"Bind his legs and arms," said the elf, "we should do well to have one who knows such lands. Perhaps a hostage is worthy as a bargaining trifle: perhaps not. Who knows the use of such vile a creature, nay? I prithee, do bid him and let him journey with us. Our recklessness is worn and tired feet must rest. Take his thirsty and tiresome soul and do as he bids for now. The morning will come brighter than that of others. We will journey under its gleam. For now, do treat him with as much respect as we should treat our own. Be wary my friends. He is as much a help as he is a risk."
The orc was lifted aloft and carried. He was tied in elven rope that did not yield to his subtle movements. His heart throbbed in his chest and his body still ached. By now though, such pain was a comfort. Pain was now a feeling of revival, a feeling with mixed guilt and pleasure.
He grimly wished though that such pain would go. Pain, though at this moment was a comfort, still could not free him from his wretched and torn heart. He had betrayed or perhaps was betrayed now. He could not work with this feeling inside of him that throbbed even more painfully than the blood that swelled in him. Such feeling pulsated through him in denial of what had happened. He was encumbered by this sudden obligation that he would soon attend. They would use him most likely to do what wishes they pleased. It was not his duty though. He continued to relate these facts. He was there to aid none but his own cause. His cause was for such country that he believed in and not some petty fools and flatterers. There was no way to atone for such betrayal and either he would die by the hand of the enemy or succumb to it. Neither were his fancies.
Pain, as he came back to this thought, was something that he still yearned for despite the pressure of the condition he was now facing. He was being tended to know, kind hands had dug their marks into his cold and bloodied flesh in order to retrieve the arrows harshly embedded into him. He reeled in pain although he felt only the kind wrath of the enemy overcoming his aroused dignity.
He drifted silently in and out of consciousness while shouts were heard from the ranks. A counter attack had been launched on the enemy. They encircled their region and had been launching into the field of battle. That was the last that the orc had heard before he fell into a deep restless sleep. The only light that showed would be the cruel light of the rising sun. He dreaded such fear and now, more than ever, longed to sleep and never return to the grim broad light.
"What news of yourself can you relive to us?" asked an elf harshly. The orc made no reply for a while but then, upon realizing he was being addressed replied;
"I am Gwain, from the third regiment of Osgilith," he said. The man sat on a steed that was impatiently pawing the ground. He twisted the braided reins between his ring and index finger before he asked his horse on. The horse responded at once and slid to a gentle lope across the field of combat. Many dead men lay now. Enemy and the allies alike lay bathing in the same tears and blood.
Ok, this again, is another extremely short chapter that really doesn't get anywhere. Normally I'm one to make my chapters long so please, review and hold with me. I'll make it through. Oh, and also, I'm motivated when people review my stories and tell me that they like it (or hate it) it really doesn't matter. Anyway, once again, please review and if you have any suggestions, do tell. If you are wondering, this is my natural writing style so it's a little odd for some people to understand but well, it aint changing whether or not you like this style. As I addressed before, I'm an innately evil little writer. If you like this story, review or else I'll have no problem in killing everyone. Yes, even Legolas so please review or else.