They moved as fast as they could without making any noise, watching out for any signs of pursuit or ambush.
After an hour, they came upon half a dozen Lutins. To their luck, though, someone had already taken care of them, as they sprawled on the ground or across branches.
"Looks as if that guy didn't have as much trouble as I expected," Arla said.
Finbar pointed, "That one's chest just rose and fell; he's still alive."
Arla looked closely at the figure, and saw Finbar was right. She looked at the others, and saw that they, too, were breathing.
"They're all alive," Arla observed.
Finbar grunted in agreement. "We'd better not be here when they wake up, then."
The ferret moved around the clearing, as Arla made sure that there were no tracks for any Lutins to follow upon their awakening.
They moved southward, occasionally coming across a lone Lutin. Those they started to come across weren't as fortunate as their comrades up north. Often they would find one with a crossbow bolt in the chest, or its neck broken, or the side of its skull crushed in. They never found them in the large group that Arla spotted originally.
The terrain was still unforgiving, still muddy, though not the same muck that Arla swam in earlier that day. The two silent Metamorans made little progress, as they attempted to goad their path to stay hidden. But the Earth seemed to want to share its secrets, as it seemed there was always a pocket of air trapped by a footfall that seemed to want to rise up as soon as they weren't looking, telling tale of their passing. If not, then there was a piece of the hill that wanted to slip under their feet, asking for the attention, like an ignored child, they would have to give it in order to make it look like a natural occurrence.
Ahead, as if mocking, there were always signs of Lutins, whether those that just passed, or those who had passed on, after having met that unknown assailant.
They changed direction, taking an easterly course, attempting to head for the forest up ahead. The sun had peaked hours ago, and the heat of the day began pummeling both Scouts. The ground began to crack under their feet, as the remnants of summer clung to the ground. The mud's surface caked and cracked. The sludge still existed underneath, though; so much of their effort went into avoiding any traps the two Long Scouts may set for themselves
After a time they made it to the drier, firmer land. But they didn't let a false sense of security accompany their unspoken relief. For some unknown reason, they could feel Lutins following them, and gaining closer.
An hour later, their fears were well founded, as the Lutins finally caught up to them.
Finbar barely had enough time to dodge a flailing blow the first Lutin struck. Arla found two more charging in toward her. The slim blade of her sword whistled as she drew it and slashed through one of her attacker's throat. The collie barely had enough time to block the next blow.
Four more appeared. Rushing at the two scouts. Arla knew they couldn't hold them off.
"Break up, get the news back to Metamor," She shouted at Finbar as he deflected a devastating overhand blow, then, with the dagger with his left, split his opponent up the middle. Doing this, he ran northward, as she went southeast.
Lutins seemed to multiply. At best, she could easily outrun the short warriors. But the long days and the short nights, not to mention the hammering heat, had weakened her. The numbers of the Lutins also seemed to grow. For every two or three she evaded, another one appeared before her, and all kept on her heels.
Her sword still in hand, Arla hastily blocked the sweeping swings of her pursuers. However, when three Lutins appeared before her, each facing away from the her at each side of the small box formed by the trees, she knew she could not best all three of them.
With a cry, she rushed the one to the right, a look of surprise crossed the Lutin's face as she ran him through. Turning, she saw the other two no less surprised at their companion's demise, but they rushed her anyway.
She met the next Lutin's short blade. At the moment of contact, a Arla heard sharp crack, and felt the slide of it's blade on her own. The Lutin body slid limply into the path of it's fellow.
Turning her head slightly, she saw that same stranger in her periphery, his fist half open and arm extended from his strike.
The other Lutin, seeing him, raised a fearful cry and attacked. The wolf-fighter stepped into the being's attack, and grabbed the sword hand. Spinning around, the traveler upended the Lutin. Dropping to one knee, the Lutin's body descended sharply onto the wolf's other knee. The force of the blow sheared through the creature's back, its neck snapping as the head whipped downward.
"Unless you want to greet the next wave, start running!" the fighter cried as he stood up.
A streak of gray ran off to their right.
"Follow me," Finbar's voice ghosted toward them.
Arla immediately followed the ferret's trail, with the stranger following suit a step or so behind, as they headed south towards the mountainous Great Barrier.