Ultimately, these are scared kids who are trying to be tough in a tough world. This is something you understand; and you defrost their displeasure with you over the journey with small words, honest answers, and sincere questions. Cesare, Gianni and Rafaello seem reasonably warmed to you by the time you cross the Oak Waters. Nothing will move Elda, probably; but without anyone willing to entertain her spiteful grief, she is forced to contain it.

Your night-eyes help the group avoid a number of hazards; deep pools, snarling roots and as you enter swamp skimmer territory, a few rope-based snare traps. There is enough moon and starlight your companions can follow you, but they certainly would have run afoul of these things without you. Eventually, you come to dry lump of earth where the first of a number of braziers you can see in the distance burns nose-stinging oil smoke. A pair of genuinely filthy humans are there, talking to each other by the warmth of it. They are clad in stitched rags and woven reeds, with matted hair and clumsy Tilean.

"It comin' uppa, say sure, ye."
"Ye, it comin' uppa. Poor lil' fish don hanged out been; not see much ransom, ye."
"Not see, nay; moon too high, figure. Go'n now an tella that boy what is be, let him make him peace with Morr, least can-do, ye."
"Ye. Least Garnon be pleased."
"Ye."

You and your companions are close enough for your excellent ears to overhear this conversation, before the younger of the pair of skimmers peels away and wanders off from the other who remains by the brazier. You almost slip away without alerting the lone sentry remaining - but the mud beneath your heel makes an unfortunate sucking pop that causes him to look over his shoulder in surprise, and pick our your dark shapes. He is too stunned to gasp.

Spoiler: OOC:
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You're a move action away from this guy, but you can act while he's surprised.
If your initiative beats a (1d10+2)[9], you can act again after that first move and (probably) attack, before he can respond at all.