Gruzlak took another bite out of the strip of meat he had had no time to roast before the rest of the band was off again. Blood dripped down his chin no matter how carefully and thoughtfully he attempted to eat, but he was quick to gather the drops and lick them off his fingers. He cast a swift glance at Krazum to see if he was nauseous, but he hadn't even noticed. Apparently, he was still furious about being woken up so early. At least this time they had been woken up for breakfast, but Krazum rarely slept well and was so angry about this interruption that he had refused to eat just so he could concentrate on fuming silently with all of his available strength. Gruzlak frowned and sucked the remaining blood out of the piece of meat with an unintended slurp.
Krazum quivered. His glare slipped off for a while, revealing a mixture of nausea and fear. Only Gruzlak noticed, as was evidenced by his quiet apology, for all the others were more or less ignoring the perpetually wound ball of fury for the sake of their own blood pressure. Krazum tolerated the unpleasant feeling; after all, Gruzlak was small for his age and needed the nourishment. He gave the little one a forced smile that threatened to completely vanish when he saw the red stains around his little mouth. Why did all the animals have to have red blood, anyway? Had it been black, he could have at least pretended it was some kind of oil.
To his immense dismay, the expression on Gruzlak's face was that of pity. "Isn't it just typical of me to find someone who doesn't annoy me incessantly and have him feel sorry for me instead," he thought. Nevertheless, he continued to expose his nail-sharp teeth in what he hoped to hell was still a smile.
"Oh, look... I think you've grown up a little. You'll reach my shoulders in no time if you carry on like that." The observation was easily made as he had noticed the change in Gruzlak's stature a lot earlier. It pleased him that the little wretch was finally beginning to grow to his true height. Having been taken out of the mudpit far too early, he had been quite incomplete when he had first met Krazum. Incomplete, and admittedly a little incompetent. Very much like an actual child, really: not fully grown, ignorant, constantly confused about things of which Orcs should have inherent knowledge.
"It's probably because I've been finally getting some proper food, isn't it? I feel a lot stronger, too!"
Gruzlak had learned fast, though. And now that Krazum had had the more or less happy opportunity to observe toddlers, he gave thanks to the Dark Lord every day for not making Gruzlak one. The bruise in his side smarted still, reminding him of the brutest creatures he had ever met outside the battlefield, but the bruising grip on his mind once again loosed in Gruzlak's presence.
Meanwhile, Thraknash was busy listening to Eldehto whine at Anguelen. While Krazum usually was content to sulk and glare and therefore safe to ignore, some violence could result from the discussion of the brothers.
"...just that you're not the one who has got to explain to Daddy why I did not return home after meeting Tauremardë! Just what do you think I'm going to tell him?"
"The truth comes to mind. After all, since you're so old and mature, I'm sure he agrees that you have the right to go on a little excursion every now and then. Also, he thinks you can do no wrong."
"Bollocks!" Eldehto cried, indulging in a rare curse now that he did not have to play the good son. "I know he's going to flay me, I just know it!"
Anguelen rolled his eyeballs with gusto and almost tripped over a small stone for his efforts. "It's quite likely that he'll just blame me as usual... if we ever see him again, that is," he reasoned as soon as he regained his balance. "We probably won't, or at least that's what I hope."
Eldehto thought about it. "I won't see Mother either, then?"
"Probably not, which is a pity as I'll actually miss her. Frankly, I don't know how you ever turned out that way with a mother like her. I've seen you interact with her, so surely it can't be that she let Father bring you up all by himself?"
"Bollocks," said Eldehto again.
"Ooh, the little one has learned a new word."
"Shut your mouth." Eldehto started to sulk, kicking small stones in his way and taking a small amount of comfort in the fact that at least he wasn't stumbling over them like certain other Elves he was not going to name. Anguelen was a lying bastard, anyway. Eldehto would meet his parents again no matter what he said. The young Elf's angry silence, unlike that of Krazum, spread among the group and quickly became awkward.
"I'm getting depressed," Grishtakh stated.
