The girl looked up from the river bank as she heard a splash. It had come from somewhere upstream. Rinsing the rest of the herb-soap from her honey-blond hair, she quickly grabbed her clothes and ran to see what it was.
She grew quiet, taking slow, steady steps as she approached the sound. She walked around the base of the cliff; the water was shallow there. Suddenly, she saw a brown thing come towards her, flowing along with the strong current. Thinking it was only a log, she turned to go back to finish her bath. She held onto the cliff-rocks, as not to lose her balance. From the corner of her eye, she saw the log come closer, and she followed it with her eyes, until it had passed her. She had stopped walking now, and continued staring at the brown log, which, in fact, was not a log at all.
Alarmed, the girl looked up at the towering cliff. 'A warg!' She thought, and looked back down at the dead beast now drifting far downstream. An ugly black warg-saddle was still cinched tightly to its' bleeding body, but no rider was to be found. She thought it odd, that the animal had simply run off the cliff above her!
The girl kept looking around, especially up to the cliff as she walked back to her campsite, more quickly than before. Still naked, she waded across the river with her bundle of clothes in one arm. She spread her now-soaked clothes on the muddy bank to let them dry, and she quickly packed her belongings. She didn't have much, just some food and cooking supplies, and she was soon ready. She dressed and started off downstream, walking stick in hand, knapsack over her shoulder, yet she was still cautious. If the Rohirrim were nearby, she knew she would be caught.