As Caitlyn and Dreighton sat at their small fire, playing their part as decoys, an unexpected guest silently padded up.  They watched as she came closer, approaching as if tamed.

“Well-met, spirit-wolf,” Dreighton said.  “What are you about?”

The creature drew closer, looking around and quietly growling deep in her throat, growing more agitated.

Then she actually approached Caitlyn, and nipped at her leg.

“Back to the nests!”

Dreighton shot up off his seat, and darted back into the darkness, going around the backside of the proper shroom, and scaling the handholds carved into the side.

Arriving back in Fawnlum’s compartment, Caitlyn saw the quizzical look on her leader’s face.

“Danger’s coming,” she stated.

“That’s the point.”

“Not this time.”

Fawnlum, puzzled but trusting Caitlyn’s word, leaned back against the nest wall.

“She’s right,” Sienna said after a few seconds, looking out the little window slit.

Even before she took a look, Fawnlum heard the snarls and shouts.  Easily seven dozen in number, the tri-cleorps host rolled up to the campfire in a tromping wave.

“Looks like we’ve gotten their attention,” Fawnlum said.

“We could still take them,” Sienna mumbled.

<*>                                                          <*>                                                      <*>

Maguleth stood in Felldrake’s lair, gently gathering the membrane-sheets the dragon had enchanted according to his directions.

“These markings are well-made!” he said boisterously, holding one of them up.

“Don’t compliment me like I’m some lackey,” Felldrake hissed.

Maguleth paused to look up at his host, feeling his displeasure as sure as his warm breath, which was becoming heavier, with eyes dangerously narrowed.

“I tolerated your attack once, dragon.  How you fare in the aftermath of my ire a second time depends on what’s left.”

“You would fight me?” the dragon taunted.

At Maguleth’s gesture, and softly muttered phrase, eight octagonal discs flew out of his robes, to hover vertically around his body at chest level.

Felldrake gave a snort.  “Why do I detect an especially foul aura in that magic shield?”

“Because this magic came from Hkoshiktay’s own dark domain, mighty Felldrake.  Woven over centuries, it carries powers unburdened by the restraints of the Grand Lattice.  Its strength could withstand a blow from a god’s own avatar.”

He cupped his hand under one disc, as if putting the hovering thing on display.  “But its true genius lies in its trap-effect.”

“Don’t brag, little one.  It’s demeaning to listen to.”

“No, I think I want to share this,” he cheekily continued.  “If anyone was to strike the shield, beams of energy would issue forth, to burn holes through their body.

“But that’s not the best part!” he quickly said, with an upraised finger, and billow of his robe, taking a moment of satisfaction as Felldrake flinched.  “I can take the heart from the remains, and use it to pull the spirit back into the body, trapping it there.  I can then reanimate it, to become my personal zombie soldier.  I have exacted this curse on one noble hero in the past.  And to this day, his trapped soul wails in anguish, as he goes where I wish, killing who I wish.”

Felldrake silently straightened back up, looking down at Maguleth from on high.  “If you inflict that fate on one certain human, wizard, I’ll consider this partnership well-spent.”