[doug*platypus]

"The Eldar will come for her, of that I have no doubt."

The words echoed in Skara's mind, as he thought on his companion's words. Rû-Sahn the Weaponsmith was talking about wheedling information out of the Elf-child before they passed her on. Skara had not heard the strange word Eldar before, but it was plain that his fellow spoke of the Fair Folk. Rû-Sahn seemed sometimes of a slightly different breed himself. He fitted in well enough with his people, but there was a certain air about him. Skara was not surprised to hear strange words coming from his mouth, and easily concealed the fact that Rû-Sahn had let this slip.

"I say that it shall be so!" Skara said as he clasped Rû-Sahn's hand firmly. Truly enough, for to learn of the Elves would surely extend Skara's influence. Knowledge was power, and if he was careful he could use this to his advantage. Perhaps a weakness could be found, and Skara could return with more men, search for more treasure. An Elven bow, perhaps, to match Rû-Sahn's dagger!

As he was mulling these fine plans in his head, suddenly Rû-Sahn stood erect and stared out into the darkness. Listening intently, Skara could hear the swift approach of several animals. He got to his feet and pulled an arrow from the quiver on the ground next to his seat. Fitting it loosely, he stood next to Rû-Sahn and looked out. The weaponsmith started shouting to raise the camp, just as Skara saw what he had heard - a pack of boars was attacking them - a camp of armed men!

What strange Elf-magic is this? Skara thought as he closed one eye and sighted down his bow. Behind him he could hear a great noise of confusion as men struggled out of their beds and went for their weapons. Skara kept his eye fixed on his target as it came charging towards him, though he was aware now of two more boars out of the corner of his eye. The beast was out of the firelight still, a heaving mass of flesh and sinew flying out of the dark at him like a primeval nightmare. The speed of the lead boar was magnificent. He was near enough now for Skara to see the steam coming from his great nostrils. Willing it closer, willing it not to swerve at the last second, Skara let his breath out and steadied himself. Twang! As soon as the boar could be clearly seen, Skara loosed his arrow. In its headlong flight the boar hastened his own destruction, as the arrow pierced through his snout and deep into the head. The boar without so much as a squel careered into the ground, as the rest of its pack drove in upon the Easterlings. Five or six the Woodsman counted running past him and into the camp.

Whipping out his short sword, Skara turned back to where his men were fighting with the boars, now amongst them and creating havoc. Only to trip on a stone and fall headlong into a puddle of mud. Cursing, he looked up and saw that his men were running here and there, some bumping into each other in the confusion, one or two still struggling into their underclothes to put up a more decent fight. This was madness!

Rushing in, his mind on killing the filthy pigs and stopping his men from hurting themselves, Skara did not think for even a second about the fate of his prize captive.