Harvest Song Cromm stood at the dark elf's side. The sniveling mage, face quickly darkening, air escaping from slackened lungs, crumpled in a heap. The Werre's face betrayed nothing, but he admired the strength in those ebony hands. The battle had been furious. Balefire had felled two dozen mages and as many scorpions with Elfiran at his side. The pair's swift onslaught had carried them far into the enemy, and it was the Werre who crashed into the enemy's rear as they closed behind the warmage and bartender. There were not enough scorpions and men for Cromm to reach his personal best, but it had been long months since he last had fought, and his axe-arm ached. He relished the feeling. The battle had been good for Joran. The boy had cleaved his first head and had not flinched at the sight of blood drawn by his own hand. Talnan, true to form, had sung a harvest song, scything to and fro with his notched great-axe. It had been hardest for Holm'ka. With his injuries, he could not lift his axe, and Loriella had leapt to his aid twice. My, that woman was quick! Cromm almost fancied he'd heard her purr when her fist- daggers had clawed out the throat of an arrogant mage who chose to forego a spell in favor of playing with the kitten. The tunnel was silent now. At Balefire's beckoning, the party quickly cleaned their weapons and stepped through the havoc wrought by blade and axe. Holm'ka's eyes smouldered. If hate and shame could heal, he would have been whole. Alduin finished checking the bandages. The binding was still sound, even after the rigors of combat. It seemed to him that the Werre were as good at the arts of mundane healing as harming. Axe and salve...there was some perverse truth in that. As the group made its way down the hall, Talnan again took up the harvest song, humming it softly under his breath. ++++++++++++++++++ Alduin dor Lammoth