[Aiwyn of the Eorlingas]

Gwyn was in place, waiting for a diversion from Ain. Ain took a steadying breath, then nocked another arrow, this one tipped with eagle feathers-her favorite one. One that had a lot of memories flowing through its shaft. Her arrows were dwindling. These shots would count. So far, she had been hitting stragglers, loitering on the outskirts of camp, nobodies that nobody would miss. She needed somebody in the middle of the merrymaking.
Rencher the Impaler was laughing about the new spoils that had just been added by Shruz the Harsh when an arrow tipped with eagle feathers pierced his heart. He fell backwards, and expression of shock frozen on his face. Uproar followed.
Ain nodded at Gwyn through the branches, though she was not sure if Gwyn could see her or not. But Gwyn had already gotten the idea and slipped from sight, into the tent. Ain briefly hoped that the orc that had led the two prisoners inside would not kill her.
But she had her own problems now.
“Elves!” an orc snarled, examining Ain’s arrows. “Elves! Elves have come for our spoils.” Ain felt humored, and a little flattered. He had confused her arrow-which had been made simply to pass the time on a long caravan run, but that was another story-with the impeccable workmanship of the Elves. Or maybe he was just a fool. Well, it didn’t matter: Gwyn had her diversion.
“Find the Elf!” the orc ordered her comrades. “Find him and kill him!”
‘Him’? Ain felt insulted now. “I am WOUNDED, Sir. Thy comment is unforgivable: thee die next,” she muttered, stringing another arrow and letting it fly. The one who had unknowingly insulted her fell dead as the arrow pierced his throat. There was another cry of rage, cursing the Elves.
“And that is thy just rewards,” Ain muttered as the orcs stormed past the tree lines, looking for the ‘Elves’.