Hearing the voices, Auredhel smiled thinly. Travelers, maybe. Or bandits. Or cultists. Or... Something else? It was hard to say. He nodded as Hugh spoke, in full agreement with his caution. The old elf moved toward a tree, and removed his pack and his spare bag with a swiftness and a grace unusual in one of so advanced an age. Now unencumbered, staff in hand, he looked to the rest of the party.

"I suspect good Sir Hugh is in the right, my friends."

He thought for a space, glancing down the road. An idea occurred. He continued, speaking only so loud as he dared, lest he draw the attention of whatever lay ahead.

"If I might, my young comrades, I do believe I have a crafty plan. I shall move forward alone, posing as a lost traveler. You shall all follow behind. If it is trouble, we shall take them unawares, they thinking me some fool. If not... Well, if they be just merchants on the road, mayhap we have a hearty dinner with them, and dance beneath the starlight?"

He chuckled softly, going over which spells would or would not be helpful in his head. Fire, he knew, always had a certain psychological effect. It was scary, and common thugs in his experience could be run off with no more effort than that required to fling one or two bolts of flame in their general direction. Not to mention the presence of a deft archer, a veteran warrior, and a practiced scoundrel to round out the group.