"Road or river," the wizard replied, "they will be waiting, and we have no choice but to walk blithely into the lion's lair."
At a silent, prearranged signal, the rafts began to move towards the shore. As they expected, small black figures could be seen in increasing numbers, following their progress. The elves, with the exception of Dorain and Celedhan, slipped quietly overboard and began swimming to shore. So stealthy was their progress that those watching from the rafts soon lost sight of them.
As the rafts reached the shallows, ran aground and lurched to a halt, their occupents were greeted by the sounds of battle just inside the woods. Mounting with with the precise alacrity that comes only of many years of battle-experience, the men urged their mounts into the black waters, only a few heartbeats later to come heaving and surging out of the muddy river and up the beach to the elves' aid like a host of maddened kelpies spurred on by water-ghouls.
Dismounting, Anest drew his sword and listened for the source of the fighting, He could see nothing, and wiped at the cloying moisture that obscured his vision. The light drizzle had become a steady, lukewarm rain, and footing on the stony beach had become treacherous. Soon, everyone had dismounted, lest the horses become injured.