#12. Dead or alive
She cringes trying to turn on her back to her side. Elrond's blood boils. Indeed, they weren't expecting to see any tribespeople but when they were on the outcast side out of the wall of Cirdanoth, the place was unusually flat. "What business have you got trespassing, Elves?" They heard the deep timbre of the word, if there was cowardice in person, Elrond cringes more like a spasm. "The voice in your head, Aurora." And she remembered she told him of manipulators, the siren of the night. "Beware of it, such creatures are never quite what they seem." She stared at him in surprise. "I did not know you were listening." Hooves thunder from behind them. A quarter mile to the northwest, a band of men and horses appears atop a mound. Even at a distance, one of the forms flickers strangely. It swings its head toward them. Two sun eyes penetrate across the distance, pinning Elrond like an insect on a wall. “Elrond,” Aurora whispered. “Elrond, it’s a link, the siren—”
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