The sound of a breaking twig caught his attention and ended his trance. His eyes focused on the direction of the sound, he listened into the moonlit night.
Another twig and the rustling of some leaves. More to the right this time. Closer.
His hand reached for his sword and he started moving, the long black cloak merging with the shadows of the forest.
He had followed the wolf for three days now. He had studied its behaviour from the tracks and the traces he had found. He knew he was close.
The rustling stopped. The wind still came from the front, so the wolf would not have been able to smell him. But it had escaped twice already and knew it was being followed. He had found an experienced elder, a worthy opponent.
Motionless, he listened. For long moments he could only hear the wind above the tree tops. Then he saw the shadowy outline moving towards him. It was a huge. Daelagor stood in awe and admired the way in which it moved silently over the mossy ground. It was a predator like him, a silent hunter in the night. It deserved his respect. Tightening the grip around his sword he slowly stepped out of the shadow. The hunt was over. "Le hannon!"
It was an hour later when he thought back to the encounter with the noble creature. After Daelagor had revealed himself and had thanked the wolf, they had stood there looking at each other for long seconds before the wolf had lowered its head and had vanished into the night. Daelagor was sitting at a small lake watching the reflection of the full moon on the water. The light made his silvery hair glow in the dark while he prayed to Corellon to thank Him for granting him such noble opponents to perfect his skills. His mentor had taught him never to stop training.
The light of the moon over the pond reminded him of the moon over the silver trees of Mithrendain and the forests around it where he grew up. Images of training lessons passed before his inner eye. He had started his training when he was 10 years of age and ever since has tried to push the art of fighting and later hunting to perfection. From the beginning he had admired the perfection of the firbolg and his father had agreed to hire Dar'goch, one of the masters of the wild hunt, as mentor. Dar'goch had taught him for 20 years when a drow warband attacked and killed the mentor's clan. Daelagor and his brother had helped their mentor to track down and kill half the attackers over the next years in the feydark but their leaders had managed to escape to the mortal world.
And now he was here. They had split up to keep on following the drow which seemed to have gone three different ways. Before parting, he and his brother had sworn to only return to Mithrendain when the last of the drow lies slain on the ground. That was one year ago. Shortly after they'd split, he had lost track when the drow had started to enter bigger cities. Since then he had followed their path through hints from travellers and locals, but the last hint lied already a month back. Drow are not common in these lands and sooner or later he would be able to pick up the track again.
As Dar'goch always said, a hunter's most important weapon is patience. He pulled the cloak over his head to cover his silver hair and moved into the shadows again to continue his trance.