Telpeheled and the Easterling eyed each other warily, swords drawn. Telpeheled was still panting from his run up the hill.
Out of breath and with his wound hurting again he decided to play for time. A battle of wits may be more to my liking at this time
"Why are you not down there fighting in the open? I suppose you are of high rank in your land, with your talent at sneaking and fleeing danger-" Telpeheled was cut off by a shout from below. They were now in clear view of the others, as he saw in lightning quick look downwards.
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“Sylphs of the forest,” I whispered. “Spirits of oak, beech and ash. Dryads of Rowan and hazel, hear us. You who have guided and guarded our every footstep, you who have sheltered our growth, we honour you."
the Forbidden Link
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