The entire Woodland Realm was dead silent, as if even the sound of a falling needle could travel a great distance. The clicking sound of the lock became exceptionally distinct, while the Dwarves held their breath, their movements softer than ever before for fear that the slightest noise they made would be heard by the Elves on night watch.
Finally, all the doors were opened, and the Dwarves freed themselves from captivity, yet none dared to make a sound.
An Yang held an Elf spear in his hand. This spear looked rather like the folding long spear he had used before, and he figured it would be much handier to use than that two-handed sword touted as an Elven artifact.
The Dwarves looked toward the road they had come by, but he walked in the opposite direction, saying, "The main gate is guarded, and it's definitely locked. You're unarmed, so it's impossible to break through the guards' blockade. We can only choose another path. Follow me!"
"What path?"
"Did you see the river we came in by? These Woodland Elves can't possibly go to the entrance for water every single time, right? There has to be a tributary inside this place!" An Yang said, taking a deep breath and following the scent of moisture, seeming to vaguely hear the sound of water already.
"Where did you get that spear?"
"Oh, I just borrowed it from an Elf guard."
"He lent it to you?" Bofur asked blankly, realizing his own stupidity only after the words left his mouth.
"Yeah, he seemed very generous." An Yang gave him a teasing look and suddenly rushed into a cellar full of wine barrels, where two drunk Elves were slumped over, snoring like thunder. "Shh, buddy in the back, do me a favor and close