers, and the average dryad could control a similar volume of water with ease. To see one use its power while unconscious made him question if the shifters might have had another reason for their actions.
Layel carried her sleeping form out of the meadow, taking her into his own home and depositing her on his own plush bed.
He knew he should contact someone, get the word out that she was with him. Surely, someone was in charge of this girl; surely, someone was missing her. But he held the scrying spell in his hand, hesitant to finish connecting the spell to someone--his king Cillean, his prince Aeron, the captain of the Nymph Guard, really anyone would do when it came to letting the world know a lost child had been found--but still he hesitated. He didn't really want to share her with anyone else. And he couldn't help but be concerned that she had been out there by herself in the first place. Did that mean her people didn't keep close watch on her? That her parents didn't care about her welfare? What other reason could there be? For she was surely a child, even in nymph years. She looked like she still hadn't entered her teens, though she hovered close to it. Perhaps she was still in her forties, such a young girl in nymph years. She was far too young to just casually be living out in the world all alone. Had she run away? But then that made him wonder why she'd run away. If she'd run from an abusive tribe, he couldn't give the girl back and send her to live like that again after she'd tried so hard for freedom. But what if she had no problems at home, and was just a foolish child going on an adventure for the fun of it and had ended up in trouble by accident as a result of her own lack of caution and not her poor circumstance? He looked at her face while she slept, and then he pulled the covers up to her chin and smoothed her hair back. Whatever her reasons for being out in the world,
