Barakor watches the others, feeling desperately out of his depths and as useless as a fifth wheel on an orecart. Embarrassed, he looks away from them and tries to keep his eyes open for danger. He leans against a tree and his breath catches in his throat as he spots a subtle carving in its bark. His jaw tightens, and he grips Wulffleda more tightly - knuckles whitening around the handle of the ancient warhammer. "They're here, Wulffleda. I was too slow - we were all too slow. The Darkness is here." His head slumps against the trunk of the tree and tears of fear and anger drip onto the hammer's head.