-----“Ah, well, now . . ,” the dwarf begins, watching the hand move off the arrow, “There be ‘bout twenty o’ us. Most o’ ‘em started t’leave once they saw trouble wit’ the hobgoblins marchin’ off n’ all. I didn’ get meself going quick enough befer that storm blew up.”
-----The dwarf hung his head as he made his last statement.
-----"A warband. Orcs, Half-orcs. A few humans, yes?" Whisper rose smoothly from his crouch, and redrew his dagger. "What direction?"
-----“Yeah, that’s right,” the dwarf said to Whisper’s first question. A small look of excitement took his eyes as Whisper drew near with his dagger. Perhaps the elf was going to free him now.
-----“South,” he continued, his voice rising a bit higher in anticipation, “They rode south!”
-----He spent a moment looming over the Dwarf.
-----Then he raised his left hand, unwound the scarf, and lowered the hood.
-----"How long, since you entered the... Forests of my... people? How long... since your warband took their... sport on youths? Since you wiped out... an entire generation of my village?" Whisper's voice did not rise, but he could not keep out the occasional catches that made him swallow from talking too much.
-----A blue sky. Leaves rustling... whispering in the soft wind.
-----"I have been... searching for you... for a long time."
-----“What in the Nine Hells . . ?” the dwarf gasps as he looks upon Whisper, “Yer . . a elf!”
-----For a moment, Whisper could see that look of disdain that so often haunted his dreams. Then, a sudden look of recognition followed by a look of nervousness and fear held the dwarf.
-----“Wait a minnet!” the dwarf exclaimed frantically, “I . . We . . . You . . You have been lookin’ fer us?” His mouth hangs open and his eyes bug out adding to the doomed expression on his face.
-----"And now... I have found you." Whisper raised the dagger in his hand. "Your leader left... this behind." He cocked his head, and let his hand fall back to his side.
-----He turned to the bale, and placed the dagger on top of his satchel.
-----"You will... all be fortunate."
-----His hand went to the sealed quiver at his side, and then opened it with almost solemn slowness. "None of you... will have... a fire built on your chests."
-----Deft motions drew forth one of his crafted arrows, and he rested it on the open palms of his hands to examine that none of his careful work had suffered. "None of you will... be abused."
-----Satisfied, Whisper took up his bow, and nocked the arrow.
-----"None of you... will suffer... as we did."
-----Whisper closed his eyes for a moment. Blue sky.
-----Turning, he half-drew the bowstring.
-----"None of you... will live."
-----The dwarf tries to talk but a blubber of words gets tangled by his tongue. Frantically he begins to struggle while his eyes continue to bulge while staring with fear in his eyes.
-----Smoothly, Whisper drew the nocked arrow the rest of the way, and released.
-----With a slicing hiss, the arrow flew from the bow and in the next moment protruded from the dwarf’s chest. A yell of pain escaped the dwarf with his eyes still bulging. Then the expression left the face and his head drooped.
-----Thunder rumbled overhead as the dwarf’s body collapsed. Now everything inside the large stable was quiet. Even the pony at the far end had settled somewhat.
-----Outside, Whisper could hear occasional voices away from the stable perhaps coming from the village square.
-----Whisper sighed. He lowered his arms, eyes still focused on the Dwarf. Feeling an odd pressure in his right hand, he balled it into a fist, clenched, unclenched and clenched again.
-----As he stood there, he knew that he should be feeling at least something akin to a grim satisfaction. He had found them, at last. And he had executed one of them. Instead, he felt... nothing.