The first noise Eris awoke to in the early morning hours was that of a somewhat pained noise. Marion hissed through gritted teeth, clutching their hand. First glance suggested that the elf had mishandled their knife while, as far as he could discern, whittling. He sat up as he rubbed the grit of sleep from his eyes. “Let me see your hand,” he called softly.

“What? No, it’s fine, Eris,” the elf dismissed over their shoulder, trying to turn away from him so he could not see ...