It was a cloudless night. The cool summer's breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees surrounding the meadow, creating a still, calm feeling in the warm air. The grass swished back and forth softly, moving with the direction of the wind. The stars shone brightly, as if trying to compensate for the minimal light given off by the crescent moon in the night sky, but to no avail.

The cloaked figure took advantage of the darkness, crouching in the tall grass, the blades tickling the fur on his face. His eyes squinted in concentration as he kept his eyes focused on the glimmering firelight in the distance. He clutched a longbow in his right hand, his fingers relaxed around the center of it. The figure took great care not to grip the bow too tightly to prevent the muscles in his arms from tensing up. If this happened, the results could be disastrous if he tried to fire an arrow.

He watched as the fire's brightness gradually lessened, the glimmering light gradually subsiding to an unwavering glow. The creature smiled inwardly. This is what he had been waiting for.

Slowly, he rose up from his crouching position, feeling the burn in his legs as circulation came back to them. He winced, but managed to keep moving at the same, steady pace. He hunched over, his head just above the grass as he glided over the expanse of the field. As he neared the fire, he noticed that it was still rather bright. He cursed himself for not being more cautious. He should have realized that his perception of the fire's brightness grew more and more distorted the further he was away from it. Everybody in the camp was still very much awake, although they were obviously preparing to fall asleep. The noise level of the camp grew even lower as he approached. It wouldn't be long now before his plan could go into effect.

The cloaked figure stayed right where he was, staying far enough away from the fire to avoid being silhouetted to any enemies that might be lurking behind him. If he was discovered, he would have to retreat, and the enemy would be more alert to their surroundings, which would make a surprise attack impossible.

His part of the plan was crucial. He knew that the attack force was badly outnumbered by a ratio of at least three to one. If he failed, attacking the camp would be futile. If no attack could be made on the camp, then the force would be able to move with little resistance through the Valley of Avalar. He pondered this, knowing what would happen if he should fail. His right hand clamped tighter around the bow nervously. All the weight that was placed upon his shoulders was a hard thing to bear. One mistake and…

"Easy, Hunter. Don't stress yourself out." He thought to himself. He relaxed his bow hand once again, allowing himself to take a deep breath despite the small noise it made. "You can do this."

It took him a little while to calm his heartbeat, which had quickened as thoughts of failure raced through his head, down to a reasonable speed. Keeping his mind off of it, he instead focused on the campfire again, noticing that it was rapidly losing brightness as its wooden fuel source was depleted.

The camp became even quieter now, subsiding to the occasional snarl or growl that the camp's rather unintelligent inhabitants made.

"Almost time, Hunter." He assured himself. It was only a little while longer until he could move closer to the camp.

Suddenly, the fur on the back of his neck prickled. Any tiny motion that Hunter might've been making stopped as he felt a presence close by. He slowly turned his head, careful not to move the large hood of his cloak along with it. Any movement could raise awareness of his presence.

He felt his heart rise into his chest as he saw a tall grublin sentry coming his way, on the left side of where he was hiding. At first, he thought it might pass by without noticing him, but it appeared to be heading straight for him. Hunter wondered whether or not he should run, but he quickly realized that if a sentry saw him, he would have alerted the camp already. This sentry had, so far, not seen him. Hunter felt momentarily relieved, but he soon realized that the path the grublin was taking would take him directly in front of where he was. There was no way he could avoid detection in his current position if that happened.

He began to weigh his options; if he tried to move out of the way, the sentry would almost undoubtedly see him, and raise the alarm. He couldn't stay where he was, either. If the grublin continued waking in the same direction, he would pass by too close to where Hunter was. He would be discovered either way.

The grublin was getting closer and closer with every passing moment. Hunter had only one option left at his disposal.

He would have to spill the first blood of the night.

He couldn't use his bow to make the kill. The motion of raising it was too large, and it would be detected by the grublin long before Hunter could send an arrow in his direction. Instead, Hunter slowly raised his pant leg, which was luckily on the side that wasn't visible to the sentry, and felt his boot, searching…

He felt the pommel of the small, thin dagger on the tips of his fingers. He took it out of the sheath he had sewn onto the boot, and placed the tip between his thumb and index finger.

He waited, keeping his wrist tensed up, preparing for what he was about to do. He also took into account the small, round buckler the grublin sentry carried alongside his spear. Fortunately, the creature's neck was still visible. Hunter tensed every muscle in his arm…

The sentry was close enough. He needed to act, now.

He gauged the distance between himself and the grublin, and in one, fluid motion raised his arm behind his head, pivoting his ankles so they were turned towards his would-be assailant. With eye blurring speed, he whipped his arm forward and down, taking only a brief half second to aim before letting go of the knife.

It flew through the air almost faster than the eye could see. The grublin had no idea what hit him as the blade entered his neck, stifling any cries for help that could have been made. The sentry dropped like a stone, his body collapsing onto the earth with a soft thud. His spear left his grasp, falling alongside him.

Hunter turned from the dead sentry, satisfied with his killing throw. He peered over to the campfire once again, and nodded in satisfaction.

It was dim enough. He could move forward without being noticed.

He began to crawl over the ground, careful not to make a sound. Now, the fire was in plain sight. He was close enough that he could hear the crackling pop as tiny sparks came out of the glowing logs. He decided this was close enough.

Quietly, he raised the bow until the center was level with his right eye. Looking down, he chose an arrow that was longer than the rest, and notched it onto his bowstring. It had a small bag wrapped around it, directly behind the point. This was an explosive powder, and rested on the topside of the arrow to prevent it from hitting Hunter's hand when he fired the arrow.

Hunter inhaled deeply, holding his breath as he pulled the arrow back, keeping the motion steady. He tensed his pulling hand, but relaxed the hand that was holding the bow to avoid jerking his arm to the right. If such a thing happened, he would miss the shot.

He aimed, looking down the shaft of the arrow, waiting until he had it on the perfect spot…

He released the arrow.

…