Night had fallen, and the manor was quiet.
Fairlain crept silently down the stairs from the dortor warily watching and listening for any movement aside from her own. There was none; Milady kept to her chambers and Milord Balisan had not yet returned. The young huntress walked quickly to the council table and placed a folded parchment at the place where lady Alkawen usually sat. It was addressed to Hiril Alkawen in neat, dwarvish cirth and the message inside read thus:
Milady,
I owe my life to you and the Order, and there are not enough words to thank you with. Forgive me for telling you in this way, but I did not wish to risk your nay-saying that which I intend. I have promised Dwimmer that I would not pursue the person who hurt me, and I will hold to that. But there are those I left behind that may yet be in danger and I would not see them undefended. You all have been so careful of me, and I am grateful. But now I am strong again, and would be doing more than wait in idleness.
Lindovor tells me the one who sought you now runs in fear. So he should. I tell you again I will not seek him, but neither will I show him mercy if he crosses my path again. I pray you, do not send any after me. I am not defenseless, and I will not be taken unawares again.
Be well, Milady. You will see me again, once I know that the folk of the Wold are safe.
With once last glance around the great hall, Fairlain strode quickly to the door, and, passing through it, closed it silently behind her. She ran silently down the path and up the hill to the carpenter's cottage where she had hidden her weapons. Fairlain smiled as she gathered up her new bow and slung the quiver of arrows across her shoulder. The young carpenter had placed a water skin next to the small knife he had given her earlier. Moving quickly and silently, she jogged quietly through the still lanes of the village 'til she passed silently through the gates and continued south.
