As far as being held captive was at all concerned, Luthiriensis had no frame of reference. It seemed pleasant enough, though she wished they could have used silk ropes upon her delicate, thin wrists. In fact, had Mott not overpowered all her packing choices, she would have carried a fair number of silk scarves that could have performed the task with soft, elegant efficiency. As it was, she had to slip her hands out of the coils every so often to rub her poor, chafed skin. That, apparently, annoyed the guards.

"She's done it again." One guard nudged the other, trying his very best to scowl menacingly. "I'll tie her this time, he said. She'll not slip my knots, he said. The Boss'll not be happy."

"He won't?" The other guard scratched his head with the point of a wicked looking knife. "But he's always happy. He laughs a lot."

"That is a clever ruse to bring people's guards down." The first guard turned to his comrade, leaning in conspiratorially but speaking as loud as ever. "Then ... BAM ... he strikes!"

"So, he kills the guards with his pleasant and unassuming demeanour. What then? He chortles as he steals away in the night?" The second guard looked at the tip of the knife and tugged a chunk of hair, he had sliced from his curly brown locks, free. "Nah. I just think, in general, he's a happy person. He tries to leave guards alive."

"No. No. Not people's guards, people's guards ... you know what, you just don't get it." The first guard poked his companion in the chest with a finger and nodded knowingly. "He's clever. Cunning. Like a box."

While the two guards discussed the merits, or lack of them, and the merits of boxes and foxes, of putting forward a generally pleasant front, Luthiriensis returned her hands to her bonds, not wanting the guards to suffer any reprisals from a 'Boss' that may, or may not, be a basically happy person. She had noted that he had laughed, a lot, during their capture.

Mott, however, was not best pleased with the fact that she had returned her bindings to her wrists. He hadn't looked pleased when she had done it the last few times, either. He just didn't understand that, in a polite society, one did not disappoint one's hosts. Especially when they each appeared to have several weapons that looked as wicked as a wicked witch that had decided she had never quite got the hang of the whole 'wicked' thing and had redoubled her efforts, wickeding to the very extremes of wickedness.

To the side, Pinto lay bound utterly. Every limb had stout ropes attached. Her body had several nets atop her, attached to long spikes driven deep into the ground to keep her secure. And they had bound the muzzle of her head as tight as they could. Saying all that, Pinto looked around the glade with a look of undisguised wonder. Well, the parts of the glade she could see from her pinned position. Their captors hadn't believed a word they had said that Pinto couldn't breathe fire, and several buckets of water sat around the clearing. Just in case.

"Has it ever occurred to you that, if you can slip your bonds with such ease, that it may prove useful, nay, imperative, that you get us out of here?" Mott asked a question, but the rising tone of his barely disguised hiss had all the hallmarks of a miffed exclamation. Why he was angry, she didn't know. His skin was like leather. And not the lovely smooth kind of her favourite chamber trousers. "Listen, the next time the guard, or the other guard, or a different guard, comes to retie your bonds, head butt him in the nose, steal his weapon and ... what are you doing now?"

Luthiriensis tapped the first guard on the shoulder and gave a polite, attention-grabbing cough. She waited, patiently, for the guard to halt his intense conversation with his friend, where they had now moved on to just who was the most cunning out of all the bandit leaders they had worked for. The general impression was that a man called Vilkeflur the Delightfully Improbable had the edge over their current leader, but he had died in an incident involving a rabbit, a pair of exotic dancing ferrets and beef stew. They were, she could, tell, quite saddened by his passing.

"Excuse me. I say. Sorry to interrupt, but I was wondering ..." Both guards jumped, looked at Luthiriensis, then each other, before scrambling for their weapons, the second guard, forgetting in his haste, that he already had one available. "It's just that, my friends and I, are on a time-sensitive mission, so, if you could all hurry up with ... whatever it is you intend doing, we would greatly appreciate the alacrity."

"The ... the 'hal fackery'? I think I know him. Tinker. Plies his wares along the Galbanni Road." The first guard pointed the butt of his scrambled-out-of-its-sheath knife at Luthiriensis and she helpfully turned it around for him. "Here! Now, you back off elf-witch, afore I ... well, I can't gut you, apparently, but I think the Boss wouldn't be against a little rough shoving. Maybe ... maybe even a prodding."

"Hey! Hey! You can't do that!" The second guard turned to the first, wagging his own knife at his friend. "No prodding, you filthy bugger! No, what he means to say is, we are not against a little, appropriate and non-contact, vigorous wagging of fingers in your general direction. The Boss wants us to be more, you know, gentlemanly. The dwarf, however, we can give a good kicking."

"What have I done?" Again, it sounded like a question, but came out more like a statement from Mott. "I'm just sat here, like a good prisoner, minding my own business, and you go and threaten me? I have to tell you, it makes being a model prisoner a little difficult if your efforts aren't appreciated."

"Oh. Oh! Sorry, mate. You're right." The second guard held up his hand in apology. "It was just a, whaddayacall, example. No, you've been a good one. No mistake. If I were to rank all the prisoners I've guarded, which is a lot, you'd be right up there. Gods' honest."

