The wind whistled through the branches, little could be heard save the low grunt of the orc and the practically inaudible padding of its pursuer’s boots on the forest floor. The orc jerked his head back, in an attempt to note whether it was still being chased. Having seen nothing, it came to a halt, resting its hands on its knees as it pants furiously. A few moments pass and as the foul creature straightens to walk on, it halts suddenly; having heard the quietest of whistles. Turning towards the source of this abnormal birds call, the orc notices nothing, save the still trees as the wind blows through the branches. The noise is heard once more, this time from behind the servant of the enemy, who promptly swivels around in an attempt to spot its source.
A panic stricken look crosses the orc's face as his gaze rests upon the man, sat in the branches of a nearby tree, his tall careworn boots balancing him expertly along the frail wood. His face concealed by a scarf over his mouth and a hood, and his leather pauldrons fastening his quiver to him by a small, primitive cast-iron brooch in the shape of a wolf's head. The orc swallows, his gaze flicking from the seemingly empty hood, from which nothing but darkness can be seen, to the readied bow and knocked arrow aimed directly for him. He swallows again; suddenly aware of the six others, now approached and having circled him, leaving no exit with the exception of the way it came.
A soft, smug laugh emits from beneath the scarf of the leader of the group. He tugs the scarf from his lower face, as to speak clearly; his well-kept, neatly shaved beard now visible. A wry smile appears as he speaks in a rather condescending manner: "Come, tell us of your business here, filth.". The orc spat on the ground, and growls threateningly. The man simply smiles before nodding to his companions who now raise their bows, aiming directly for the lone-enemy. "We shall give you half a minute to run, Orc... Starting now." He says with a smirk. The Orc takes his chance, turning and fleeing from the laughter of the gang. Twenty seconds pass and the orc jolts forward, an arrow in the centre of his back, dead within moments of impact; it lay helplessly, face down in the leaves. The group wander over, the ‘leader’ retrieving his arrow and nudging the orc onto his back, taking the sack of gold from the crippled creatures grip and the ornate ring from its pocket. "Well Lads, easy job tonight." he smiles, throwing the bag to one of his companions as he slings his bow over his shoulder and heads in the direction of the village.
A tear stained woman opened the door at request of the loud knock not moments ago. Depressed and aggravated, she goes to close the door, irritated to find nobody behind it, but stops. She looks down, a small curious smile creeping into the corners of her mouth as she spots a large sack of coins, and a golden ring, hooked over the top of an arrow set point down in the ground at her door. She retrieves her things, and tugs the arrow from the ground, as to take the note from under the tip. She unrolls the tiny piece of parchment and reads what is scrawled upon its surface: Never give up. Signed untidily and a small signet of a hooded wolf imprinted on the page. She smiles and calls out to her husband-to-be. "My love! My love! Come see this!” The man came running to his lover and took the note from her, reading it swiftly then turns to her, glancing momentarily at their money and her ring. He rubs his beard and grins, taking her in his arms happily.
"Well, bless my beard. There be a saviour out there yet!" He smiles gently before shouting into the darkness. "Thank you!”
Baedwulf smiles gently, pulling his scarf back over his lower face and turns into the woods, away from the house as he rejoins his company, muttering "You're welcome" as he rejoins his company.
