From his vantage point close to the road, Valehelgwath peered down at the few travellers who were still arriving at the quiet town. He watched as the last, a merchant by his apparel, argued with the gateman to allow him and his wagon through the gate after dark. After a long arguement, the merchant appeared to win and he slowly trundled his laden wagon through the entrance.
Curious, the elf held his gaze on this lone traveller when he came into view once more beyond the thorn hedge. Pottering along the main thoroughfare, the elf had almost dismissed this trader when his keen vision noticed a sudden movement from the back of the wagon. Just a sudden flash of dark shadow, a shape slipped from beneath the tarpaulin and slid effortlessly up the wall of the nearest building. On a balcony it rested just a moment as a window slipped open, and then it was gone from sight.
Valedhelgwath shuddered. He had met their type before, but that had been a long time ago in mortal years. He had been numbered among their prey back then, and he had been lucky to survive. Surely they did not seek him still. He had seen four generations of Woses born and die since that time.
Searching the road for more of their kind, he contemplated slipping back to the forests from whence he had come and where he had found safe refuge. A muted cry of pain from the same building caught his attention, though, and again the elf kept his vigil, his bow now strung.