“Where?”

“What kind of trouble?”

The two questions burst forth, one from each of the men who looked exactly like the other except for a colored bandana that distinguished them for the other’s sake, white for Juran, red for Zurin.

“Not all of us have eyes like yours, Elein.” Sahlina added.

Elein nodded as if just now remembering his keen eyes. He turned away and looked to the east once more, fingering the feathered ends of the arrows he kept in his belt quiver.
Sahlina, tall and graceful as only as a Wind-Dancer could be glowered at the back of the man in front of her. The third prince of Dorwynn, chosen to lead because his elder brothers considered the expedition foolish and their brother expendable. The whole situation was repugnant and she followed him only because the others did.

Baruht, the laconic bear-man from the north shrugged and began stripping off his clothes. Most of his problems were solved that way.

“There are nine riders, heading straight for us and no one should be out here.” Elein said.