"Solomon Grundy, born on a Monday,"

He groaned, stirring in the thin sheets. Opening his eyes was his first mistake, the sunlight shining through the window almost blinding him, sending a wave of pain through his skull. Solomon groaned again and pulled the blankets over his head, trying to fool himself into thinking he hadn't woken up yet. It didn't work. Sighing, he removed the blanket, although this time he kept his eyes closed, listening instead. The first thing he heard was the rustle of leaves, a noise he had gotten used to while living in Yomenïampa. A chorus of children's voices caught his ear, the sing-song melody a familiar one.

"Christened on a stark and stormy Tuesday, "

He sat up, throwing the sheets off as he recognized the tune. With a small smile on his face he began to dress, first pulling on a simple, long-sleeved white shirt. Over this he put on a thick, black vest, tyng it together quickly with his thin fingers. He was already wearing a pair of baddy black leggings, tied off at his ankles. As he dressed, a small, silver amulet bumped against his chest. He stopped, staring at it for a moment before gently grabbing it and bringing it up to his eye level. It had been adorned with intricate carvings, although the only symbol he could recognize was an hourglass; the rest were runes he could not decipher, despite all his time working as a scholar in the city. He tucked the amulet under his clothing, reaching for his belt.

"Married on a gray and grisly Wednesday,"

"That's enough!" The male elf's smile broadened upon hearing the sharp voice interrupt the song. "You kids know better than to sing that ridiculous nonsense here!" He quickly fastened the belt, checking to make sure the quiver on his left hip was full, before grabbing his shortbow and going over to the window. The sunlight caught his blonde hair and green eyes, making both seem to glow. He nimbly slipped out the window, dropping the few feet to the wooden planks below. Even among the elves he was tall, tall enough that most doorways in the elven city were too short for him to enter. Seeing the scene on the walkway he fought to hide a smile, and failed. An elven maiden was chastising a group of elvish children, wielding the ladle like a saber. He quietly walked over to the group, laying one thin hand on the girl's shoulder.

"Calm down, Kerian." The girl started, spinning to whack his hand with the ladle. The tall elf flashed a grin at her before turning to the children. "Please, continue. You all sing so well." The children giggled and began to skip around each other again, picking up where they had left off.

"Took ill on a mild and mellow Thursday,"

"But... Solomon!" The girl gently hit his ear with the weapon, drawing his attention back to her. "It's such a horrible song! I can't believe you let them sing it around you!" She sighed, looking up at the taller elf with vibrant green eyes. Despite her youthful appearance, Kerianseray was over a century old.

Solomon Grundy shrugged, glancing at the joyful children. "Just because your father named me after a nursery rhyme doesn't mean it can't be sung. He did find me on a Monday and name me on a Tuesday." Looking back to the flustered girl, he smiled disarmingly. "Maid Kerian, perhaps you could help me with the 'married on a Wednesday' verse?" Dodging the predicted ladle strike, he laughed and dashed away, ignoring her glare and blush, as the children finished the song.

"Grew worse on a bright and breezy Friday,
Died on a gay and glorious Saturday,
Buried on a baking, blistering Sunday.
That was the end of Solomon Grundy."

The light-haired elf moved quietly though the elven city, returning the waves he received from several people. Soon he reached the outskirts, staring into the verdant green canopy of the Yomenïampa forest. Nodding to one of the elven sentries there he took an arrow out of the quiver, notching it on the string before entering the forest. He always felt uneasy when he heard that simple rhyme. Something about it worried him. He mentally shook himself, focusing on the task at hand. It was time to go hunting. He slipped into the forest, silver eyes searching for prey.

The bright sunlight filtered through the trees, illuminating the forest in a way that would take a person's breath away. The leaves of the trees seemed splashed with color as the light flowed down to the ground below. The forest was alive with life, creatures of all kinds made their way about there business, already beginning the long process of finding food. If a person were to simply stand in the middle of it all, it would seem as if the very trees themselves pulsed with life. It would be almost as if there was a heartbeat that was flowing through the entire forest that could be felt if one paid close enough attention. It was said that Yomenïampa, the forest of the elves, was filled with a magical energy that washed over all of it's inhabitents. Whether or not this was true, the forest was one of the most breathtaking places in Arda, and it was a place that was filled with light.

