Flitting through the shadows came easily, and none marked her passage. She paused every few yards to listen, her almond eyes darting. To be certain she passed unheeded. One could never be sure. Not with matters such as these.

In her arms she held a bundle wrapped tightly and clutched to her breast. The silken cloth was soft against her skin. And warm.

Would he be there, as he'd promised?

Beneath the moonlight, the Elf maid's smooth brow began to furrow as doubt assailed her. Her folk called him treacherous. They claimed his was a lying tongue. Yet none felt its heat or tasted its sweetness as she had done.

Near their agreed meeting place, she halted and leaned against a tree to catch her breath. Once more, she looked behind, but saw no movement, no pursuit. A slight smile lifted one corner of her mouth; one did not chase without suspicion of mischief, and she had inspired none. Among her folk, she was the very image of proper maidenhood, untouched and untouchable, cool and aloof.

Not so would she be with him.

Drawing a steadying breath, she gazed into the clearing before her: Empty. He had not come, or would not come. Was this place too near her home? Did he fear discovery?

Did he fear death?

No. Not her champion. Not the one who pulled her from the river and breathed life into her. Not he who warmed her and sheltered her through the storm. Not he.

Her uncertain steps brought her to the great tree in the center of the clearing. Its high canopy was so thick, little grew beneath it, but in these late autumn days the branches reached naked to the sky, and the moon shone brightly. Holding her bundle close, she pressed her body against the comfortingly solid trunk and waited.

It seemed she stood there, peering into the darkness in all directions, fear clutching her heart, for long hours, yet it was only minutes before one shadow became solid and moved. Gasping with sudden fear, she recoiled.

"Just me," his rough, growling voice murmured. She could see his large hand extended in a calming gesture. It was not until he stepped from the shadows into the moonlight that she saw him fully, and was relieved.

"You came," she sighed.

"Promised yuh, didn't I?" His crouching approach was slow and wary, and his small red eyes scanned the trees about them. "Weren't followed, were yuh?"

"No," she breathed. "I made certain."

Nodding, he straightened and came closer. His eyes seemed to look everywhere but at her. "Shouldn't be here, meetin' like this."

"Are you afraid?"

A defiant scowl hardened his features, and his large pointed ears pinned back. "No." As though catching himself in habitual hostility, he sighed, and repeated softly. "No."

"Come," she offered, kneeling on the thick carpet of shed leaves beneath the tree, "sit with me." She began to pull back the folds of the cloth-bound parcel.

"What's 'at, then?" he asked curiously as he squatted down nearby.

"A gift," she smiled.

"Nar, yuh don't owe me nothin'," he demurred, but settled himself more comfortably, and closer. Her smile broadened.

They'd been carefully packed between smaller cloths, and she was just as careful in unwrapping each one. His increasingly puzzled expression amused her, and she found herself smiling all the more. Her hands neither shook nor slipped, so often had they performed this simple ritual. Setting the pot down on the cloth, she offered the Orc a cup.

"Drink with me, my friend," she murmured.

He sniffed at the steaming liquid. "What's this?"

"Tea."

Shrugging, he swiftly drained the contents of the fragile porcelain cup. His lip curled slightly. "You Elves drink this a lot, do yuh?"

"Quite often, yes," she replied, and sipped her own. "It is meant to calm and sooth. Would you like more?"

"Nar, I'll pass," he grimaced. Once more, his gaze began to roam nervously. "So what'd yuh want from me, eh?"

Setting her cup down, she turned to face him fully, and clasped her hands in her lap. "I should like to know your name."

He looked at her askance. "That's all? Just my name?"

"And to tell you mine, if you wish to learn it," she added. "I was so frightened, I did not think to ask. And then you were gone."

Scratching the back of his bald head, he muttered sheepishly, "Wasn't likely to get away with what I done."

"Let us not talk of your folk and mine, or their petty grudges," she said quietly. "I am called Fuilloth; it means 'night flower.'"

The Orc chuckled. "That's... innerestin'." His eyes found hers. "Mum named me Lûlzabûrz." He laughed awkwardly.

"Does your name have a meaning?"

He nodded. "Same as yours." He laughed again, this time with shy embarrassment. "She was a bit mad. Wanted a girl. Too bad, eh?"

"I think it's lovely," Fuilloth said. Her hand found his, rough-skinned yet warm. "Will you stay? Here, with me?"

Frowning, Lûlzabûrz's eyes darted warily about and his breathing quickened. "What fer?"

The Elf maid felt his hand slipping from hers, and held on firmly. "The moon is bright," she whispered. "It would be a shame to waste its light."

"What... um...," he began, unsure what he was seeing in her eyes. She smiled gently.

"Shall I be plain?" she said, and let her half-lidded gaze wander the intriguing, unexplored landscape of his body. So unlike any Elf she'd coyly rejected, yet exuding a maleness that called to her deeply. "Shall I... invite you?"

Lûlzabûrz appeared torn between distrust and desire, and swallowed several times before he was able to speak. "No, I... I don't guess you gotta get plainer'n that."

"Let me taste your lips once more, my Orc," she breathed, closing her eyes. She could feel his hesitation, though she could not see it. Her heart raced with anticipation.

The heat of his inner fire preceded the press of his mouth to hers, and she melted in the consuming flames.