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Graring watched the small group of Gondorians huddle around their fire. A cool wind had begun to blow over the beach, and the corsair's wet frame was soon chilled to the bone. He had to get out of their sight, and light his own fire. Or find another group of his own forces, hopefully.
The corsair's wish was soon fulfilled. After sneaking away from his adversaries, Graring headed down the beach in a jog. Within a half-hour, he spotted light up ahead. A second campfire! Moving in slowly, and hugging the treeline for cover, he could make out several of the figures warming themselves by the open flames. Corsairs - at last! "Harhar! So ye made it at last!"
Graring strod up to the campfire. The corsairs, at first alarmed, lowered their weapons and allowed him to approach without question. "You from the Diy, one asked. Alarmed that someone from his old ship had survived, Graring nodded.
"I wus at first. But I got picked up by another vessel. They sunk three of ours before we got them. But they've landed down the coast! Not an hour's walk. An' we can hit em before they hit us, capture em. I know how to sneak up on em! Then Doran 'ol come an' pick em up!"
The corsairs were all wet, cold and tired, but the prospect of revenge --both for the slaughter on the Diy and the sinking of several other ships-- was greater than all. Roars of agreement surged through the small camp, and the corsairs (numbering nearly a dozen) began to gather their few weapons and prepare for a final battle.
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