Author's Note: I don't know if leopards exist in Middle-earth and if not, now they do.
And then he was gone, a target too small and agile for either of the archers' arrows. Legolas sighed and let the tip of his bow rest on the ground. The Hobbits and Gandalf came down the third path.
"We heard what he said. He's right about the plan. More time was needed for a better one, and we decided to rush it." Gandalf said. "Now he heads for Mirkwood?"
"The Elves there will be more than a match for him. He is over-confident." Legolas replied. "But we should warn them all the same."
"And so we shall." Gandalf agreed as he led the way to Mirkwood.
Forngor muttered to himself as he stalked through the woodlands. The Fellowship had concocted a foul plan. He would return the favor, by slowing destroying Mirkwood. Perhaps it was a foolish idea, he conceded. A decision made in the heat of anger is never a wise one, but anger would aid him here. They would surely come to the Elves' aid and he would be there. He stole quietly through the forest, nearing the home of the Elves. Just out of sight of the Elvish kingdom and still outside of the outskirts, Forngor paused and listened. He could hear the Elves' clear voices raised in song, celebrating the coming of the Spring. With a soft snarl he sprang forward, in a leopard's form and disappeared into the foliage. A minute later, an angry shout broke in the air and there was a flurry of leaves and branches.
Forngor stood over the Elf, his emerald eyes glazed with a maniac look and carefully licked the blood from his fangs. At the soft sound of Elves approaching, he turned tail and fled, watching from the bushes.
A tall Elf came down the path on horseback, followed by another. Bells rang softly on the first horse's halter as its rider reined it in. The riders dismounted and knelt at the body of the Elf on the path. The Elf had claw marks on his shoulders and blood leaking from his torn throat, and he was dying.
"What happened to you?" the first Elf asked, his voice hushed.
The dying Elf's eyes looked up, focusing briefly on the rider's face. "Lord, it was a leopard. A leopard that spoke."
"It was no leopard. He was a shape-shifter." the Elf said softly. The dying Elf gasped in a harsh breath and lay still. The tall Elf gently lifted the body and turned back down the path.
From his hiding place, Forngor knew that the tall Elf was a powerful one, just by his stance and the fluid way he moved. He carried himself like a Lord, and had the look of one, old and young at the same time. The Elf's robes were white, plain white, but they seemed to gleam with a hidden light that came from the Elf himself. The other Elf was not a Lord, perhaps an old friend of the other. Forngor glared for another second, until he was sure the Elves could feel his hatred. Then he became a songbird again and fluttered into the sky.
"Hold his reins, if you will. We will walk back." the Lord said, as his white stallion tossed his head, jangling the bells on his halter. He turned away from his companion and led the way back to the king's palace in Mirkwood, holding the dead Elf in his arms.
Author's Note: The Lord is not an original character. Take a guess at who he is.