Kyrrein makes a grunt at Styrbjörn's words, a wry smile twisting the younger man's face as he shrugs cheekily from atop his horse.

Then comes the threat of discovery, and the long flight across open ground.

As soon as they reach the woods; the hunter is as uneasy as Ekkill, hunching his shoulders to loom closer to his beast's neck. His dark eyes search the branches for what didnt belong.

He sees movement, and looks to cry warning; but all that emerges is a strangled gurgle, and one of Ekkill's proud warriors drops, screaming in pain.

He couldnt give voice to the curses he turns on himself, but it's clear on the grimace he wears when he nods once to Ekkill.

Dropping from his horse, the slim man vanishes into the forest like one of its own beasts. There would be a heavy price leveled upon the enemy for their ambush, and his steel the first bite.

One of the shouts from the woods turns into a bloody scream as Kyrrein encounters one of the archers, and the fur-clad scout emerges back into the midst of the party with his bloodied knife in one hand and the other palm-foreward to keep his own party from skewering him in surprise.

He hurredly guestures a hill, and then waves his hand at its finish. They were just over the next ridge, and ready for Ekkill and his warriors.

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