<div class="floatleft">(http://i307.photobucket.com/albums/nn313/NovemberWerewolf/Female%20Characters/Half_Elf_Girl_by_kerembeyit.jpg)</div><strong>Name:</strong>Drake Turrel<br/><strong>Location:</strong>The Reach, just outside of Markarth.<br/><strong>Time:</strong>Dusk<br/><strong>Tagging:</strong>Aelfgar, Iljana, Open.<br/><br/><hr/>Drake stretched out one hand, but didn’t release her bow with the other. She trusted her skills and the distance that separated her and the Nord that, should he give her more reason to fire, she had the speed and intuition to notch and release a couple more arrows before he could make it up the hill. Asher seemed to think so as well; for the great cat took advantage of the outstretched palm by rubbing his brow against it. On all fours, the creature was nearly as tall as the elf; his head stopping just under her chest. The strength of him rippled under his beautiful coat, and pushed at Drake’s hand as if it were nothing. Even from up here on the hill, his deep rumbling purr could be felt by Aelfgar. He seemed quite content to have her fingers scratching behind his pointed ears. The threat, for Asher, was apparently forgotten.<br/><br/>But Drake still walked the line of caution, tense and ready to move while the Nord sat and tied up his wound. She didn’t understand how he could keep such a straight face after a blow to a hand; especially when something like stubbing a toe on a rock always had her cursing up a storm until the wave of pain passed. A hand? Maybe Rage was better suited against him than her bow? Maybe the next time she used violence against this man, should he give her further reason to, she would invest some of her energy into forming fire around her arrows? The Elf slid the bow around her shoulder, freeing up her hands, and gave Asher a single pat on his shoulder before she began moving forward. She wasn’t beyond apology, but that didn’t make it any easier.<br/><br/>He was wrapping a cloth around his hand, one that was quickly stained with blood. It wasn’t guilt she felt for making such a wound; life out in the Reach was hard. Life as a hunter in any means was even harder, and you did what you had to do in order to protect and survive. But you could make amends, and the Turrels were known for being gracious as well as ferocious when they needed to be. Drake stopped just before the Nord, well out of the man’s reach. Caution, always. Trust wasn’t something that could simply be given freely.<br/><br/>“A trapper in the badlands? Wouldn’t you have an easier way west of here? I’d imagine the pelts of snow wolves would sell better than the common, if brutish, bear.” The elf took in the details of his face; handsome, as far as Nords could be handsome, for she found them to be made of blunt angles rather the fine curves of her people. And big. Far taller than she and Drake noted that she was grateful that the man was sitting down. It made her feel less like a child when she was the only one on her feet, and she questioned now how her confidence would hold had he decided to rush up the hill at her just moments before. Rage would have been drawn, her family’s magic would have been summoned, and blood would have poured down the hillside. Likely hers.<br/><br/>She was realistic. No one was invincible, while she had speed, grace and agility on her side, this man had the brute strength she lacked. The arrow in his hand, she came to realize, was like a sliver in the finger; an annoyance, not a real injury. Inside she winced, hoping Asher wasn’t too far behind.<br/><br/>Still standing, the elf closed the distance between them, an act that made her uncomfortable but strengthened the woman at the same time; she was here in Skyrim to test herself, after all. “I can close this for you. You’ve not injured Asher; allow me to reciprocate by taking back your wound. Perhaps then, we might try this introduction again.”<br/><br/>It seemed tonight was full of screams. With a frown, Drake looked over her shoulder, once again taking a moment to pinpoint the location, which was difficult to isolate because of the canyon walls. With a sharp, quick whistle, the elf jerked her head off to the side, indicating to Asher to go investigate. The cat turned as directed, and soon disappeared in the mist that began to settle into the air around them. She looked back at the Nord, waiting for his reply, but now curious as to what made this evening so sociable.<br/><br/><hr/><br/><em>The lynx made no sound as he moved, the wide paws as large as a human’s face ensured the even distribution of his weight, so that he was as silent as the wind pushing through smoke. Wind brought to his senses blood, and through several open-mouthed huffs, tasting the molecules of this essential fluid on his tongue, he had decided that it belonged to two creatures; bear, a common flavor on his maw, and a woman. Creeping up along the canyon to a small valley below revealed the sight of a great bear crushing the form of a tall woman. The cat was indecisive, as they usually are, and with a flick of it’s stubby tail, Asher decided to move down to the valley to the bear in order investigate further.</em><br/>