[Himaran]

Fordim Hedgethistle's Post

Hænir’s axe was in his hands before the arrow that had embedded itself in the ground by Erulon’s hand had stopped shivering. His eyes narrowed as he gazed at the surrounding trees and his nose twitched for the scent of danger.

The long days of their forced march had begun to dull his spirits and place upon him the heavy burden of his cowardice during the attack upon their companions. Bali’s words had been wise that day, they had been no match for the numbers of enemies they had stumbled upon, but still Hænir had had difficulty in accepting that hard truth. Never before had he fled before an enemy…and never again would he. ‘Tis better to die in the defence of friends and pursuit of honour than to flee to protect one’s hide he told himself for the thousandth time.

Beside him stood Nerin, nervously clutching his weapons and glaring at the woods. Hænir had taken a liking to quiet fellow in their journey and in their conversations he had found that they had much in common. It was obvious that the younger Dwarf looked to Hænir for guidance in this quest, and it was only with the greatest reluctance that Hænir had accepted the silent charge of duty that this placed upon him. To the other side stood Bali, who had snapped to alert as quickly as Hænir. For a moment, the party stood quietly awaiting whatever else was to follow the arrow, but the woods remained silent. “What think you of that, Master Bali?” Hænir asked under his breath. “More orcs?”

“I think not,” was the reply. “That arrow is not of orcish make.”

“Well,” Hænir said, “whoever shot it is not being overly friendly. Ahoy there!” he bellowed, “If you wish to pick a fight with us then come out in the open where we can see you and we’ll be happy to oblige you. But if you’d rather play hide-a-seek like young ones then be off with you, for we have no time for such amusements!” At first it seemed that the silence would be their only response, but the three figures stepped from the trees and advanced toward them…