It was a fine mild night in autumn, and so it chanced that a mist lay thick on the ground, hiding everything at a few yards' distance. The two elves walked on for some hours, Parnard expecting any moment to find a familiar landmark, and Culufinnel, shield slung over his back and spear ever-ready, scowled into the shadowy woods, and tried to muffle his clanking armor the best that he could.
At last the mist rose, and to Parnard's surprise, they were in a spot totally unknown to him. None of the trees looked familiar, and the weeds and mushrooms were, of course, no help at all. The path along which they walked was a simple trail made by deer. To add to his perplexity, every now and again other trails crossed it, and who, or what, made the trails he did not know. The grey shadows stretched longer through the trees, there was no wind, and the heavy gloom was oppressive. Faster and faster the elves crept on. Suddenly Culufinnel crashed into Parnard.
"Why did you stop?" he asked pettishly, for they had been walking for days, and there was no moon nor stars to cheer him, and he was tired. Back and forth Parnard turned, scanning the path. He had ceased to conjecture where he was, and Culufinnel felt his feeling of confidence ebbing.
"We might be near to the place, but on the other hand, we might be very far," Parnard answered brightly.
Culufinnel nodded. "I knew it. We are lost." He sat down with his back to a poplar tree and drank a little from his water flask. "Just go on up and take a look around. Here - I will help you up," and with a mighty toss, Parnard found himself launched into the tree before he could protest. He scrambled up the trunk, concealing himself in its leaves, until he reached the topmost branches. The tree bent and swayed a little under his weight, and from this precarious vantage point he gazed around.
There was grey and darker grey. He could not see the river. What was that moving yonder? It was getting closer! He eagerly peered into the night, eyes widening. A black shape loomed up, leathery wings beating against his face.
"Oh! Oh!" cried Parnard, flapping his hands as he tried to dislodge the terrified bat from his hair, and losing his grip, fell hard to the ground. Culufinnel leapt to his feet with a cry.
Parnard could not speak right away, for the breath had been knocked out of him. "Orcs," he finally gasped out. Just at that moment rumbling horns blew. Culufinnel's head reared back in response, a cold light springing into his eyes. "So the enemy is upon us! Arise, brother! We must drive the darkness away! Vengeance for the Greenwood!" Then he jumped away with a wild yell.
Parnard shook his head to clear it as he staggered to his feet, his hand fumbling at his side, grasping only air. His sword was gone! He dropped to his knees and scrabbled among the roots in a dismal panic. Crawling through the brush, and seeing a glint in the gloom, he desperately stretched his hand out. Cold steel pricked against his neck. His blood froze and his heart quailed.
