Jim didn't know if the weird looks he was getting were due to his very existence, or the fact that he was still being struck by a leftover snicker every few minutes; however, Claire seemed to be used to the stares and ignored them as she led him through the camp and toward the delicious smell of grilled fish and roasted vegetables. His stomach growled loudly and cramped painfully, reminding him that he had neither eaten nor drank anything in over a week, and he knew that he must have been really hungry, because he was suddenly desiring food more than his mate, which — given her very tempting scent that practically screamed, "Hey, pin me down and make wild love to me now!" — was generally incomprehensible.
"How big is the clan?" Jim asked, glancing around at the gathered elves standing outside their various tents. They seemed to be making their way through the residential area of the camp now; rows of huge, canvas tents, woven with distinctive patterns were set up in various clusters, and Jim noticed that each cluster of tents shared the same pattern, but that pattern was different than those of the next cluster of tents. As he noticed this, they passed another cluster of tents, and he saw a miserable looking Aislinn follow her mother inside before they had noticed Jim or Claire; the pattern on the tent — and the tents in its cluster — matched the patterns that were tattooed on Aislinn's and her mother's skins. Catching on, Jim looked around some more, looking for something familiar, and spotted another cluster of tents, dead center to all of the others and much larger; its patterns matched those that had adorned Turlough's skin. What had Claire and Ellie said? Turlough was Finn's uncle, and Finn was the son of the Elven leader... "These are nests, aren't they?"
An older Elven man (Jim decided that Elven males must be more subject to showing the effects of aging than their female counterparts), who looked to be in his seventies, sputtered indignantly as they passed and heard Jim's question, his face turning red in fury. Jim paused and opened his mouth to apologize, already recognizing his mistake, when an ageless, black-haired female — bearing the same tattooed pattern as the male — swept smoothly out of the nearest tent and grabbed the man by his elbow and started tugging him back inside, murmuring something in Elvish to him. Casting Jim another furious glare, the man abided the female's request and disappeared back into the tent with her.
"They're family units, yes," Claire replied, tightening her hand in Jim's and tugging him back along the path. She looked up at him, a tired smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. "I've had to watch my mouth, too."
"I didn't mean—"
"I know," she replied, pulling his arm over her shoulders as they walked and nuzzling into his side. "Most of them understand, but a few of the older ones are... well, Aislinn said that you heard her mother."
"Hm," Jim hummed an annoyed affirmative. "It sounds like she views trolls as animals."
"She does," Claire replied, sighing sadly. "If she weren't helping Turlough with the things he needed to help you and Eric, I think I would have strangled her by now."
Jim would have laughed, but Claire sounded so deadly serious, and her emotions were suddenly so full of simmering anger, that he sobered quickly. "She hasn't threatened you or the kids, has she?"
Claire shook her head, relaxing a little, some of her anger dissipating. "No... just some snide comments. I was tempted to put a small hex on her when she called Sophie a 'mongrel' to her face."
"What?" Jim growled, his own anger surging to the surface. He planted his feet and came to a stop, glaring down at Claire in shocked outrage. He half turned back in the direction of the tent that he had seen the woman go into, but Claire grasped his arm, tugging him back.
"Don't," she said firmly, and he felt the rush of a magically induced breeze push him back in the direction that they had been walking in. "We are guests."
