Narrator:
It's late when Gallilei finally gets out and away from the confusion and the noise around Jhereg's personal camping space. But he does find a nice meadow, not far away that will offer a very nice view of the all - too
- soon to be upcoming sunrise. He sleeps well, Western McMannon is hard to tell apart from the eastern reaches of the elven lands.
Gallilei is normally an early riser, but it's way too early when he wakes. For the briefest of seconds he wonders what woke him. He realizes that a cold, sharp bit of steel is poking into his left ear. He makes no moves save to open his eyes. The most interesting object in his field of view is the right toe of a leather boot for a rather smallish (though it's hard to tell so close up) foot. Glancing to his left, upwards, he can all he needs to see of a smallish crossbow. It doesn't look that small, not when he can see the tension on the steel string and the bend to the steel leaf. He surmises from the earlier events of the night that the cold, sharp bit of steel in his left ear is the head of a quarrel.
Time compresses heavily for an elf used to thinking in terms of decades. He's now living in fractions of seconds.
Gallilei: [unspoken, stream of consciousness]
Bees.
So small.
So ephemeral.
But deadly.
A small bit of metal, or perhaps a block of wood.
The finger of a short morkon.
Small.
Short lived.
But deadly.
Shadow Morkon: [quiet voice]
Please do not move, Ancient One. This bow is set to fire if I let go of it, your spells and your reactions would race with steel. I have a message for Jhereg, son of Rabban. Please tell him to walk with you, alone, tomorrow night. Tell him not to summon his shadow dogs when we talk. Walk into dark shadows and call for Walker of Shadows. I will eventually hear you. I will give him the message if he is willing to hear it. I mean him no harm, but I am free to do great ill if attacked.
I apologize for the insult to your wisdom, Ancient One.