• “Faug!” Shyasha yelled between shooting arrows down to the orcs and dodging arrows shot from the orcs below.
    “What?” Faug yelled back from the alley.
    “Go find your brother’s stash of knitting needles! I need them!”
    Hyan, who was throwing spells right and left at the orcs that had mounted the wall, heard the hybrid’s odd request. “I hate to break it to break it to you, Shya,” he hollered over the cries of the dying orcs. “But we’re sort of kind of not really in the middle of a WAR here!”
    “I know!” Shyasha screamed at him. “Trust me on this!”
    “And how exactly are Valin’s knitting needles going to help?” Faug demanded. “I don’t think they’re exactly the best material for shooting people!”
    “Yes, but they don’t know that!” Shyasha told him.
    “Your point being what?” Faug demanded.
    “If it’s sharp, pointy, and colorful, the orcs will flee!”
    “How in the name of magic did you work that one out?” Hyan wondered.
    “You saw them on the road!” she said. “As soon as one of them saw Valin’s needles he said something in their weird language and then they all ran away!”
    “Those were URUK-HAI, Shya!” Hyan bellowed.
    “What’s the difference? They’re big, ugly, and have weapons!”
    “The Uruk-hai are bigger, uglier, and have weirder weapons!” Hyan explained. “You should KNOW that!”
    “I always get them mixed up!”
    “And,” Hyan added as an afterthought, “The Uruk-hai aren’t color blind.”
    “Oh, great,” Shya muttered. “That’s helpful.”