"This kind of silence is depressing to listen to," agreed Ghâshsag. "I'm beginning to wish that we had a bigger group, actually. We could sing a song of war or something like that... remember those, Grishtakh? They were the only part of the war I liked after that charging horse-rider... well, you were there."
"Ooh, nasty business, that," Grishtakh agreed quickly before Ghâshsag could start dwelling on the way the man had met his end. He broke into a song, hoping to raise his friend's spirits. "The road goes on and ever on and ever bleeding on it goes..."
Burzum perked up immediately, which could be seen in the way he raised his carefully lowered head so much that some of the lank hair falling all over his calculatedly grim face parted and showed his eyes. "Speaking of songs, I have been working on another one called 'And Eternal Was Their Doom'. Listen..." And before anyone could stop him, he raised his voice and began to sing.
Mortal rulers by Death dethroned,
Mere shadows from the past
The Reaper already has reclaimed the crowns of those
Who whisper, speak to me thus:
In death you can't escape us.
Those words of poison ensnare me
They scare me, lure me to despair
To depths unfathomable, unimaginable,
To a fate they are eager to share;
Inviting me to join them in oblivion.
The darkness of the world, crawling in mud
Quailing before the eye of Sun
We take to the air on wings of blood
Immortal of us can be but one.
The silence prevailed once more, and this one was even more awkward than the one following Anguelen and Eldehto's squabble. At last, Grishtakh opened his mouth. "Now I'm even more depressed."
"What was that supposed to be, anyway? It didn't even rhyme properly!" asked Ghâshsag, eyes wide. "And what reaper? Was that about farmers or something?"
Burzum raised his nose high in the air, gazing nobly into the distance. "That is how it pleases me to envision Death."
"As a farmer? With shit-stained clothes and everything, riding the pigs of Udûn?"
Burzum's lofty expression was somewhat marred by a frown of irritation. "No. As a fleshless apparition wrapped in a cloak as dark as the night-sky, bearing a scythe with which he severs the spirits from the bodies of those who are no longer to live."
Ghâshsag gaped. "Only you could think of something like that, Burzum. A skeleton with a scythe... night give me strength."
"If you're quite done composing, could you possibly employ the power of your nifty little ring? It's getting light already," Grishtakh suggested before something could set Burzum off again. Looking even gloomier than before, if indeed that was possible, Burzum did so.
"Boors," was his last word on the matter at hand.
Gutbrúg finally stopped enjoying the walk silently and peered out at the dry horizon. "That looks like a house. Is that a house I see?"
"There should be houses in these parts," Anguelen said, but his tone was uncertain. "Be useful and try to remember what you saw on your way to Rivendell, Eldehto."
Eldehto looked up. "This isn't the way we rode," he muttered quickly, torn between wanting to continue sulking and wanting to be useful as had been requested of him. Unfortunately for him, the others immediately gave up without even trying to ask nicely if he could try to think harder and save them all with his expertise.
"We were supposed to ask Sharrásh! Old Sharrásh has been everywhere and knows the ways," Ghâshsag exclaimed, turning to his friend. "Do you remember anything about this part of the..."
There was a truly unsettling emptiness pulled over Sharrásh's face, swallowing the goblin's words and giving nothing back in return. His body moved forwards like a machine of war pulled by invisible strings, eyes fixed on the distance but mind in another place and time. Nothing about him suggested that he had heard anything that had been said around him.
Ghâshsag shook his head. "Off in his own little world again. Let's just ask the people in that house."
Thraknash glanced at said house and casually made sure his sword would be easy to pull out. "I hope we're not meeting another Gramun here."
"Men in this area tend to be fairly reasonable," Anguelen said. "No doubt more of them will come from other places when they're done recovering from the war, but I'd expect the older inhabitants to be... discreet."
"And if they're not?"
To this, Anguelen replied with a grin and an index finger making a slashing motion across his neck. The casual brutality made Thraknash go slightly weak in the knees and he sought balance from the very source of his weakness.
"Then let's go and see it together," he breathed, daring to hang on to Anguelen's arm. He thought he could hear Krazum complain again about the injustice of him having to watch an Orc and an Elf together in his own band, but for a while even that was lost in a moment of undiluted syrup.