The two shadows seemed from afar to be floating above the dark grass specter-like. Thick clouds had covered the face of the moon at foredawn, as if they wished to help the two elves to pass unseen. However, even in the thick darkness they communicated well trough small signs, almost like reading eachother’s minds, a result of fighting together before and recognizing easily the plan of the other.
They went around both the wood fences and the improvised fires from their exterior. There, due to the number of the enemies, or because of some sort of plan, firecamps extended their defences. Ruthion, with cold anger, managed to even find a couple of occasion to sneak unseen to the back of some of the more lonely and careless goblin guards and pierce the black hearts with precise hits.
The man suddenly broke that routine sneaking dangerously direct towards one of the fires in the outskirts of the encampment. Ruthion looked in the direction where he was headed and understood suddenly the reason. A corpse whose long flowing silver hair betrayed an elf owner, reflecting the firelight where dry blood stains were not covering its moonlike sheen, was laying relatively intact near supplies and pots. The fate prepared for his kin made him sick. Too big of a risk or not he could not be at peace with leaving the body to such a fate knowingly. He followed the man guarding his back, ready to strike.
The man suddenly searched his pockets for something and a moment later a strange smell came from the place where he was, then the man showed up holding the dead body on his shoulder and signaled Ruthion they should retreat. The elf nodded and they started sneaking back as unseen and unheard as they came.
They were out of the main camp, far already from the fires, when a soft sliding on dry leafs alerted the keen, trained, hearing of the elf. He stopped, not making any sound anymore himself. Something was approaching them fast, low sound, almost impossible to guess, steps. Of many feet! He prepared his spear and waited. The movement shifted slightly towards his companion whose movement continued albeit almost soundless. The man felt that he was alone now and turned to see what happened. Seeing Ruthion ready to strike he guessed the danger, stopped and looked alert around him, not letting go the burden on his shoulder.
At that precise moment luck pushed the clouds adrift on the wings of the feeble wind and the moonlight betrayed them all to one another. Ruthion’s golden hair and the silvery tip of the javelin. The hair of moonrays of the man’s precious burden. And also the purple gem like chitin of a big, menacing, spider that stopped, annoyed by the unexpected moonlight messing up with her plans.
Ruthion whispered to the man “Go!” and moved around the spider forcing her to face him prepared for his attack. The man hesitated a moment then nodded and got lost in the dark.
Ruthion danced a bit more with the spider to give the man time. It seemed to him that he lived this scene before and he was unusually calm. The many-legged purple gem was not to be underestimated but he had a good feeling about this. The spider lost patience or decided that this waiting was to no avail, she would not win a patience contest with the elf. She moved to attack but he was prepared and threw the light javelin with precision, wounding her. She stopped and rose high on four of her legs in a movement that seemed more of pain than trying to intimidate, only for a short moment, and he could not take advantage to hit her exposed body again. Then she returned all her feet on the ground and got away fast, surprisingly fast. He felt sorry for a moment for the silvery javelin but this was not the moment to follow her nor wait for her to give the alarm. He rushed to catch up with his companion and back to the free people positions, organizing his report in his mind already.
