The Unforgiving Minute
Ambush in the North
The Summer Heroes trudge through the Northern dark forests, weary of days of searching the tangled mess of great trees. Erlindar and Darion in particular struggle, uncomfortable with such physical labor. the Baron sniffs at the ground, tracking its prey.
About to complain loudly over the lack of any progress, Abajeet’s mouth is suddenly covered by Thalion’s thick hand.
“Shh. He’s found something,” he whispers quietly.
Everyone halts, daring not to breathe, as the great cat stalks through the thick underbrush ahead of them. And suddenly he pounces at something behind a tree.
“Chn ha brvf nw?” Abajeet mumbles.
The Baron returns, proudly dumping a deer carcass at his master’s feet.
“Seriously? Is THAT what we’ve been chasing this whole time? The kitty’s dinner?”
The ranger bends down to examine the slain creature, then shakes his head. “This is not his work. This thing has been dead for a few days. Killed by an arrow.”
“But if it’s been dead for a few days, why hasn’t it been picked clean by the wildlife?” Talerion asks. “And who shot it? None of the other bodies we’ve seen were killed by an arrow.”
“That’s a good question…” Erlindar says, looking at Darion uncomfortably.
“I smell a trap.”
“Mina, you ALWAYS smell a trap. It’s not like -”
“TRAAAAAP!” Pirro shouts, knocking Darion out of the way of an incoming magical attack.
Fire explodes everywhere, burning flesh, undergrowth, and bark indiscriminantly.