[Amanaduial the archer]

Fidrohir crept up behind Snyd, who was crouched at the rise of the hill and whispered urgently into the latter's ear, "Snyd! Snyd, what was she saying about Lothlorien? Why are we-"

"Will you shut up!" Snyd hissed, rounding on Fid sharply, his sword raised. "And get down! You bloody giant, the whole bloody village'll see you standing there like a ruddy great beacon."

Hurt, Fid did as he was told and was glad for the cover of darkness as tears pricked his green eyes from a combination of Snyd, the only decent one in the whole gang since that elf came, snapping at him and his side stinging him sharply as he ducked quickly. Jaheira was lying, he thought venemously. This wound is going to kill me. Well...well then she'll be sorry... the though trailed off uncertainly as the voice at the back of Fid's head laughed nastily.

Lost in his own misery, Fid missed Vlad's signal to approach and Snyd disappeared like a ghost from in front of him. He only realised a second later and, not wanting to be left in the dark when Jaheira was ready to kill and an elf who had already almost killed him was wandering around, he struggled after him. As he reached the side of one of the farmhouses, a low moan escaped his lips and he bent over slightly, his side aching sharply and, he was convinced, blood was seeping out through his clothes. But a shadow appeared beside him in a flash and, in the dark, he didn't even see her fist coming as she drove it swiftly into his stomach. The breath left him as he doubled over fully, all the breath for crying out leaving him. Jaheira's knife appeared at the edge of his vision as he panted, glinting in wat little light there was from one of the other farmhouses.

"Give us away," she murmured murderously. "And I will take pleasure in twisting this into your uninjured side!"

Fidrohir stopped panting quickly, watching the knife through wide eyes. With a small, contemptuous snort, Jaheira moved away, flattening herself against the wall. Despite his resentment, Fid didn't want her to hate him even more; he had to do this right, maybe...maybe it would make them accept him. Flattening himself beside her, his baggy, ruddy-coloured clothes melding into the wall, he pulled a dark and rather dirty hankerchief from his pocket and tied it around it head, covering as much as he could of his noticeable blonde hair. Beside him, the woman was as tense as a wildcat, ready to spring and pounce. Lowering his head so he was speaking close to her ear, but not so close that she could hit him too easily, he whispered, "Where shall I go?"

He couldn't see her expression, but could well imagine the familiar look of disgust. But she did reply. "'Round the other side of the farmhouse, on the other side of the door - Vlad is waiting there. And so is Khalad; I'm sure he would be glad of your help."

A hint of a smile seemed to creep into her voice here - if Fidrohir had been a dog, his tail would have thumped on the ground. Doing as he was told, as silently as he could and without passing the windows, he came to where Vlad was standing and passed behind the man, who was as coiled and ready as Jaheira.

"At my word...ready...ready..." Fid closed his eyes for a second, then opened them sharply, ready for Vlad's next word which would release them into the farmhouse and, maybe, allow Fid to earn his acceptance in the bandits' eyes.