Ashûk couldn't move for several moments, and simply stared up at the tree shepherd with eyes wide and mouth hanging open.
"Father?" Fleetfoot mumbled sleepily, rubbing her eyes as she sat up.
"Filthy Orc," Fangorn rumbled, reaching into the hollow. His great, gnarled, branch-like hand grasped Ashûk about the throat and hauled the Uruk out. Ashûk was helpless to do anything but grip the enraged creature's wrist, and kick ineffectually at the air.
"Father! Put him down!" the woman cried, leaping to her feet.
"What has he done to you? What madness has consumed your good sense?" The Ent's furious voice thundered in the morning stillness, silencing birds and urging small animals into hiding. "You should have slain it, as was done to all its kind in the valley! No good may come of it, for none went into it."
Vision tunneling as Fangorn's hold tightened, Ashûk's struggles weakened. He could make no sound, and draw no breath. His flailing legs grew still, only twitching now and then. His hands fell to his sides and his arms hung limply.
"Please, father, please! Let him go, I beg you."
It seemed ironic, somehow, that the last words Ashûk would hear would be a female's begging. His fellows had found it entertaining, and often boasted of being the cause of it. For Ashûk, who had so recently taken his first halting steps in a new direction, the sound brought anguish.