(Quick as I can! Still need to do a reply to one of Moody's before I get decomputerized for the night. Sorry it's on the fly.)
Borias Mulchbait just didn't understand the meaning of the word "NO" – not when it came to the lovely half-elf Swiftheels Carolinas.
Borias was a handsome lout, born of a demi-god, and, it was rumored, a barnyard animal. (A distasteful and regrettable incident during a full moon and a plethora of wine, but not the first of its kind in the history of deity, sad to say.)
As young Mulchbait grew to manhood, it was clear he had (mostly) inherited his father's impressive physique and near immortality. And had his mother's tendency to graze, moo, and pass copious amounts of gas at sometimes the most inappropriate moments.
Neither parent had been intellectual, but were more creatures of instinct than of thought. And so Mulchbait was -- and this become even more evident when he set his big dewy eyes on Ms. Carolinas.
His instinct as regarded the fair maid was purely this – to pursue and mate.
He delivered the finest bales of hay to her house each week.
He asked her for every dance, crushing her feet with his hoof like appendages.
He followed her faithfully around town wherever she went, waiting for a chance to speak with her (during which downtime he spent grazing and ruminating as she shopped or visited friends, and various other pursuits). He offered to carry her parcels (she steadfastly refused) and he proposed to her every other Saturday after tea time, decompressing (shall we say?) in distress at her rejection of his suit.
Driven half-mad by his persistence, and not inclined to wed, no, not even the son of a demi-god, Ms. Carolinas started to plan her escape.
"Dear daughter," sighed her mother who was aged, mortal, and eager for her girl to settle down, "you'll be set for life. His father has left him as wealthy as a king!'
Swiftheels looked at her mother scornfully.
"Well," amended her mother hastily, "as wealthy as a prince or a duke or, er, an attorney general or a baker or, oh you know!, one of those things. My dear, he adores you and happily you have the better mind and there is no reason that you cannot have a very cozy life together. You calling the shots, if you know what I mean."
She winked slyly at Swiftheels who drew back in shocked revulsion.
"In any case, I've invited his family over for next Saturday's dinner."
Swiftheels fumed. Her own mother! Selling her down the river to a demi-cow! She, the daughter of a high elf! It was hideous, it was unthinkable, it was obvious. She must flee that very night!
While her mother snoozed in a soporific of ale, cheap ramen and Kit Kats, Swiftheels packed her gear, donned her climbing apparel and made her getaway into the forest, heading for the steep mountain cliffs. Let that son of the plains try to catch up with her now!
With her half-elf blood flowing strongly in her veins, she had reached the boundary of the neighboring country (and still had energy to spare) by the time her mother was opening the door to their house and weepily apologizing to Mulchbait and his family for the absence of her daughter.
Swiftheels could hear her suitor's anguished bellow clearly across the distance. She turned her head, looking back for the final time at her old homeland and was grateful for once, for Mulchbait's flat feet.
Life could begin again!
