Dragons of Winter Noght by Weis, Margaret

And then, the clouds parted. Solinari, the silver moon, though only half-full, burned in the night sky with a cold brilliance. The water in the pool turned to molten silver. Silvara rose up out of the pool. The silver water glistened on her skin, gleamed in her silver hair, ran in shining rivulets down her body that was painted in silver moonlight. Her beauty struck Gilthanas’s heart with such intense pain that he gasped.

Silvara started, looking around her terrified. Her wild, abandoned grace added so much to her loveliness that Gilthanas, though he longed to speak to her reassuringly, couldn’t force the words past the pain in his chest.

Silvara ran from the water to the bank where her clothes lay. But she did not touch them. Instead, she reached into a pocket. Grabbing a knife, she turned, ready to defend herself.

Gilthanas could see her body quivering in the silvery moonlight, and he was reminded vividly of a doe he had cornered after a long hunt. The creature’s eyes sparkled with the same fear he now saw in Silvara’s luminous eyes. The Wilder elf stared around, terrified. Why doesn’t she see me? Gilthanas wondered briefly, feeling her eyes pass over him several times. With the elvensight, he should stand out to her like a

Suddenly Silvara turned, starting to flee from the danger she could feel, yet could not see.

Gilthanas felt his voice freed. “No! Wait, Silvara! Don’t be frightened. It’s me, Gilthanas .” He spoke in firm, yet hushed tones-as he had spoken to the cornered doe. “You shouldn’t be out alone-it’s dangerous. . . .”

Silvara paused, standing half in silver light, half in protecting shadows, her muscles tense, ready to spring. Gilthanas followed his huntsman’s instinct, walking slowly, continuing to talk, holding her with his steady voice and his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone. I’ll stay with you. I want to talk to you anyway. I want you to listen to me for a moment. I need to talk to you, Silvara. I don’t want to be here alone, either. Don’t leave me, Silvara. So much has left me in this world. Don’t leave. . . .”

Talking softly, continuously, Gilthanas moved with smooth, deliberate steps toward Silvara until he saw her take a step backwards. Raising his hands, he sat down quickly on a boulder at the pool’s edge, keeping the water between them. Silvara stopped, watching him. She made no move to clothe herself, apparently deciding that defense was more important than modesty. She still held the knife poised in her hand.

Gilthanas admired her determination, although he was ashamed for her nakedness. Any well-bred elven woman would have fainted dead away by now. He knew he should avert his eyes, but he was too awed by her beauty. His blood burned. With an effort, he kept talking, not even knowing what he was saying. Only gradually did he become aware that he was speaking the innermost thoughts of his heart.

“Silvara, what am I doing here? My father needs me, my people need me. Yet here I am, breaking the law of my lord. My people are in exile. I find the one thing that might help them-a dragon orb-but now I risk my life taking it from my people to give to humans to aid them in their war! It’s not even my war, it’s not my people’s war.” Gilthanas leaned toward her earnestly, noticing that she had not taken her eyes from him. “Why, Silvara? Why have I brought this dishonor on myself? Why have I done this to my people?”

He held his breath. Silvara glanced into the darkness and the safety of the woods, then looked back at him. She will flee, he thought, his heart pounding. Then, slowly, Silvara lowered her knife. There was such sadness and sorrow in her eyes that, finally, Gilthanas looked away, ashamed of himself.

“Silvara,” he began, choking, “forgive me. I didn’t mean to involve you in my trouble. I don’t understand what it is that I must do. I only know . . .”

” . . that you must do it,” Silvara finished for him.

Gilthanas looked up. Silvara had covered herself with the frayed blanket. This modest effort served only to fan the flames of his desire. Her silver hair, hanging down past her waist, gleamed in the moonlight. The blanket eclipsed her silver skin.