Carver was still carrying the witch back to camp when he saw them. Five torches fanning through the woods. Survivors? No. Any townspeople who were still alive would have the good sense not to carry bright lights when trying to evade the army that had just destroyed their town. No, these were almost certainly foes, searching for survivors of the attack. And they were headed right for the camp.
For the umpteenth time that day, Carver broke into an agonizingly slow run, finally breaking into the clearing where the rest of the party was. "Friends, they come! Five foes bear down on us, and I fear there is no time for us to run." He set the witch down gently on a blanket, somewhat guilty of his petty rough treatment of her earlier.
He drew his sword and began gesturing around the camp. "I will try to take the worst of it. My gnomish friend, I know not how much energy remains within you, but use what you can to direct the foes to me. My lady Alula, please take the child and climb back to that tree, that we might protect the two of you more easily. Kelvin, I want you to remain at the base of the tree and shoot anything that gets too close. Separ, stay with me in front - they'll hit me, and then you'll hit them back harder. And, half-elf..." He glanced around. "Has anyone seen the half-elf?"
The paladin shrugged, and placed his helmet back on his head.
