The ranger found them an adequate campsite, and with the plentiful tinder available a merry fire was soon burning. Rambulge stumbled into his sleep roll and entered a deep slumber, twitching fitfully now and again. Robin slipped away quietly and returned at nightfall with a brace of fat coneys and some wild potatoes and turnips with which a hearty stew was made.
Sir Antheus, his mind still ruminating over the events of the day, sat down after their meal to examine the suit of scale mail they had recovered from the dead orc. Though rent in several places and falling apart in many others, he was pleased to recognise the metal scales themselves were of very high quality, forged with a technique unique to a certain race of men who dwelled high in the mountains where the winds blew strong and the forge-fires hot. He pulled several leaf-shaped scales from their rotted backing and turned them over, admiring how the firelight gleamed off the delicately wrought metal, and how each was light as a feather. Truly, they were miniature works of art, and sure to command a decent price from a blacksmith. He even considered the value a remade suit would hold, and for a solid hour he picked away each scale until they were all stashed safely in his pack.
Bufo's stomach gurgled, for once, not with hunger, but in an epic struggle with the mutton leg he had greedily gobbled some hours before. His turn on first watch couldn't finish fast enough, especially not with the Paladin standing stock still on sentry duty nearby, deep in contemplation, radiating a holy energy that was quite uncomfortable for the evil-hearted halfling to contend with. He clambered up a nearby tree, using his hook and rope to secure a spot on a branch to sit and observe the dark cave mouth in the distance. His keen eyes could make it out even in the gloom, for the moon gave off a little light to see by.
It was nearly two hours later that he thought he saw some movement over by the cave entrance, a darker spot creeping on the dim lit ground. He blinked and strained but the apparition, if it ever existed, had soon vanished.
A soft whistle came from below, and Bufo saw Robin scrambling up the trunk to a branch close by. "Time for you to sleep halfling" he murmered, and Bufo gladly descended, his own bedroll waiting below near the embers of their spent fire.
The little thief had been asleep scarcely half an hour when he awoke to find the Paladin listening keenly for something.
"What is it?" Muttered the sleepy halfling. Sir Antheus beckoned for silence. Then they both heard it - a distant, echoing screech coming from the direction of the cave. It sent a chill down the halfling's spine, for even though it was clearly a goblin making that dreadful sound, it was hard even for him, with his heart as black as soot, not to feel a modicum of pity. The scream cut off abruptly. No further sounds were heard. An image of the lone goblin that had escaped that afternoon's battle came to the halfling, and the shadow he had seen crawling back into the cave suddenly made sense.
"The big boss ain't happy I'm guessing" murmered the halfling, more to himself than anyone else. He lay back down and entered a troubled sleep himself.
Nothing else of note happened that night.
(sorry)