Smiling softly as golden eyes gazed upon the spledid caramle form of the elven damsel, Wayland Smith took care to do with patience what he could not do with stealth.  Over the next quarter hour, as she dozed and sang, he located her cloak and boots, clothes, arms, and armor, and placed them all within his bag.<br/><br/>Then the silver man set aside his own garb in a high tree and, nude save for a honey-brown leather loincloth, the silver man glided up to her as softly as he could, collar in one hand, withotu even maul or shield, though he carried the beautiful collar he'd made especialy for her from the moment he first espied her in his scrying mirror.  Crouching softly over the dozing damsel, the silver man rested a hand gently on the small of her back.