Why won't that fool down there go to sleep? We've been out here for hours, thought Soran irritably. He was crouched in cold misery under the dubious shelter of a spreading tree. Guthwine crouched not three yards away, waiting for the lights in the house below to go out and signal that the occupants had retired and the raid could begin.
Besides being uncomfortable physically, Soran was suffering from a last-minute crisis of conscience. He couldn't help thinking that, but for certain unhappy circumstances, the farmer down there could easily have been him. Yes, Lotar was a friend, but what if this man had lived in their village, and Soran here? Their positions were so easily reversed. . .
"Stop woolgathering," Guthwine whispered, tapping Soran on the shoulder. "The last light is out. Let's get going."
Soran nodded, not wanting to make any more noise than necessary. Let's get going so we can get through with this the sooner. He rose to his feet, wincing as joints popped and creaked. After I have a house again, I am never sitting in the rain for hours again.
As soon as the two bandits Lotar had placed in charge started, the rest of the men did too. Soran didn't particularly care for turning his back on them, but there really wasn't a great deal of choice in the matter.
The full force of the driving rain hit the group as they left the shelter of the trees, and Soran wished briefly that they could put this off for, oh, a few months. Like until summer. But they needed shelter immediately, and comfort would be the least of their worries when winter fully came upon them.
[ November 21, 2003: Message edited by: Tinuviel of Denton ]
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