The daylight was softly seeping through the trees, gently touching the ground, here and there. When a breeze moved through them, the daylight danced across the ground, moving with soft steps to the left, to the right, mimicking the movements of the leaves above it, catching dust and leaves picked up by the wind and making them glow softly in the comparative darkness. Elves were usually drawn to this sort of natural beauty, sometimes humans too, blinding their eyes to the dangers of the darkness around them with the beauty of what they could see. The elf that was there was not so moved, but his eyes were on light. Well, he was hidden under the treeline, but his eyes were beyond where the trees ended, looking over the landscape that met his eyes. The land, of course, interested him not, though, but the men that were quickly camping over it were. His keen eye, untouched by the lack of it's fellow, saw just about everything that there was to see of the Nilfgaardian army.

Their numbers were well into fifty thousand and rising, more crossing the Yaruga every moment, Iorveth could see that, with the recent turmoils in the north, this would not be a force to sneeze at, especially if they did not unite and fight as one army. If they decided to fight this host individually, he might as well start learning Nilfgaardian now.

Saskia was not going to like this news.

He stood up, picking up his bow and moving silently through the forest for a couple miles. They were sure to have scout patrolling the area, and he wasn't going to get caught. Not alive, leastways. After a long while, the elf stepped out of his cover and began walking along a path that the Scoia'tael had cut through the foliage. It was difficult for elves to follow, and near impossible for humans. Odd how that worked. Humans were great, blundering idiots, and the only reason that they were in the superior race on the Continent was sheer numbers. If they had been equally matched, Humans would be the ones living in the Ghettos and forests.

He stopped suddenly in midstep, turning around to peer into the green behind him," You move quietly for such a big man," He growled, drawing an arrow and tucking the nock against his bowstring," But not quietly enough, I am afraid."

The bushes rustled and an immense man stepped out, a battleaxe in his hands, helmet on his head, but no armor. He did have something of a sword of his back, however.This man, while shorter than Iorveth was himself, was stout as a dwarf and tall as a man, looking like a mountain, old and unsurmountable.

"Aye," The man said, his deep voice rumbling through the forest," My wife used to complain about it. Said it would spook the wee ones."

Iorveth lowered his bow and smiled," You have no wife, and no children, either, unless some magic that I know not of allowed witcher to procreate."

"You have keen eyes, master elf," Dros said with a chuckle," Or should I say eye. I know your face, or know of it, anyways. One cannot be confronted by a one-eyed elf in the wild without the name of Iorveth coming to mind."

"You find me at a disadvantage, Dhoine," Iorveth growled," You know of me, and I know nothing of you. Mend this, or find yourself covered in arrows, from my men hidden in the shadows."

"You have a keep eye, Elf," Dros countered," But I have keen ears, and unless the years have dulled my hearing, I hear none of your men, nor the nocking of arrows or the pulling of bowstrings. You are alone out here, Iorveth, but there is no need to fear me. I fought for the Nilfgaardians when I was a lad, but have long left their service, taking on a occupation more suitable for a witcher. I was just in these parts to see the army gathering, maybe find a few old friends, share some stories and drinks."

"You will find that age is far fairer to you than it was to them, witcher," Iorveth said, nodding," Although you are welcome to try."

Dros shook his head, a grim smile on his face," Nah. I lost me nerve. Don't want to walk amongst all the lads and have them talking about me behind my back. Besides, they might want me to join the war effort. I've had enough of war in my lifetime, and while retiring is out of the question, I'll try and relax as my last days come upon me."

iorveth chuckled," You are a witcher and a philosopher. A rare match, I must say."

"Don't you know, laddie? Old men are always philosophers. Anyways, I am parched, in need of some Vodka. Do you know of anywhere in these parts that sells it?"

"Aye, Dhoine, and I will take you there. But call me laddie again, and you won't be able to wield that useless stick of yours anymore. I know of you as well, although my memory was faded. You are Dros Delnoch. I was in the Scoia'tael unit that you led some 20 years ago, in the first battle of the second war. I am older than you, and I am no philosopher."

Dros chuckled," Aye, and your loss it is too."