[Mithadan]

Nardol scrambled back up the bank as quickly as he could. In doing so, his cloak was ripped by the thorns which clutched and caught at him as he climbed. He reached the lip of the depression and stood watching the black horse gallop off into the forest.

He cursed quietly and sucked at a tear on the back of his hand. Suddenly, the air seemed filled with the echoes of the black horse's hooves. Or was it an echo? He had just begun to turn when he was struck heavily from behind. Nardol retained just enough wits to drop his sword and pull his arms in as he was knocked back down into the thorny depression.

Again, he bounced to his feet. A steady flow of invective issued from his mouth as he climbed back up to the road, where he snatched up his sword even as the warhorse which had struck him wheeled. Nardol raised his blade and faced this new foe...and blinked. Here was no warrior. Instead, he stood before a shortish woman with raven hair shot through with a stripe of white, mounted upon a pony. His flow of invective increased and grew louder. He reached to his belt for a throwing knife with which to rid the world of his assailant...