Ordhan had hoped to reach Lothering by this time. A night at the Dane's Refuge, as noisy as it could be, would be welcome after many on the road. He still had the strength to press on after nightfall, but there would be no point to it; the village would not be reached before most of the night had passed, and he would have to camp sooner or later. Not yet, though. He was making poor time on this journey, and a another hour or two would help make up for it.
The Kokari Wilds seemed to be a favorite haunt of the Darkspawn. A few roving bands of them had appeared again in the south--not enough to warrant a large force of Grey Wardens, but enough to draw the knight from Denerim to join them. It took very little: a sighting or rumor, and Ordhan would be pressing towards it.
Though it was late, he was not worried about bandits. The largest groups of them had been cleared out not long ago, and he could handle any stragglers that may set upon him. Still, when a thunder of wild hooves rang out not far away, he halted. It was cut off just as he did, followed by the whinny of a horse in distress.
Ordhan loosened his sword in its sheath as he made towards the sound. He could move quietly for a knight all in plate, the light rustle and creak of armor faint in the quiet evening. Soon, the failing light revealed a group of figures among the trees ahead. They were spread apart near a clearing that opened up not far, but were drawing together at a point; peering through the dusk he could make out at least four of them. The gleam of metal could be seen beneath the hand of one, angled towards the ground--there, crumpled on the ground beneath his sword, lay a young woman. His stomach twisted before he saw by the glint of light on her wide eyes that she was still alive. Relief hardened into determination, and his eyes darted to size up the situation even as he drew a knife from the side of his pack.
A decade of battle after battle had honed the moment of decision and strategy to the finest knife-edge of time. A moment's hesitation or a moment's recklessness could equally spell disaster; neither speed nor strategy could be neglected. The blade was in his hand, the assailant with the drawn sword was in range--
There was a thud and a loud cry as the knife buried itself between the target's shoulder blades. Ordhan charged, sword whipping out and shield raised, his shouts shattering the night's stillness.