As they hurried through the forest, the moon cast a bright silver glow over the towering trees, its light spilling in dappled patches across the grass and low shrubs. Even with that brightness, the warriors carried a makeshift torch — a thick length of dried wood wrapped tightly in strips of oily beast hide, smeared with rendered fat, and bound with thin sinew. When lit, it burned with a steady amber flame, spitting occasionally as the fat melted and dripped. Crude, but reliable.
Still, compared to the moon above, the torch looked almost shy — its little flame swallowed by the night's brilliance.
