Four foxes sat around a campfire, roasting something on a spit and drinking from goblets as the sun dipped low beneath the far off Northymbrian Hills in an orange sheen. A fifth rolled , turned and tossed under a blanket in an open fronted tent facing the fire. They had not adjourned to the nearest inn, as was their plan, but sat under the sunset and the first few twinkling stars in the distance. "Will she be alright?" The fox rogue looked up from his tankard, wiping away a few flecks of froth from his whiskers. "Who knows?" The knight looked up, and returned his eyes to where he was polishing dents and scratches out of his armour. "My sister is a little delicate, but after what she suffered with the Necromancers though, she should pull through this." "Taking on three fully armoured badgers, whose brilliant idea was that?" the archeress grinned wickedly as she turned some meat on the spit between cleaning arrowheads. "I had been tracking th...