[Arry]

‘Well, come on. Sun’s setting and that stuffy Elf is rousting us up for guard duty.’ Skald snorted, loudly, as Ondomirë passed by, knowing the captain was not out of earshot. ‘As if we Dwarves need to be reminded of our duty . . . captain ourselves, we can!’ Rori Ironfoot’s mustache twitched at the uncustomary remark from Skald, and his bushy brows raised at the speaker.

‘I’m tired, that’s all,’ Skald said, his voice sounding weary. ‘I’ll be my usual sunny self once I get a night’s rest.’ He shook his shoulders as if to shake off the fatigue that had settled on him during their brief time in camp. He’d been too restless, thinking of all that had happened and wondering how his family fared at home, to relax and give his body a chance to rest. And now the combination of both had put him slightly on the edge, made his tongue sharp. He clasped his helmet firmly on his head; picking up his buckler and axe he trudged after Bror and the others as they joined half of the archers around the perimeter of the camp.

Some of the Elves took point positions, further out from the line. With their sharp eyes and acute sense of hearing they would be able to spy out any who approached, and relay the message silently to one another.

As the fading evening light settled into darkness, Skald settled in near a rocky outcropping, his eyes scanning the shadows in the distance; his ears open wide for the faintest of sounds . . .