Don't Wake a sleeping Drow.
There he was. The self-righteous, paranoid jerk. Just sleeping under a tree in the middle of winter.
Cy'tae glared, arms crossed over his chest.
Who the hell fell asleep outside carrying a short-sword? That jerk, right there. Kal'anzaer.
"Oi," the elf growled, coming closer. He was about to kick the drow awake. The jerk deserved no less.
However, he didn't get close enough. It took a second and the drow was a blur of movement. Cy'tae found himself on his back, the drow pressed against him with something sharp and cold against his throat.
He could only stare up with shocked eyes at the glaring Kal'anzaer.
"Never," the drow hissed, "wake a sleeping drow."
He was fluid and swift as he rose, blade moving toward its sheathe. The drow did not take his cold orange gaze off the forest elf.
"What did you want?" he growled.
Cy'tae subconsciously wrapped his arms around himself and looked away. His face felt heated and pinkish. His mind was whirling, what had just happened?
He barely remembered to answer. "It...it is time for dinner."
The drow clicked his tongue and turned away. "That all? Fine."
Cy'tae chanced a look up at the other as he slowly forced himself to raise. Kal'anzaer was already turning toward the house and walking swiftly. It never failed to amaze the elf how silently the drow could walk: he never made a sound.
Cy'tae stared after the drow until he disappeared into the house.
...what just happened? Was he...?
But, no. He couldn't be.
...what about Val...?