But even in places of light, there was shadow. The tall trees of the forest cast long shadows, leaving plenty of darkness for beings to hide. For Death, hiding in the shade of a tree was child's play. Leaning back against the trunk of a tall evergreen tree, Death's cold eyes gazed out from beneath his cloak. For a period of time, he had removed himself from the world. He had given the mortals a respite from his dark deeds; however, all good things must come to an end. Death had returned to the world once again, and he planned on staying for quite some time. So much had occured during his absense. The Riders had disbanded their guilds, although that was something that they all agreed had to be done. They had been foolish to believe that mortals could help them accomplish their goals. The guilds had been failures, and they had learned just how weak the beings of this realm are. It was better that the Riders were alone, nothing else would work. For now, each rider was going his own way, and Death had chosen this direction.

Standing beside him, a large two-headed dog looked up at his master, waiting for a command of what they were to do. The royal hound was a skilled assassin, and Death had employed the beast several times before when he had needed someone taken care of. Without a sound, Death moved from behind the tree, and the dog followed. With silent footsteps, Death slowly made his way through the forest, taking care to avoid any elves he saw. It was not time for him to deal with them yet, he wanted to get closer to the city. In reality, this was simply an excuse to get into a fight. It had been too long since Death had been truly challanged by anyone, and he desired an opponent who could make this trip worthwhile. With a slight smile that would have chilled a person to the bone, Death let his left hand drift to the hilt of a sword that hung at his waist. Recently, Death had acquired a new sword, one that's power rivaled his dark blade. This would be a unique opportunity to test out the blade and see how useful it was.

Moving swiftly from shadow to shadow, Death stopped behind a tall tree, listening intently. With a sudden leap, Death jumped up the tree, grabbing hold of a branch about twenty feet off the ground. Pulling himself up, Death swiftly climbed the tree, silently working his way upwards. This would be the best place to hunt any elves. They elves would never be on the ground, they would always be up in the trees. If you wanted to see them, you had to get on their level. Stopping his ascent, Death peered around, scanning the area for any movement. With the patience of a hunter, Death slowly searched for anyone that was out in the forest. It might take hours, but Death would wait however long he needed. After all, he had all the time in the world. It was his prey that would be swiftly running out of time.

Every step was important. That was how he had been taught to hunt. The most important step was scoruing the ground for anything that would betray your presence. A dry twig, a slightly brown leaf; these were your enemies. But the steps themselves were important too. Slow-walking, was what it was called. The art of silent movement. First the toe, then the heel, followed by the rest. The toe, the heel, the rest. Each step was slow and deliberate, no movement wasted from one motion to the next. Performing this step was difficult in the undergrowth of the forest, where every inch of space was usually covered with fallen leaves. But here, in the thick boughs of the Yomenïampa canopy, Solomon found that the walk came easily to him. His green eyes scanned the forest below at all times, pointed ears listening for the slightest movements. The branches interweaved in a convenient maze across the entire forest... as long as you didn't get lost.

The elf's thin figners curled around the handle of his shortbow, wrapping aroudn the polished wood like it was an old friend. Although many elves int he city bought their weapons from skilled masters, Solomon had been taught how to make his own bow from the old half-elf who had given him a home. First they had gone deep into the forest, finding a thick grove of yew trees. He had cut out the center of the tree, freeing the dark heartwood. He had planed thw wood until it became a stave, long enough for his reach. The stop, a piece of wood no thicker than his smalles tfinger, had been bound to the bow slightly higher than the exact center of the belly of the bow. This was where the arrow would rest before plunging into its target. He had learned how to twine gut and make a strong bowstring, how to fletch the arrows without slicing his fingers open, how to polish and care for the bow after use, how to carve the shafts of the arrows straight and true. The bow had been made by him, specifically for him. No one else could wield it quite as well as the elf.

