Derrix looked back swiftly at the other thief that sat with the midget, “keep it, it is yours.”

	The midget started to bark words that fell as blurs on the man’s ears as he continued his withdrawal from the cave, whistling to his horse. The white beast trotted up to him, droplets running down it’s muscular sides. Derrix patted the stallion roughly and with one swift motion, he climbed up to sit on the soaked leather saddle.

	He kicked his feet into the stirrups and popped an arrow out of the side satchel and loosely pinched it in the hand that he held the bow string with. 

	With the chill dispersed wind of the wood passing through his thin wet clothes, a sturdy curved bow in his hand, and a horse underneath, he felt like he was on the plains again, almost. 

	There was a certain feel the plains had that this forest just didn’t emulate, and a certain respect that just wasn’t here; this land felt empty and in consequence, it added a soft and pained pang to the beat in the hollow of his already strained heart