Their shouts were still piercing the night from more afar with each moment. The young huntress did not stop running until she reached the top of the slope even though the raiding party seemed to turn at the sight -and and promisse of arrows- of the guarded gate. It was close. This time the hunter became the hunt and not even in a fair one to one combat.
She was lucky it happened close enough to Glan Vraig to run there and lucky that their warg riders seemed to hesitate before responding to the alarm. Was tha a small orc or a goblin!? She was used to feel them from afar. Some sound, the smell, something used to betray their presence. This one felt her presence before she felt his. And instead of running away or trying to attack her by surprise he gave a thin shout that someone less used to the sounds of the night would have taken for a beast shrieking in discomfort and presume some trap caught its prey.
She was on her feet fast enough to catch a glimpse of it trying to hide. She prepared to go after it but then she heard a howl. She hesitated and kneeled with her hand on the dirt at her feet. One howl but much trampling. They were coming and it was not just one. Wargs or warg riders? She could maybe handle or hide from a warg but the instinct told her this was not a fight she could win. She took a last fugitive glimpse at the place were the small figure vanished into shadow and started to run in the direction opposed to the howling. A spear passed by her shoulder unpleasantly close: the little one tried his luck and skill from the shadows.
She ran as fast as she could, careful to make little noise or traces. Had her pursuers been others she would have considered that she already escaped them but this time she felt it was at the limit of her possibilities.They did not even try to be silent but they matched her speed and did not seem to lose her trail. She was lucky that the direction she chose simply because it took her as fast as possible away from them was in the direction of Glan Vraig, and running there for safety was the most logical option. The archers heard the chase and were waiting, bows at the ready. She ran past them exhausted and only eyes greeted each other for a fraction of a heartbit. From the shadow of the spiral stair she caught a glimpse of two shadows that emerged moving towards the pack, barely visible, avoiding skillfully the betraying light of the moon.
The howling of the pack changed direction and only a small commotion happened, near the stairs. Most likely one of the pursuers, too bold, tried his luck a step too far. The rest abandoned him to his fate rather than enter in the area where the arrows could reach them.
Turuviel did not take long to regain her breath and composure and descended the stairs again to join her saviors and say her thanks. They exchanged greetings and jokes on her bringing guests for dinner, old joke that fit the rumored disgusting habits of their enemies, that of feasting on the unhappy falling prey to them too far away for their comrades to recover their bodies. It was not out of the ordinary for some loner or even group to be followed up to the stairs of the keep so the guards were always vigilant and ready but she was more prudent -or lucky- and this was the first time it happened to her.
She had no chance to win such a fight -she had no constitution to become a walking fortress like some of the fighters wearing heavier armor- and she was smart enough not to set such goals. But if she wanted to depend less on luck with the next similar occasion then she could improve what had room for achievable improvement. Speed. Strength. Resistance to fatigue.
