Millienya perched in the boughs of an ancient oak, sending feathered dart after dart into any Gnoll she could see skulking at the skirts of the path. She smiled in satisfaction at a job well done. With her sudden attack from above and the unshakable defenses on the ground, the gnolls had lost heart and had become disorganized. They argued amongst each other, growling and yipping in their tongue. Ignoring the cajoling of their peers, they retreated farther into the woods, disappearing as if they were inconsistent as fog.
“Get down here”, a familiar voice cried from the trunk of her tree. She looked down to see Lars, cleaning his sabers. They had been put to use judging by the gnolls that surrounded the tree, as always he displayed some redeeming value in putting up with his stubbornness.
“What is it?”, she asked. It had taken a while to get up the tree and she wasn’t about to abandon her perch on account of something trivial.
“Seryan’s hurt”, came the reply.
Millienya hooked her bow around a small branch and just dropped, letting the bowstring slow her decent. When she got to the ground Lars wordlessly pointed to the left flank of the wagon.
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