He crossed the gangplank last, squinting in the sunlight. Too bright, too open, too populated. Catskull was wary. As he listened to the elf speak, he came to the decision to not attend the meeting. The others would take care of that. As the others followed the elf, Catskull dipped into the shadows between the encroaching trees and took his own route, scouting the general area and eavesdropping on any conversations he came across, studying the timing of the guards as they went about their rounds. If there was any shady business going on, Catskull bore a solid chance of finding out about it.

It wasn't likely that the elves were actual enemies, but Catskull was well versed in the art of war. If you let your guard down once, you'll be liable to let it down again, and all it takes is one slip, one mistake, one poor choice. Placing yourself at the mercy of a host may seem mundane and common, but time and time again have legions been taken in by friendly deception and massacred by those they trusted. The strong fighters of old always placed themselves beyond the reach of their enemy, to provoke and wait for weaknesses.

When a warrior stops moving, that is when he will most likely die.