She tightened the clawed gloves on her hands as she recovered. These wood elven bitches were starting to celebrate. The gruthir had broken, more than a dozen of them were fleeing. Their celebration would make her job easier.

She swept her eyes over the nearby soldiers, looking for a younger soldier. An older soldier might be able to resist better. There.

Her target selected, Sar'Vona stalked forward, until she could slide behind a ridge in the roots, just higher than an elf's waist. The shade kept her hidden in her shadow cloak. This would take skill. Her victim made it easier for her, by leaning against the root, relieved that...