A slight movement, an almost inaudible rustle. These were the only signs that Solomon needed to know there was prey below. He froze instantly, feet glued in place, only the dark green eyes moving as they scanned the forest below. A rabbit had edged out of a thick briar, its ears twitching as the dark eyes darted around the edge of the small clearing. Finding it devoid of any carnivores the animal began to eat the thick grass, occsasionally jerking its head back up to full attentiveness. Solomon slipped an arrow from the quiver at his hip, nocked it neatly to the bowstring. Along his shoulder, down his arm, his muscles quivered with anticipation. All of his focus was centered on one small, oblivious rabbit. In a sudden movement he drew the bowstring taut, the fletching of the arrow just barely brushing his cheek. He paused to perfect his aim, the shaft aimed straight at the small creture. With a soft sigh he recluctantly released the string, as if it were a lover he wished to hold onto for just a moment longer. The wooden shaft plunged all the way through the body of the rabbit, piercing its heart and sticking into the ground beneath it. As the rabbit writhed out the last moments of its life, its own warm blood pooling in the grass, Solomon smiled and hung the bow over one shoulder. With an almost apathetic look towards the ground far below he jumped off of the thick bough. At the last instant his arms snapped out, thin fingers wrapping around a thicker branch below. Swinging off of the branch, he continued to descend in this haphazard manner until he reached the dead rabbit. Time for the messy work to begin...

Almost two hours later a full brace of rabbits was hanging from his belt, their blood stainign the fabric of his dark leggings. The elf was considering simply returning to Yomenïampa with what he had caught when he heard a noise from below. The elf immediately stiffened, one hand going to the quiver at his waist. however, even his sharp eyes could find nothing below. How odd. He leaned against the sun-warmed trunk of a tree, leaning over to see if there was anything below. He caught only a glimpse of movement underneath a bush before the animal disappeared into the forest. Solomon slowly drew out an arrow, notching it in case the animal returned. little did the elf know that Death stalked the trees on the other side of the trunk...

The sun rose in the sky, it's inexorable climb heading towards a peak. In just a couple hours, the sun would be at it's highest point, and the shadows would dissappear. Even now, the tree's shadows, once so long they covered the forest floor, shortened, creating gaps where light shone through. From his seat in the tall tree, Death watched. His eyes were the only thing that moved, constantly flickering back and forth across the scenery. For a normal hunter, there would be prey aplenty to choose from. The creatures of the forest represented enough food to feed every elf in the city for at least half a year. Of course, the elves would never think about hunting enough to last them that long. They would hunt a little at a time, allowing the animals time to recover after each hunt. That was how a good hunter went about his business. After all, if you killed off all of the animals now, what would you do when that half year was up and there was no more food?

Listening carefully, Death slowly began to "hear" someone coming. The trick was not to hear anything, but to listen to the silence that descended on the forest. It was barely noticable, and a person not paying attention would have missed it. A silence descended whenever a hunter was near. It was like the animals had a sixth sense that they were in danger and there was safety in silence. Then, the silence was suddenly broken by a barely audible sound. For Death, listening carefully, it was the sound that his wait was at an end. The sound had been an arrow flying through the air and then hitting a target. An elven hunter was near, and from the sound of it, he was prospering. As silently as a shadow along the ground, Death stood up, making sure to remain hidden behind the tree that he was standing in. Resting his left hand on his blade of destruction, and his right hand on his dark blade, Death waited for the signal from his hound. The hound would let him know when the elf was close.

A sudden rustling directly beneath the tree he stood in was all the warning he needed. Death did not even have to look down to know that his hound was waiting on the forest floor, eager for some sport. Well, depending how the day went, the dog might get to test his skills against an elven hunter. This first elf however, was his. Turning, Death raised his right hand to the trunk of the tree, using a skill that was little known. Swiftly, the wood began decomposing. The decomposition spread like a cancer from his hand, weakening the further away it went. Pulling his hand away, Death observed his work. Where his hand had been, a gaping hole was now in the trunk, revealing the heart of the tree. The damage stopped well short of the curve in the trunk, meaning that it would not be visible from the other side, which was just how Death wanted it. With the hole in the trunk ready, Death slowly pulled out his dark blade, gripping it steadily with both hands. Moving swiftly but silently, Death rotated the blade until it was parallel to the ground, the deadly point aimed directly at the hole in the trunk.

