Night blanketed the hills in heavy darkness, the only light coming from a lonely bonfire flickering at the foot of a slope. Two thieves—one tall and gaunt, the other short and wiry—sat nearby, keeping half-hearted watch over the quiet valley below.
The shorter thief yawned and poked the fire with a stick. "The boss is furious this time," he muttered. "Can't blame him, though. He didn't even want to chase those people, and now we find out we were played by some backwoods campers."
The tall thief shot him a warning glance, his voice low and sharp. "Careful what you say. The last guy who ran his mouth lost three teeth."
He looked down the hill toward the distant glow of their comrades' campfire. "Still… you're right. Two of our pathfinders died because of that mess. The captain said they were gutted before they even knew what hit them."
