Poaching [1244 RWH], by Ellen Million
Lovemaker sat with his head cradled in his hands, fiercely wishing that the roaring of the waterfall would drown the feelings of guilt and jealousy that were overwhelming him. It was late afternoon and he felt exhausted, but too restless to sleep. Spray from the waterfall hazed the air around him with bright gems of caught sunlight. Windstalker was sulking at the bottom of the cliff out of reach of the spray. He was feeling neglected lately, and projected sour thoughts about Lovemaker's preoccupation and lack of interest in hunting.
The bitter feelings from his bondmate did nothing to dispell Lovemaker's guilt; only compounded his low frame of mind.
That morning had been spent with Ripple and Featherfern, with all of his misgiving and ill feelings shunted to one side to allow him to revel in the NOW of their company. He had felt so close, so included and so completely happy. But he remained awake after they slipped into slumber, and he had to remind himself that they were lifebonded, that he was an outsider, and guilt rose into his throat and choked him.
It was against the Way, his own Way, to put his own pleasures between established couples. He never interfered, never disrupted courtships, and only infringed on lifmates when expressly invited. He could easily convince himself that he was invited here, but his presence was causing tension - he suspected that Ripple though he was trying to court Featherfern away from him. Lovemaker ached at the thought. Ripple, with his beautiful dark hair, his stunning warm gold eyes, and his lithe figure...was it possible that he thought it was only Featherfern's charms that lured Lovemaker back to their den so often?
Sometimes he could feel Featherfern's soft eyes on him, and something he couldn't read would flash over her face. Something a little like pain? Lovemaker wondered, but didn't know why, or what to do.
The though occurred to him that she was falling in love with him, and the initial pang of joy was drowned by the heart wrenching guilt that followed. The idea of disrupting the bond she held with Ripple sent cold chills of fear. To win one of them at the cost of the other was a fate worse than having neither of them.
He tried staying away, avoiding them, but they were like strong dreamberries, intoxicating, and almost every morning he was drawn back to them irresistibly.
He loved them, more than he had ever dreamed possible; physically, mentally, emotionally, and somehow deeper, somewhere within where no one else had ever touched. Jealousy howled through his veins that they had each other, and that he was outside. Somehow, meeting them, loving them, left him lonelier than he had ever been, finally aware of the gap in his life where they belonged.
Lovemaker lifted his head and looked out over the waterfall and the canyon below. The sun was painfully brilliant in his green eyes, low as it crept towards the horizon. Windstalker had found a shaded grove to curl up and grumble in, and had fallen asleep. The elf suddenly smiled to remember the time, just a hand of nights ago, when he and Windstalker had taught - tried to teach - Featherfern and Ripple to howl. The lifebonded pair had found the entire proceeding fabulously funny, and laughed at their own attempts, even brave enough to play with Windstalker, who was coming to accept them as packmates.
The two elves had proven themselves adaptable to life at Rushwater. They had taken to the night-waking schedule without a blink of an eye, and were developing a wary understanding of the wolf-friends and pack rules. They made friends easily, armed as they were with easy-going dispositions and a shared, merry sense of humour. Rushwater Holt, in return, welcomed them with open arms. Featherfern made herself useful as a seamstress and assistant weaver, and Ripple was a fisher to rival the best of Rushwater's own.
**Lovemaker?**
Sparrow stood, barely obscured from sight at the base of the steep path. The noise of the waterfall made her resort to sending. Lovemaker banished his melancholy thoughts, bringing himself by sheer force of will, back into the stream of NOW.
**Does the Hunt leave early?** He stood, and stretched. Sleep would not be his this day, and something to do would be a welcome distraction.
If Sparrow noticed any hint of his unhappiness, it was not apparent in her own sending. **No. We're organizing a small game of Taal and wondered if you would join us.**
Lovemaker considered, and Windstalker woke and sent his desire for a real hunt, not silly games. Thinking that his laugh sounded rusty, Lovemaker sent back, **Count me out. Windstalker wants real prey, and I'm a little hungry. We'll go catch some ravvits or something.**
The dark-haired elf sent wordless acceptance and moved off. The sight of her gleaming black braids brought Ripple back into Lovemaker's mind, and he shook his head as if he could banish the thoughts with force. **Hunt with me, brother,** he sent to Windstalker. **Help me live in the NOW and forget my confused heart.**