Three days passed like leaves in the wind. The trees overhead provided a great deal of cover while the small company moved southward through The Everdale, towards the hills.
The general talk was thus:
Heath - 'Make no mistake, we have far too few warriors to take Fistman here.'
Hafwen - 'There are still many leagues that lie before us. Do not be so hasty to judge that the captain's plans have come to full fruition.'
Heath - 'Your kind are far too calm in your doings of war. How can we hope to take Fistman? The defenders of the city were a full garrison, and they were defeated in two days time!'
Hafwen - 'You speak with half a mind. They were not destroyed when they were defeated, many of them remain yet alive. They were simply driven away from the city, though now they are hunted.'
Within moments of hearing this speech, one of the elven archers set at the rear gave a cry of warning, like that of one of the common finches about the wood. It was the signal that he had seen something nearby.
Commands? What will you do? Attempt to discover exactly what it is? Prepare to fight? Prepare to flee? Prepare to hide? Anything you would like.