The sun was on its way down, casting its dim light over the rocks lining both sides of the mountain pass.
A group of men dressed in soldiers' uniforms and armor advanced cautiously through the pass, exchanging visual signals, their hands tight on their weapon grips.
The air was still, the only sound being their deliberate steps on the dusty ground.
The officer at the front of the group suddenly halted by raising his fist. He crouched down, pointing to a set of wide footprints.
"These tracks are fresh, and deeply pressed. Someone passed through here not long ago."
Another soldier approached him and said in a low voice,
"They look like orc tracks."
Dirk nodded slowly.
"They might be injured… or hiding."
He looked toward the nearby rock formation. The information was quickly relayed to the commander in the rear—Victor—then he said:
"Move slowly, in a half-arc formation. Prepare for an ambush."
