Camilla rode atop Cydric's shoulders with a sense of glee, ducking under low branches and issuing Imperial commands as though she were riding a great warhorse. The Dwarves grumbled in their own tongue, complaining about humans, women, and human women in particular. The hill grew closer but it seemed to Camilla that the trees grew thicker even as the ground began to become rocky. A worrying light had began to appear on the eastern horizon as the sun began to rise.

“Ve need to harry,” she insisted, her accent thickening unconsciously as her unease grew.

“Probably easier if the big ox weren’t carrying your behind,” Thor grunted, though his heart wasn’t in the insult. Before Camilla could respond the sun peaked over the tips of the distant World’s Edge mountains and the hill infront of them flared into sharp relief, the black smudgy shadows of foliage turning emerald as the morning sun struck it. The trees exploded into motion, seeming to surge up the hill like a frozen wave suddenly unthawed. They struck something and recoiled, a low fence of stones that sparked and flashed.

“A rune fence,” Thor muttered in quiet awe. Beyond the fence the hilltop was bare, tree stumps littered it, obviously harvested by whatever dwarves had settled there, either to provide timber or to clear a defensive perimeter, or both. The sun continued to rise and the chaos continued to spread.

“Myrmidia’s tits,” Camilla cursed/prayed. There was no way in hell that they were going to break through to the minehead through that wall of rending thrashing timber. Worse, some at the rear of the group had turned and she saw glowing green eyes regarding them.

“Run!” Camilla shouted, “Run for the grove! We have to stay in the shadows as long as we can!”