A small speck of relief lightened Nikita at the elf’s quick response. She almost laughed as she watched the realization of the implication of his hasty answer dawn on him. Her lips betrayed her, quirking upward as he tried to backtrack, only managing to dig the hole further.
	Until…
	[i]Others could be looking for him.[/i] Alone for now, but for how long, she didn’t know. Nor, it seemed, did he. Her subtle smile folded down instantly.
	Her hand subconsciously tightened at her weapon. At last, the elf’s gaze flicked to it. The speed with which surprise and fear replaced his childlike joviality startled her into taking a step back of her own, ready to draw the weapon, her heart pounding in her throat. 
	But still, the elf didn’t immediately attack, didn’t start muttering some sort of curse.
	[i]Do they [u]need[/u] to vocalize a curse?[/i] The thought sent a shudder down her spine. She started to draw the weapon when he spoke again, but hesitated when she realized he was still speaking English. And he was only returning her question, displaying the same amount of fear as she’d fought to keep hidden.
	Nikita eyed him, watching his emotions play with free innocence across his face. Slowly, she took a deep, steadying breath, and shook her head.
	“I came out here alone,” she said grudgingly. “But hunters sometimes come out this way, and I have family in the village,” she added, hoping to instill the same sense of, ‘kill me, and others might come and avenge me,’ in him as his words had in her.
	Not that any of the hunters would bother to help her if they passed by. Most of them would be happy to be rid of her. Nor would anyone but Nico really care if she didn’t come home. Only him and Penelope, and, for all the healer’s bravery, she wouldn’t risk her own skin to avenge Nikita.
	But the elf didn’t need to know that.
	She pried her hand away from her machete. She slowly moved her hands to the side, palms facing him, showing she held no other weapons. The tattered work gloves she’d donned to chop wood still covered them, practically forgotten in the rush of the morning’s events.
	“I meant it when I said I mean you no harm. As long as [i]you[/i] don’t mean [i]me[/i] any harm. Deal?” With a silent prayer that his countenance wasn’t just a well-honed act, she met his gaze and cautiously reached out a hand toward him for a handshake to seal the statement. 
	Not that she thought that would really mean anything to an elf, but it felt like the right thing to do. Or, at least, it was [i]something[/i] to do, even if it wasn’t the right thing.
	There were at least a dozen different ways this could go wrong.