The valley within which lies the Redhorn pass sat silent, all apart from the occasional howl of a mountain wolf or the wind upon the air. The dark of night had fallen, extinguishing all light from the valley except that of the camp which resided upon the southern wall of the valley. There fires still blazed, casting the shadows of any sentry that patrolled past it.
Arthasdir sat, residing within the high boughs of a tree, his back against the trunk and his legs stretched out upon the limb, his bow lay on his lap, an arrow placed beside it so that if it was needed he could give a swift end to anything near. This tree sat upon a hill which splits the opening of the valley into, giving a perfect over watch upon the camp. He sat alone as he stared out at the camp, although he knew that Frost was sitting at the base of the tree below him and that Illomer and Draskre were only on the other side of the hill. Despite knowing this he felt that this was almost how it should be, him facing Fuerlan alone, not risking the lives of any bar his own. He shook his head knowing that many would wish to beat him for even having the thought, a slight smile of comfort appearing on his hooded face as he remembered his promise to Sparrow. He would dwell upon this for a moment before casting his mind back to the events that occurred after Rogue left.
Arthasdir, Draskre, Illomer and Frost had all moved up to the hill, spending most nights in the trees. Arth didn't want Fuerlan and his force to be able to move anywhere without him knowing, although this proved dangerous. Multiple times patrols had passed by the lower sides of the hill, one time being alerted by Illomer placing his foot upon a falling branch, luckily they managed to dispatch the patrol with speed and without injury. Arth had Frost maul the bodies, so that the following patrol would only lay blame upon the beasts of the pass when they came across the corpes. Little else had occurred, bar a few scouting parties that Illomer followed, though nothing came of them.
Constantly being within seeing distance of the camp which belonged to the man who had haunted him for years began to take a toll upon Arthasdir, he grew impatient, wanting to attack before the wanderers arrived. However Draskre managed to speak some sense to him, reminding him that he wouldn't have asked for his and Illomer's aid if he hadn't believed he needed it. This calmed Arth's mind a little, but he insisted on training both bow and sword daily, sparring against his companions in an attempt to assure himself of his own strength.
A strong breeze would blow and upon it Arth would hear the hoot of a signal call from Illomer. A patrol was coming close. Arthasdir would lie flat on the tree branch, bow in hand, ready incase of battle. His anger and impatience still dwelled deep within him, and he smirked a little as he noticed the first glimpse of light, summoning in the day that he had predicted Fion would arrive.
