The Mountain Goat paused and lifted its head, scanning the surrounding alpine meadow while its jaws worked on the mouthful of sweet grass it had just taken, it flicked its tail and then froze, it had detected movement amongst the rocks surrounding the meadow, it was peering towards them, trying to spot what it had seen before, when the crossbow bolt thudded between its eyes, with a startled bleat the goat crumpled backwards to the ground.
Slowly two drab blobs detached from the pile of rocks and moved towards the goat, slowly revealing themselves as short stocky figures swathed in Green,Grey and Brown Cloaks. Moving cautiously the pair reached the goat and stood over the body.
“Good Shot” said the taller of the two
“Of Course” the other retorted, bending down with knife in hand to remove the crossbow quarrel from the Goats skull, pushing back her hood to reveal a mass of red curly hair and giving the other Dwarf a cheeky grin.
“Humph” he said, likewise pushing back his heavy hood and lowering a bandanna to reveal the bald head and full grey beard of a veteran. “don’t get too cocky” he growled.
The Dwarf maid chuckled as she set to work, dressing the goat ready to move, skilfully gutting and jointing it and wrapping it in a large sack she pulled from her haversack, meanwhile the other Dwarf stood watch , his large crossbow held loosely in one hand as he pulled a pipe from his pouch and lit it deftly one handed.
Once the Goat was safely in the sack the pair moved off again, pulling their hoods up over their heads they seemed to vanish once they reached the rocky ground.
A little time later another figure approached the place where the goat met its end, disturbing the carrion birds that had gathered on the entrails the figure stooped to examine the ground, then stood and sniffed the air, its snout eventually pointing towards the point the two Dwarfs had vanished, the figure glanced around furtively and then slowly stalked towards the rocks, moving stealthily along the trail its nose had revealed to it.
The smell of roasting goat was more than enough signal for the Dwarf Ranger patrol to find the camp amongst the rocks and trees of the Trough of Bowland. Once the sentries had been posted the rest settled down to a hot meal and a smoke, the dozen or so Dwarfs nearly invisible in the twilight apart from the glowing bowls of their pipes and the occasional flash of steel in the firelight, they spoke in low voices because, even here in their own lands they were always ready to face an enemy and never dropped their guard totally. This was just one of the regular Ranger patrols that skirted the borders of the Free Dwarfs of Bowland and it was upon them that the safety of the realm depended. They are skilled in tracking and combat, camouflage and marksmanship and many was the foe that had crossed the border seeking easy spoils and coming to grief on the axes of the rangers.
Seeing the glow from the Rangers fire reflected on the boles of the trees in front of him the dark pursuer slowly raised his head above the rocks to see better, his beaded black eyes and long twitching, whiskered snout marking him as a Ratkin scout. Slowly he pulled back behind the rocks, hunching his shoulders to duck out of sight. He had found the Rangers Camp and now he would tell his pack leader, the rest of his pack of Scurriers’ would dispose of the Dwarfs in their sleep and the way would then be clear for the rest of the Ratkin horde to sweep into the Dwarfs mountain and kill all they found, the Scout shivered with anticipation and then stiffened, its eyes comically crossed as they tried to focus on the object between them, then they lost their focus and became glassy as the Ratkin slid bonelessly down the rock. Seconds later a red-haired Dwarf slid down and stood over the Scouts Body.
“Ratkin” she hissed, another Dwarf appeared on top of the rocks and looked down,
“it’s a Scout” he said” Back track it”.
As the Scurriers moved through the starlit landscape of the Mountain pass, following the scent trail their Scout had left them they hissed and chittered at each other nervously, so many of their kind never returned from these lands and they knew that patrols were close. Apart from a brief panic when they had scented blood on the trail, only to find out it was goat, they had been following the fairly clear scent of their scout that then began to overlay that of Pipe smoke and Beer, the smell of Dwarfs! so the Pack Leader was sure they would meet the Scout and he would be prepared to ambush the unsuspecting Dwarfs, He gleefully twitched his whiskers and waved on his Pack and they, feeling his excitement, speeded up on the trail.
Then, without warning several of the Scurriers were hurled down like discarded rags and there was the accompanying twang of Crossbows, simultaneously several of the rocks on the trail sprouted axes and more scurriers fell, crying piteously as they did. The Pack Leader shrank back with fear, Dwarf Ambush! they must have discovered his Scout. The Pack Leader must warn the Horde that they were discovered! Important Yes! he turned and ran back along the trail. The Pack Leader didn’t get very far.
The next night the advance guard of the Ratkin Horde discovered the row of poles across the end of the mountain pass, on each pole was the head of a Scurrier, its features twisted in agony. The Horde went no farther.
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