Galum'nor's mace, a roughly hewn length of oak, crunched through the Balfur's skull with a sickeningly wet thud. Blood, dark and viscous, splattered across the ground. He grunted, tossing the corpse aside. Three more lay scattered nearby, similarly dispatched. Their bodies, mangled and broken, bore testament to the ferocity of the encounter.
"The Chief said that there is a group of pinkskins who entered the mountains, but till now, we haven't spotted even a shadow of them," Galum'nor muttered, wiping blood from his mace on a patch of dew covered leaves. The crimson stain quickly mixed into the green.
Drae'ghanna, her face grim, replied, "The Verakhs reported a group of them entering the mountains, and according to their predictions, they would take the same route out of the mountains, less they risk encountering something unexpected from the mountains." Her tone was flat, devoid of emotion.