No one was yet stirring. The sorcerer debated with himself about whether to erect his shield. It would be safer but it would also be regarded as a sign of hostility. On balance he decided to take his chances unprotected, and settled himself to wait beside the cold remains of their last night’s fire, wrapping his cloak tightly around himself to fend off the dank chill of pre-dawn.
As the first pale rays of the sun filtered through the glowing golden autumn leaves, the first woodman emerged. The man was middle aged and scruffy after a night’s sleep. He wandered about collecting sticks and branches to get the fire started. As he brought them over to the firesite, he finally noticed Tarkyn sitting there, waiting. The woodman dropped the sticks with a loud clatter. His eyes went briefly out of
