It couldn't be the middle of the night. It couldn't be after they had eaten and were curled up in their tent and gazing into each other's eyes, not knowing their future or where you'd friendship would now go. No, it had to be then, right there, after he had said it …

But the story was never meant to be a romance. It was meant to be a mission on the edge of possibility, of defying the odds against everything fate had thrown at them. Reason dictated that all notice of affection or attraction could not last long, despite the steady build up in tension and suggestion. For both Celandine and Vanimar knew that the tale was really a tragedy.

Sweeeee - thump - hiss!

Fifteen arrows, dark, ugly and jagged, flew out from the shadows of the darkness surrounding the camp. With heavy thuds they landed right at where the company was resting, one shooting directly into the large steak that Umbrian was holding up fresh from the fire and savagely pinning it to his chest. The dwarf let out a loud and agonising scream as the other arrows landed in the ground, tents and fire. Hot and burning wood scattered, dangerously rolling towards the tents, but that did not concern any of the dwarves.

Immediately the three remaining leapt to their feet, now that Umbrian was left in the dirt, clutching at his chest that was quickly becoming covered in thick, dark and wet crimson. He was still screaming, and the shrill noise filled Celandine's ears, making her quake with sudden fear as Steadfast and Bolor ran out into the night to find whatever perpetrator had begun this terrible fight.

More arrows.

Celandine felt herself hit the ground, pain exploding in her back as she was thrown down. Suddenly, Vanimar was on top of her, straddling her with his deep red eyes boring into hers similarly filled with anxiety, but he was making no move on her. This was a powerful gesture of protection, covering her body with his as the arrows thudded into the ground around them.

Her breath was panting. She was frightened, lost, confused. Whimpered lightly she tried to push against the weight of the dark elf on top of her, but he was a warrior and she a simple scholar. There was no comparison.

"Vanimar," she whispered.

More screams of agony. Then one of anguish. Utter fear and hatred, and a thundering curse in dwarvish. Twisting her head to the side Celandine saw a sudden blazing fire as one of the tents caught alight, and standing in its silhouette was a disformed and horrid figure. Horns sprouted from its skull in an odd pattern, claws raked angrily at the air. And it's eyes glowed like coals as it pulled back its head and howled with devious laughter.

"Puncil!" Vanimar growled, in some elvish Celandine did not know. Quickly, he shoved her aside, not being gentle about it and swung to his feet. Drawing his short sabre he stood over her, baring his tall height, jet black skinned and bloody haired, then let out a thin hiss.

"Run, Celandine," he ordered her. "Run. Get to the Sanctuary and end this."

"Wh-what?" she breathed, shocked at his suggestion. She had kept the sword with her - it was a flat board against her back - but his words were alien to her.

"No, we were going to -"

"Run!" he screamed as the grotesque saw them, twisted and then began to run towards them on all four legs, it's horrid eyes glinting with nothing but savagery.