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Firith was walking back towards the group, he could hear their voices, but he was walking blindly, he didn't know where they were, he didn't have a clue. His ears hear a rustling, and he slowly drew his knife, swiping it over his shoulder in a single, confident motion. The head of the spider that had been rearing up to attack him fell to the floor, dripping slime, Firith's blade had sliced it in half. Lossenfirithion emerged slowly from behind a tree and walked into the midst of the group. "Uncle, I hope you at least know where we are, I've never seen this part of the woods before." Thranduril's mouth opened slightly, but he hastily closed it again. Firith's guts turned to lead. All that he'd done, to save Targon had been for nothing. They were lost, in their own woods.
"The spiders are masterful indeed." Said Firith loud enough for everyone to hear, but in a feigned whisper. "They have managed to get a group of elves lost in their own woods." Thranduril looked at him with a pleading expression, and Firith stopped talking. He walked up to a tree and started to climb it. Nefal watched, his insides burning with dislike. Lossenfirithion was so perfect, he climbed with such grace you would think he was a spider himself. Nefal's anger swelled at these thoughts. How could he be Thranduril's favourite? That arrogant pig, he's worth nothing. But ruefully, Nefal was forced to say in his mind, "No...he's worth a great deal, that's why he's like this."
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