Grim faced, Saoirse stalked through the trees bordering the glade. Late autumn's winds bit at her pale face and whistled between the barren branches of the old wood, kicking up waves of dried foliage a thousand shades of brown. The scent of earth and decay filled her cold nostrils. Her bright green eyes, framed by auburn hair which tumbled out from beneath a grey/brown hooded cloak, flitted from one man to the next, ten in all - each more pompous looking than the last, as they walked their heavy drafts through the bramble, noisily working their way to the edge of the clearing opposite her. A quarter hour had passed since the sun dropped behind the trees to her left and the glade was bathed in a dim blueish gray - a reflection of the overcast sky above. 

Watching the men from so close a distance Saoirse found herself astounded that her kin had for so long suffered the indignity of servitude to men such as these: so impossibly unaware as to border on unconscious and so secure and arrogant in their lack of awareness they fancied themselves untouchable. Unlike their previous targets, these men would offer no challenge, Saoirse thought, and unlike their previous targets, she would not suffer the guilt that accompanied kinslaying. So consumed was she by her thoughts, she missed the signal and was only brought to by the impact of the first arrow as it found its mark in the rearmost man in the column, driving through his exposed neck and ending its flight in the solid oak to his left.

The man's horse was the first to take note of the his plight as he stumbled forward gurgling and yanking on the reigns. The chestnut mare snorted and pulled against the man even as he dropped the lead and fell to one knee, wild eyed with panic, as another arrow buried itself between his shoulder blades. Fitting, that these horses would demonstrate greater awareness than their masters, Saoirse mused as she let loose an arrow of her own which joined two others as it tore through the brightly colored and ornately embroidered cloak of the lead man's chest. A dozen more arrows sung across the glade from all sides and above. The ambush was over as quickly as it had started she realized as the silhouettes of her comrades stirred along the edges of the glade in the fast receding light.

Saoirse joined them in their efforts to intercept the mens' now startled and bolting horses, quickly cornering the chestnut mare which had become tangled in the thick brush not far from her stricken master. She soothed the mare with a soft lilting song as she untangled the lead and walked her slowly past the shapes of the men, some of whom still stirred, confusedly struggling to right themselves on the ground. One man had propped himself up on an elbow, where he slumped wheezing and staring at her.

The man worked his bloodied mouth in an unsuccessful effort to speak. His cloak was a deep blue embroidered with a golden braid, and emblazoned on his chest was a crowned sparrow flanked by two pillars of flame. One black fletched arrow protruded from the center of his outsretched right thigh, another had taken him through the ribs opposite his heart. Bright red blood bubbled from around the wooden shaft as the man coughed and inhaled a rattling breath. "This one still lives," Saorise announced to Aodh as he approached, "I think he wishes to speak."

Aodh crouched in front of the man and, with a half tilted head, looked deeply into his grey eyes. The man cowered for a moment but seemed to regain his composure as his eyes hardened and held Aodh's gaze. With a free hand, the man pushed a leather satchel toward Aodh before falling back to the ground where he stared up at the now darkened sky his chest heaving as he drew sharp ragged breaths. Aodh pulled from the satchel a bit of parchment bearing a seal matching the design on the man's chest. Saoirse read the text over Aodh's shoulder as life left the man in a series of shuddering exhilations.

"Come," Aodh ordered as stood tucking the parchment under his own cloak, "there is much to be done." With a sharp whistle he waived his hand above his head in a circular motion as he took the lead of a black stallion nervously pawing at the earth. Saoirse's comrades silently moved to follow Aodh as he led his horse back into the wood to the East.