“I wonder your logic in us abandoning the boy,” enquired Rohlen, the party riding away from their temporary campsite, and on towards Greshfell.
Looking back, the fire still fought bravely against the persistent onslaught of the rain. A small huddled figure, wrapped in an oversize blanket, sat close keeping himself warm.
“That fire must be the best we’ve built, and in such conditions,” replied Jax sarcastically. “Would have nothing to do with a little magic perhaps? Besides, you saw how frightened he was,”
“I’ve seen braver rats, probably why they stole his food,” interrupted Tumbor.
“Precisely. Do you think he would have been of much use where we’re going?”
“Jax is right,” offered Yulien. “A battlefield is no place for a child, nor dealing with the ways of the undead.”
“We have left him warmth, food and shelter. We leave him in a better state than when he found us,” said Jax, before riding up to see why Fraevon had stopped.
The Elf often rode ahead, scouting the way ahead for possible traps or upcoming situations. His lightening reflexes with his bow had saved them many an unnecessary encounter.
“What is it my friend?” Fraevon pointed to a small overturned wagon further up the road. “A trap?”
“Not sure,” he replied. Drawing his bow and notching an arrow, he rode cautiously forward. “Stay with the others. We shall soon see.”