Culedhel made his was stealthily through the grove of trees once Fededhor had dismissed them, moving sillently towards the road that lead to the settlement. He had not known Fededhor long, but he knew that he had close kin living in this village, which explained his somber mood while addressing the men.
He stopped at the point where the trees ended, and the road began, and immediately knew something was very wrong in this place. The Moon was a full one this night, and yet what seemd to be a shifting screen of smoke fought to obscure its light from where he crouched. His eyes were drawn down to where the village was supposed to be, but all he could see from his position was a few smoldering bushes, and what may once have been a house, but was now a smoking ruin.
Culedhel heard a noise, and quickly moved back into the shadows. A gutteral, snarling voice reached his ears, the words unintelligible. A large shadow at the top of the bank of the other side of the road a hundred feet away caught his eye. The voice had been that of an orc, Culedhel would have wagered his sword on that fact. Just a few dozen feet down the road from his position lay a young man, face-down in the mud. Culedhel was unable to detect any signs of life from him.
Rising to his feet, Culdehel began moving slowly back into the grove. Though his hands were itching for his bow, his presence here was only to investigate, and he had seen enough. Best be back before the wind changed and that foul creature caught his scent.
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