He was looking for, actually expecting to see, a dark speck that would resolve into Lord Asbech on his dragon Viscous Mnementh. Nothing. He dropped his gaze, turned and walked back to his horse pulling on soft leather gloves as he did so. He took the reins from the knight holding his horse and not wearing armour he swung easily up into the saddle. Without a word he healed the horse into a gentle canter down into the valley, his bodyguard following behind. The snaking ride down the hillside helped reduce the irritability he felt about being corralled in the valley for the last three days. He wanted both war parties for the next attack but would proceed alone if necessary. A dawn attack and a ruthless plan would replace the additional warriors he wanted.
On the same ridge, downwind, a figure shifted a musket from one rough hand to another, spat and replaced his unlit pipe. The figure moving smoothly from the cover of a small copse, heading down the other side of the hill and towards the city in the distance muttered to himself ‘I hate fuckin’ Elves’