A very rugged group of people lay deep in the covered brush of a forest floor. Annalise, their unspoken leader, was amongst the group offering words of encouragement or wisdom. Slowly people trickled in and out of their small camp, bringing in wood, food, stocking or counting weapons. Another group was dipping bullets in molten silver: There wasn't enough for bullets made entirely of silver, so this would have to do. Everyone here knew they wouldn't survive. Their job was to create enough of a stir to throw their cause in the spotlight.<br/><br/>Nobody amongst the people had any sort of light in their eyes. However, their was a fire in their souls. Annalise was in the middle of eating when one of the scouts motioned for her to follow.<br/><br/>"There's word that Raighart isn't sending anymore parties." With the news, Annalise visibly relaxed, but it was short lived. "He's on the hunt himself..."<br/><br/>Everyone in the camp seemed to hear the scouts words and Annalise turned to address the issue. "Listen..we knew we wouldn't escape this alive...at least now we will have a shot at Raighart himself. Prepare yourselves. At dawn we pack up." With that, Annalise decided to take some time to think, away from everyone.