An onlooker might have been surprised to see the blade aimed rather high. But that was what Death wanted. He didn't want to kill the elf with this first, unsuspecting blow. Rather, he wanted to experience the thrill of the chase and a fight to the death. Holding his left hand out, Death sketched a simple design in the air, enacting a spell that would temporarily enhance his physical attributes. He would probably need it in order to get the elf's attention. The dark blade could cut through all but the hardest of metals, but a tree's trunk could put well tempered steel to shame sometimes. He wanted as much force as he had behind in blade to make sure it went through cleanly. Ready to begin, a grim smile appeared on Death's face, anticipating the battle to come. "Run little elf." With those whispered words, Death thrust his blade into the tree with all his might, planning that at least some of the blade would make it through to the other side, frightening the elf into moving. Then the hunt would begin.

Solomon's breathing slowed, closing his eyes, focusing on his hearing. There! Another rustle sounded from the foliage below, the sound of an animal in the Yomenïampa Forest. From the sounds of it, this was no small rabbit, but something bigger. Maybe a deer. Opening his eyes again, the elf smiled slightly. It had been a long time since he had brought a deer back to the treetop city for Kerian to cook. He could almost taste the venison already. He leaned further off of the bow, scouring the forest below with his eyes. There was no tell-tale furrow in the bushes to direct him towards his prey. He would be forced to desert his shady post in the canopy in order to pursue his prey. Solomon pursed his lips, weighing his options. The weight of the brace of rabbits on his hip told him he didn't actually need to take down the deer, but his stomach disagreed. Also, he could only imagine how happy Kerian would be to get a chance to show off her culinary skills... Grinning slightly, the elf decided it would be worth the extra time to take down the deer.

Crouching, Solomon was about to leap from the thick bough when the trunk above him seemingly exploded. He instinctually jumped, shooting off of the limb, nimbly reaching out with one hand to grasp a thinner branch, swinging off of it to land on a lower bough. The arrow he had been holding onto the stop of the shortbow fell, clattering as it struck limb after limb on its descent to the forest floor. Solomon swiveled, staring up at the pierced trunk. Steel gleamed in the sunlight, a dark blade protruding from the thick bark of the tree. He swallowed unsteadily, realizing that if he hadn't been crouching to depart from the branch the weapon would have probably decapitated the tall elf. His hand moved so quickly it was a blur, fingers wrapping around the shaft of another arrow and notching it to the bowstring. Words cut through the warm forest air like a cold wind, chilling the elf to the bone, whispered but somehow louder than the anguished creaking of the tree that had been speared. "Run little elf."

Solomon jumped from the branch he was on, this time making sure he kept a firm grip on both the arrow and his shortbow. He landed on a thinner limb, the leaves rustling from the force of his landing. Quickly regaining his composure on the slightly swaying bough, Solomon pulled the bowstring back, aiming the bow at the far side of the trunk he had been attacked on. Before he could loose the projectile he caught sight of his opponent, the merest glance making his blood run cold. Whoever had attacked him was thin, so thin it was easier to describe them as skeletal. Shrouded in a flowing black cloak, the tattered edges flowed silently in the forest breeze, appearing to be the shadow of flames draped from the figure instead of mere cloth. The dark blade was still lodged in the heart of the tree, rot apparently spreading from the place it had first pierced the trunk to weaken the nearby bark, a deadly cancer from some invisible miasma. Solomon's breath caught in his throat, his fingers shook on the bowstring. It was just like that time in Ondoland. Somehow he had earned the ire of a creature so fell it made him feel shaky just looking at it.

Solomon swallowed again, mentally grasping his slippery resolve and forcing himself to take a stand. No matter how terrifying the creature appeared, it must also be slightly aware of his archery skills, if it had tried to kill him without even alerting the elf to its presence. Feeling his morale slightly bolstered by this small, almost undoubtedly incorrect fact, Solomon tightened his fingers on the bowstring, calling out in a soft but clear voice. "You corrupt the forest by your foul presence." He released the arrow, the string snapping into place with a Twang! The plain, steel-tipped arrow flew at Death, whistling in the warm morning air. Solomon had aimed for the cloaked creature’s shoulder, hoping to force it to drop the dark blade still thrust through the tree trunk. He didn’t want to have to deal with someone who could cut through the entire tree... His arrow in the air, the elf skipped further away from his opponent, his footing sure on the thin, swaying branch.