"One lone figure walked listlessly about, often glancing apprehensively in our direction. Eventually, this figure began stealing its way towards us, seeming to sense our whereabouts in uncanny fashion. In anticipation, we took position of the roofs of two low buildings and waited. The figure drew near and pulled out a long, curved knife, and there was a sudden, hissed, intake of breath.
"We pounced, subduing the figure easily. We then withdrew to ascertain what we had captured.
"She spat and thrashed like a cat, and Darrow unhooded the creature as my men held it. Its eyes were black and full of hate. Never had we seen such eyes! Iris and pupil were jet black, indistinguishable from one another.
"It did occur to me that this creature was an elf, but Stil, himself an elf, seemed taken aback, as was Darrow. `She is a witch!' Darrow told us. The girl then said some words to Stil, and he was greatly surprised. We understood her tongue, but he told us that hers was a dialect long extinct, that had once been spoken by the High Elves of ancient Morag.
Casting a look about the table, seeing the doubt and troubled eyes about him, Akaru said pointedly, "Even with the benefit of hindsight, I very much doubt that the girl or her people would have listened to our words, and they may not simply have left us in peace! She has since said herself that hers are a fearful, suspicious people. And we had in hand an elven witch! Think on that! She was and is a witch, and the men feared her eyes! None of us had ever seen such eyes! To us, then, they seemed black and magical and full of the promise of danger! I know, we have all seen the girl since, and know that she is little more than a child, and was very much afraid of us! And," he admitted with reluctance, "of me. It could be that she took me for something out of her worst nightmare."