Less than a heartbeat later, Vilon was already on his feet, his sword clear of its scabbard and leveled toward the shifting shadows where the sound had broken the night.
The fire crackled and spat behind him, its orange flames throwing long, dancing spears of light against the ever-encompassing darkness. Vilon swallowed hard,he found his throat dry.
He hated the dark; he hated the way it swallowed the perimeter of his vision, leaving him entirely blind to whatever might be creeping through the brush. For all he knew, a dozen faceless assailants could be silently circling his small patch of grass, waiting for his back to turn.
"Show yourself, or I'll cut you down!" he called out. He tried to force a roaring fire into his voice, but it came out flat, sounding more like a flickering candle drowning in a draft.
