A wolf howled somewhere nearby and Justyn felt the hair on the back of his neck prickle. He tried to get a firmer grip on his sword, then cursed himself for being so nervous his palms were sweating. His orders were simple, or so he thought at the time-- Go to the Crushbone camp and return with two belts as proof. But now, with the towering trees of Greater Faydark blocking all sunlight, he wasn't as sure has he had been.

As he crept closer to the camp, he spied a centurion standing a bit away from the camp. Justyn quickly moved forward, but in his haste he stepped on a twig, and the loud snap alerted the orc to his presence. The centurion quickly bellowed a command, and two more orcs turned in Justyn's direction. When the three orcs began charging him, Justyn quickly realized he was in over his head, and he turned and ran without a second thought. He rushed through the forest, head towards what he thought was Kelethin. He soon realized he was lost, but with the grunting and jeering of the orcs behind him, he didn't dare stop to try to get his bearings. Winded, and with a stitch forming in his side, Justyn kept running, and prayed for a miracle.

That miracle came sooner than he expected, as a tree he ran by suddenly turned and cast a spell that stunned the orcs. Three more spells were cast in rapid succession, and the three orcs fell dead at the tree's... roots. Justyn collapsed on the ground, holding his stomach and trying to get his breath back. A low chuckle carried to him, and then the whispered arcane words of another spell. Justyn shakily got to his feet, and turned to thank his savior.

When he looked towards the bodies, however, he saw no sign of his rescuer. No tree, no one at all. He stepped closer to the bodies, and with a mild rush of satisfaction saw that he'd have his belts after all. He saw something unusual near the third orc though. A petite set of footprints indented the grass there. 

Justyn walked to the footprints, stood directly before them and reached out cautiously.
A hand intercepted his wrist inches before where his fingers would have touched the person's torso. The grip was firm, yet gentle. 

"Thank you, whoever you are," he said, startled.

"Aye," said a low feminine voice. "You are most welcome, young squire."

Justyn found himself entranced by the voice. She spoke softly, but he could almost hear the power behind it. She could kill with words, and he would have known that even if he hadn't seen the results. He found himself trying to see her, somehow, through the cloak of invisibility she'd placed on herself.

"Please, my lady, might you be able to show me the way to Felwithe?"

In response, her indented footprints moved, and he felt his wrist gently pulled about. She used his own hand to point the way, then released it.

"Safe journeys, young squire," she said, and he heard her footsteps heading back the way he'd came.

"But... who are you?" he whispered to the empty air. Frowning slightly, he bent and relieved the orcs of the belts he needed, then turned back towards what she'd said was Felwithe.