"Are they gone?" asked Sherra in a soft whisper.
She was lying under a blanket of leaves in the forest outside High Grove, one Evrimon had been kind enough to call down over all of them.
"Yes," answered Sam, sounding vaguely disappointed. "They're gone."
Evrimon paused to scratch his saber-tooth tiger, then raised his head above the leaves. "We should still go."
"I could have taken them," said Sam. Her smile held more fangs than Sherra remembered from when they'd first met; she was growing into her draconic nature. Sherra didn't mind; Sam was still Sam.
"Yes," agreed Leander the Elf, "but the rest of us couldn't have, and Sherra's shadowy escape probably threw them off our trail. Plus, if they think we're any sort of threat, they'll send a team of Solari after us." He was back in his halfling body, looking faintly disgusted as he brushed himself off.
"Will they?" asked Sherra. "...think us a threat?"
"I don't think so," answered Leander. "You just stepped out of their reach. That's fairly typical bard fare, I doubt they think you're anything more than that."
"Damn it," said Sam. "I want to be murdering things, not just making up songs about the moral turpitude of the King in the North, no matter how catchy those songs might be."
Sherra shrugged. "The idea is to distract him, and cast doubt on his power. As quick as he is to take down anyone who mocks him, that doesn't seem like a bad -- or difficult -- strategy."
"...And the tune really is catchy," added Evrimon, whistling a few bars.
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