The Green Dragon

[the real findorfin]

He rose slowly and slid back out through the door and into the darkness. He jumped from the raised porchfloor and onto the packed dirt of the Green Dragon’s front entrance. Sounds of stablehands came softly on the breeze that had replaced the rain of an hour before. He moved slowly down the road and to a dell ten metres from the inn. Below in the darkness sat a small group of grim figures, all gripping weapons.
“She’s there,” the man spoke in a dark voice.
“Let us finish this then,” spoke another from below.
“Nay,” replied the first, “she is in the inn and there are too many people.”
“But she is the dread witch,” cried another.
“Silence!” The man commanded and they obeyed. “The timing will be of my chosing, I am your leader and you will be led or you will depart.”
A silence followed the statement.
“Good, then I will return to the inn and await her departure.”
The figure turned and strode back to the inn, where he retook his seat and, now calmly watched his prey.