The Frank woke with a start, his back sore from the bark of the tree he had slept against. The campfire, now smoldering embers, provided faint illumination to the area. He didn't know what had disturbed his sleep and listened for some clue. Then he heard it, the shuffling through the underbrush, the sniffing sounds of some beast, and a growling muttering.
Hruodland drew his sword. The ring of the metal as it cleared the scabbard seemed loud in the hush of the night. He held his breath, but heard nothing. The stench of decay filled the air near Hruodland. Resisting the urge to gag dragged out the wait.
Something moved close to the campfire. The Frank strained all his senses in that direction, certain he had pinned down the location of the intruder. Then something struck him from the side and bowl...
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