Stranger on the Doorstep

                                    

                                          
__Beorn's Point of Veiw__
                          
A mouse crawled over his arm and he smiled, giving it the rest of the cheese he had been eating. It was evening and most of the animals had settled down for the night, leaving him alone with the seemingly hungry mouse.
                          
Suddenly, something banged against the door. The mouse scurried up his sleeve, hiding from whatever pending danger may be coming. Beorn stood, the legs of his chair scraping across the wood floor. He waited, listening, but nothing stirred. He moved towards the door and peeked out the window. His bushy eyebrows furrowed at the deserted doorstep.
                          
He opened the door and jumped back as a body thudded onto the floor, unmoving. He stared at it for a moment. It looked almost human, but there was something about it aura that made him second guess. Regardless, it wasn't an orc so he bent down, reaching out to push the hair out of the person's face. He studied the pale, ghost-like skin. Blood trickled from a gash on his forehead and several burn marks covered his arms.
                          
He lay on his side and Beorn caught a glimpse of his ears, they were strange, pointed almost like an elf's. Beorn tilted his head. Elves didn't come this way anymore. What was this one doing here?
                          
He tried to shake the elf awake, but he didn't stir. He debated taking him out to the barn for the night but decided against it. He didn't want the strange creature with the horses where he couldn't keep an eye on him.
                          
Instead, he pulled the elf to his feet and dragged him over to the table, laying him out on it. He would care for his wounds and question him when he woke up. He had a hunch he might know who he was, but he didn't want to act before he knew for certain. Besides, if this elf was the same one who had been seen leading orc armies, he deserved to die slowly and painfully.
                          
Beorn continued to study the elf's face. He looked a little like him, but his nose was wrong and the orc leader's face was longer.
                          
Beorn retrieved a bowl of warm water, stirred in some lavender, and soaked a cloth in it. He would treat this elf as an innocent until he knew for sure. Gently he took the cloth and cleaned the elf's wounds. Most weren't serious, though probably painful. The gash on his head was what concerned the shapeshifter the most. It was likely the reason for his lack of consciousness though blood loss likely contributed to that as well.
                          
He bandaged the wound and then let him be. He hoped the elf would wake within a few hours; however, that was unlikely so he settled himself down on the couch and began coaxing the mouse out of his sleeve.
                          
Hours passed and soon the bees began to wake, flying around the house as the sun rose. Beorn yawned and walked over to the elf who had still yet to move.
                          
He tried yet again to shake him awake but to no avail. Then he caught sight of what the elf wore on his hip. A small knife, embedded with the greenwood symbol of many years ago. He unsheathed it and tested its blade. Sharp. The handle was worn, smoother than sandpaper alone could do. No, this elf used it on a regular basis.
                          
He studied the faded symbol. An elf who led orcs wouldn't carry an elvish blade. It would be too risky. This was some other elf. The only question was who.
                          
Beorn shook his head. It didn't matter at the moment. He would simply care for him and find out later. He recleaned the elf's wounds, then gently lifted him off the table, carrying him to the couch and laying his limp body down. When the elf still didn't stir, he turned and headed outside. There were things to do in the meantime.
                          
He came back to check his strange charge every few hours throughout the day, but there was no change. The elf simply laid there, chest rising and falling slowly. It wasn't until late that night, as he was stirring the fire in the fireplace, that he heard the elf groan.