Shock flooded through Ryathane as the woman stated her race, though only his chin raised fractionally in recognition of the emotion.

	“That… that’s impossible,” he muttered, his voice irritatingly quieter than he had intended. “Elves are just fairy tales.”

	[i]She has to be lying,[/i] he thought. His head tilted slightly toward the pouch at his waist, where the nearly-forgotten wanted poster still took up space. He took a short moment to take in every bit of the woman’s body language, from her slightly trembling fingers to the disdain he had heard in her lilting voice. His gaze locked with hers, a hint of weariness swimming in their violet depths. [i]But who would lie about being something with a bounty on their head?[/i]

	He lessened the tension exhorted on his bowstring, his eyes narrowing as he looked again to her pointed ears, and her face with its lean curves beautiful even in shadow.

	But now, the question became what to do with her.

	In the span of an instant, he measured his options. He could always release her, but if the king would hold to the promise of a reward... and then there was the hostility she had shown. Would she kill him the first chance she got? No, release was out of the question. He could leave her there and check the other net that had sprung, but that would risk her escape or someone else discovering her. He could bind her and drag her along with, but then, if elves were as powerful as the stories said, she could still potentially--

	As if summoned by the thought of the other trap, his thoughts cut short as a low growl somewhere between animal and instrument filled the trees. He inhaled through his nose at the sound of a manticore lurking somewhere nearby. Hoping the weariness he had seen in the woman’s eyes was not a trick, Ryathane made a split-second decision he prayed would not come back to bite him. He raised his bow, this time to the forest as he searched for the manticore, and backed up slowly to where he had hidden the tie of the trap. 

	“If you try anything or run,” he hissed, trying to pinpoint the origin of the sound as another of the strange growls seemed to echo from all around, this time closer, “you’ll have an arrow in your back before you can say Bob’s your uncle.”

	As quickly as he could, Ryathane released the bow without firing the arrow and undid the expertly tied knot.

	As he redrew the bow, the net--and woman--fell to the ground as another growl sounded ever closer.