* * *
"I am not a fool," Mithiar muttered as he pulled arrows out of the groaning frostalf. "He has no right to call me a fool."
The frostalf said something thickly that might have been agreement.
"I'm mad, of course. There's not really any doubt about that." Mithiar paused and wiped the arrow tip off on the frostalf's cloak. He straightened the fletching as he continued to talk. "Everyone agrees that I'm mad. Even my lovers tell me I'm mad."
The frostalf clawed at the mud and tried to heave himself away from Mithiar. Absently, the purple-eyed elf stabbed his dirk into the frostalf's thigh and twisted. The Midgardian whimpered and slumped against the ground.
"You're making this difficult, you know." Mithiar slipped dirk back into his belt and the repaired arrow into his quiver, then pulled another one out of the frostalf's back. "I don't like him, but he is much stronger than I." He tilted his head slightly. "Maliar and Celebiar both have told me not to anger someone so much more powerful."
The frostalf groaned weakly.
"If you hadn't tried to escape, you wouldn't be bleeding to death now. Now be quiet. I think the Albs are coming."
One run-by and several near misses of people stumbling over the patch of shadows Mithiar hid in, which led to not a bit of running through the shadows and climbing trees, the elf went back to retrieve the last arrow.
He straightened the fletching on the final arrow, kissed the frostalf lightly on the cheek (which caused it to grimace), and slipped into the shadows. All that was left behind was a bleeding frostalf and the fading sound of his giggle.
The End