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Past Midnight

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He wandered off away from us all, singing of the Sea, and I did not see him again that day or that evening. But late in the night, I woke reaching for my axe, and found him perched on my windowsill like some odd gangly bird.

"If I had been an enemy, your axe would do you little good now," he said, a smile in his voice, though I could not see his face in the dark, with the torchlight on the city streets flickering behind him. "The moon has crossed half the sky since first I settled here."

"Could you find no more comfortable seat?" I asked shortly, for I had drunk much and was tired. And I did not like to think of him gone over Sea.

He said softly, "None I would prefer, save one, and that I might not have without asking."

Now, after all these weeks of quiet? I would gladly have strangled him, if I could have laid hands on him and not grown distracted. "How like an Elf," I snapped, drawing back the covers, "to wake me in the middle of the night with foolish questions, after frittering away the day with song."

He was still laughing even as he slipped in beside me, until I stopped his mouth and pressed him down into the furs.