A low whistle pierced the night air, a tune of some kind of a figure marching on through the darkness by their lonesome. They footsteps were mismatched, a normal crunch of boot on leaves followed by a heavy dragging noise of something that didn't work right, along with a thud of an improvised crutch.
There was a hesitation and a pause where the whistling petered out and the footsteps slowed to a stop, leaving the one responsible for both standing half-illuminated by the shine of moonlight down between the foliage that hung overhead. He was pale and couldn't have been much older than his late teens, if his complexion and height were anything to go by, but there was confidence in his stride. In his grip was a shovel, old and partly rusted but still a reliable tool in spite of its shortcomings.
"Wha's that?"
His head turned to the side, peering off in a direction away from Nicholas quite discernibly, as if he was looking right through someone who was next to him. But at the same time he seemed quick to dismiss it. A broad grin broke out on his face and he shook his head with a drawn out, "Nawwww," ending with a satisfied chuckle.
And onwards he trudged, stepping from good foot to one that was bent out of shape and leaning on the handle of his shovel for support as he continued on following the path towards town.