Finally, a beacon of hope! Gune saw the torchlight of the distant outpost, and felt his spirits lift. With their goal now in sight, he and his tribe should make a more expeditious advance through the dark, horror-ridden forest. Gune made a great effort to keep his anxiety buried, and the encroaching fog wasn't helping. 
Still keeping a wary eye on his surroundings, he inspected the fallen timber that blocked their path forward. As an obstacle, it was very lackluster. Gune believed he could scramble over it as gracefully as a halfling delicacy on the run from a dinner knife. They were always so hard to keep on the party platter unless you maimed them first.

"Fat scales!" He cried to Ishalla. "Chieftan Gune say we run to outpost from here. No one catch us!" His toothy grin brimmed with confidence and belied his obvious desire to make a run for it and be rid of the forest altogether.