"And don't you forget it!" Mott adjusted his seated position against the tree, grumbling to himself.

Luthiriensis could only blink, several times at the two guards that appeared to have forgotten her. She waited the appropriate time while the guards settled down into a frank and heated discussion about just who was the best prisoner they had ever had to guard. The name of Fink Under-Utilised came to mind and the two guards drifted into dreamy reminiscences about just how fluffy Fink's butter pancakes were, until Luthiriensis made yet another polite cough, underscored with a hint of impatience and a little flirtation, because it never hurt to try a little flirtation in tense situations.

"Hello again. The thing is that we really must be going. This has been fun and interesting and all that, but we really must be off." She held out her hand for them to shake and the second guard, hesitating, took a hold. "You really have been the most wonderful guards. Ooh! Careful with that knife. Allow me."

She took the knife from the second guard's hand, tossing it to the side, and moved to face the first guard, her charming smile causing him to widen his gap-toothed mouth into something that closely approximated a smile. He, too, took hold of her hand, pumping it in a far more vigorous and enthusiastic fashion as she took his knife, tossing that to the other side.

"It's been a pleasure, miss. An absolute pleasure." The first guard clamped his now empty other hand atop Luthiriensis', still shaking it. "You are a true lady and no mistake. I was just saying. A true lady. No mistake."

"He was! He really was!" The second guard had started to look a little envious of the extended handshake between his friend and Luthiriensis. "A true lady. We both said it."

"That's lovely. Now, if you sweet chaps could find our mounts? You can't miss them." With difficulty, trying not to appear rude, Luthiriensis extricated her hand from the first guard. "And, perhaps you could point us in the direction of the Marsh of Unpleasant Stuff? Gammer Goodhiding, leader of the Beldames, has secreted away with the heir of the King of Carpancia, and intends using the child in some arcane, evil ceremony. And we really must put a stop to those shenanigans."

"Gammer Goodhiding? Doesn't sound like something she'd do. Though she is one of the most terrifying people I've ever met. Ha, ha!" From behind her, Luthiriensis heard Mott groan at the voice that had, seemingly, come from nowhere. "Why, you are a wily one, fair lady, and, were I a less attentive man, I do not doubt your attempt at escape would have worked. But I am here!"

The sound of a horn, trumpeting and resounding, reached Luthiriensis' ears, followed by the rustle of leaves above and a swooping sound, before something flashed before her eyes, accompanied by a passing breeze that flicked her long, silky white hair about her flawless features. And, as her hair came to rest upon her shoulders, she saw the man that had captured them earlier, releasing a vine rope that he had used to swing down from the forest canopy.

She hadn't managed to get a good look at him, before, what with all the nets being thrown over them and the several arms dismembered by Mott's enormous axe. Then there were the bags over their heads, followed by the bindings, and Pinto asking whether they thought they had enough ropes for her, and being assured that, yes, they had plenty. She hadn't managed to catch much more of a glance at a pair of toned thighs within tight hose, a garish green coloured.

Now she could see him in the warm light of day and, she had to admit, he was a bit of a looker. Tall, with long, flowing, black hair, almost nearly close to being as silky as hers, but not quite. High-cheekbones, full, kissable lips. Mischievous eyes that glinted with the promise of adventure and a set of teeth so white and straight and gleaming, she almost thought he had a glamour upon his appearance.

Luthiriensis was a little distracted because she hadn't seen another elf in quite a while. The pointed tips upon his ears almost made Luthiriensis growl with lust. Or hunger. The elven riding sandwich's effects wearing off, perhaps. Still, he was a fine figure of an elf. The kind of elf that would have had a line of old female elves, a mile long, trying to persuade him to marry their daughters or sons. He was that good looking.

"Who's this berk?" Through the magic of having a knife drop near to him, Mott had managed to cut himself free and now held that knife against the throat of the second guard, who, though he had said some nice things about Mott, would still get cut if he moved even a fraction of an inch. "Right. Now, me and the elf woman and the dragon are leaving. You caught me by surprise earlier, but I assure you, I'll cut more than arms off this time."

"See! This!" The second guard flickered his eyes to the first guard as Mott moved the knife down to his crotch. "This is quality prisoner work! You just don't get prisoners like this anymore. The patience. The clarity of purpose. A prisoner that knows what he wants and gets it. Marvellous. Simply top-notch prisonering."

"He is good." The first guard held up his hands, backing away. "I'll give you that."

"If you could stop praising me for a moment?" Mott had to look under the second guard's arm toward the elven man in charge. "I demand my pony and her horse, with all our belongings! And don't think we can't tell if anything's missing! Oh, and release the dragon. She's dying to say something."

The first guard scuttled to the side, hesitated before lowering his hands, then untied Pinto as fast as he could before raising his hands once more. His natural empathy wouldn't allow his friend to lose his manhood. If the dwarf had kept the knife at the second guard's throat, that would probably have been a different matter. Regardless, now all three of them had become freed and Pinto stretched with a yawn.

"Barrawen! You look well!" Pinto turned on the spot, looking toward the elf. "Do we have to do this every time?"

"One cannot be too careful, Pinto." The elven man, Barrawen, grinned. "How's your mum?"