POUI | CAVE HILL JOURNAL OF CREATIVE WRITING

“Small remorse, child. I am hard -pressed to see why you should not be taken back to

elven lands and locked away in du ngeon deep.”

Then Groth, honorabl e son of Grath, heaved a sigh. “ Sir, I must speak. You know I hold

no great love for the long- ears.” Vissarion chuckled and slapped him on the back. Groth ignored

him. “But this Elladonna— the mischief that befell here is not truly of h er making. ’ Twas my

battle-mongering led to the man Jones firing his weapon, and to the conflagration of Dino’s

Diner.”

“His mongering and mine,” said Gar. “And I— I cannot accept mercy for seeking to sell

the Key if she receives none for seeking to buy it. Especially w hen she saved my imbecile life.”

At no cost to herself , I thought, noting the three red holes. Still, the deed was good . I saw

no malice in her, only a wildness untempered by maturity. And I have known lyrilim to learn

wisdom through the burdens of respo nsibility. “Vissarion Wingfoot?”

“Sir!”

“ It is no place of mine to meddle in elvish affairs. However, I beg to claim kinship with

this maiden by reason of our paternities, and to offer a suggestion to the Council, if they will

hear it.”

“ As their represe ntative, sir, I hear it gladly.”

“ The Goblins encroach on my Western borders. I need a spy who can tell me of their

movements.”

She clapped her hands. “ Oh, what fun! Vissarion, old friend, do let me spy on the

Goblins!”

“ Hush, hush. I can hear for the Council, but I cannot speak for them. All the same, I do

not doubt they will accept. Better, surely, to make use of your talents than to vex our jailers

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