Though more or less expected, Nikita had to fight the urge to step away and go for her machete when the elf mimicked her, reaching a hand toward her. Her breath hitched at his hesitation, but then she looked back to the elf’s face. It wasn’t disdain or suspicion that gave him pause, but genuine confusion.
	Apparently, elves didn’t shake hands.
	She gave a small breath of a chuckle. Before she could explain, he lowered his hand and stepped away. Her amusement slipped away, heart skipping in her uncertainty to whether that was bad sign. 
	But the elf only nodded his understanding. Though it did little to put her fully at ease, but a truce was a truce, no matter how questionable it may be.
	All the same, she took what she hoped was a subtle, nonchalant step further from him. She returned her hand to her side, habitually moving to rest it at the hilt of her machete, but thought better of it.
	“Nikita,” she answered reflexively. “Or Kita, if you’d rather.”
	She’d barely finished speaking before Illion shifted back into his childlike glee and rapid-fire inquiries.
	“Whoa, whoa!” She raised her hands and patted at the air, trying to stem the flow of questions. “Don’t forget to breathe!” Despite herself, one corner of her lips quirked up in amusement. 
	She took a deep breath, biding her time for a moment longer, unsure how much she could safely tell him. Though, if she played her cards right, maybe she could get some answers of her own. Answers she’d wanted about them since she was a child.
	Though, alas, now probably wasn’t quite the right time to ask, ‘Why do your kind like to hurt us so much? What did my parents ever do to you?’
	“I live in the town nearby, so no, not too far,” she said instead. Though there wasn’t any other village or town for miles, if Illion was as clueless about humans as he acted, she hoped that wouldn’t mean much to him.
	“The others in town…” She shifted her weight awkwardly, incapable of hiding a scowl at the thought of the citizens of Baxtree. “No,” she admitted sourly. “They aren’t like me. There might be elsewhere, but not there.” [i]Not anymore.[/i]
	With that thought tainting her emotions, she glanced toward her machete as she came to the last of Illion’s latest string of questions. She looked him over yet again, noting his lack of visible weaponry. Though, perhaps one didn’t need to rely on such primitive protective measures when you could just curse anything that tried to harm you.
	 “This”—she patted its sheath—“is for protection and practicality, not picking berries.
	“What about you, then?” she went on carefully, doing her best to maintain a genial tone. “I thought the elven city was supposed to be further out. This is rather close to town for your kind, isn’t it? Why come all the way out here if that’s the case?”
	[i]Why not just leave us well enough alone?[/i] she added to herself, bitterly.
	“And you don’t exactly match up with what I know about elves.”  Despite her best efforts, her suspicion leaked into her voice, the question of whether or not he was playing her for some devious purpose still niggling at the back of her mind. She left it at that, not wanting to risk insulting him by elaborating about how, exactly, he differed.