It wasn’t until he was deep in the forest that Demetir paused. It wasn’t for weariness, or to make camp, but at some misgiving that made the back of his neck prick. Dwarvish sense, he called it. More likely it was a combination of things, the way the crickets had fallen silent, the faint shade of an unpleasant smell in his nose, the sensation that he should look a bit harder into the shadows they were passing.
Something wasn't right.
The dwarf stood still for only a moment before starting forward again at twice the speed. This must be it! The beginning of the exciting part! Either the rumors were true, or something else was wrong, but whatever it was things were about to become much more interesting. If there really were Darkspawn nearby, it was nothing to hide from. He was a dwarf. Dwarves were made for fighting Darkspawn.
The thought made Demetir want to straighten and puff out his chest, but a stance like that would be completely useless in a fight. He settled into a posture more fit for combat: feet planted apart, crouched slightly down, center of gravity placed low (lower, rather), chin raised with eyes searching his surroundings. His eyesight had adjusted quickly to the sudden deepening of the darkness, and within moments he could make out the silhouette of a house in the moonlight. It felt like little sharp pieces of ice had found their way into his bloodstream when he saw two definite shapes moving around between where he stood and the house-shaped shadow. The pale starlight glinted off of bits of metal in the clearing: traps, some with the grisly remains of Darkspawn that had wandered too close. He wouldn’t be so foolish. The corpses themselves didn't bother him so much, but the stench did.
Two of them, he noted. Normal height (meaning a dwarf’s), between him and the house. There must be people in there! The slain Darkspawn proved that they already knew of the danger, but did they notice the two shadows slinking closer every moment? This was no time to stand around. It was time for Demetir Jorunn to prove that he came from warrior’s blood.
Picking through the field of traps was a touchy business. He couldn’t set any of them off, not even on purpose to make the passing easier; the snap of a branch between the metal teeth would attract the attention of everything in a quarter-mile. The silence was gone, though, already. Every step forward brought him closer to a roar of noise that had broken out ahead. There must be even more Darkspawn out there. The splinter of wood made him jump, and his heart leapt into his throat when an arrow whizzed out of the darkness to hit something a stone’s throw away; there was a gurgle of pain and a thud where the thing hit the ground. Demetir flung himself to the earth, eyes wide. He needed to get to that house, but preferably without getting shot by whoever was inside.