"Let her sleep awhile yet," whispered Anest. Moving off to join the others, he noted with surprise that the large stove near the center of the raft had been lighted, though it smoked not at all, showing only vague heat-waves above its surface.
"What is it?" he asked Belloc, who pointed to the distant shoreline off to the left. There were several tiny black figures standing at the edge of the wood.
"Goblins," said Amrhost. "A great many of them. It's a good thing we're well out of bow-range."
"I do not like this," said Brogan. "They are here in far greater numbers than have been accounted for. They will attempt us, I think."
"They will most certainly attempt us," responded Celedhan, his white eyebrows raised assymetrically in terse irony. "Why else would they be here?" He returned his gaze to the shoreline. "From the beginning I have felt their eyes upon us, watching our every move, waiting for an opportunity to strike. It is obvious that something motivates them to be here." He gave Belloc a look. "Regardless whether that motivation is one of fear or of opportunity, the end result for ourselves remains the same. At some point the enemy will attack us."
The morning passed, silent, grey, and grim, as the four rafts passed in a line down the center of the river, watched by a dark enemy that kept to the animal trails lining the shore, that followed them furtively along the shore, and watched them from behind bush, tree, and copse. Occasional hoarse, guttural voices were carried over the water, making them sound uncomfortably clear and close at hand. The remainder of the day was spent watching and waiting, and none aboard the rafts was immune to the level of tension.