There's only the seven of them; they've kept their distance, more or less, staying forty feet out, but clearly visible. They're all relatively young, for elves; the oldest is probably around 160, at the most, and all built for archery; tall, strong, and lithe, with well-developed arms and torsos. They look a little uneasy, as he speaks their tongue, flawlessly, and the leader snarls. "Filthy human dog," she replies, in elven. "You dare to defile us by speaking our tongue? Take another step, and we will make sure your remains provide fertilizer for this forest."