The only movement was the slight rustle of leaves under the dawn breeze. A frog creaked in a desolate pond nearby, his hardy voice carrying through the trees without answer. A raven called to another several leagues away, announcing its own presence for the sheer joy of it. And apparently life that existed in Mirkwood somehow knew it was being hunted.
The animals that inhabited Mirkwood had become accustomed to the silent feet of Elves. They were more wary, less sure to take to the open paths of the forest. And they were especially mindful of the trees.
Three Elves crouched on the sturdy boughs of three different trees. Their keen eyes pierced the oncoming darkness with preternatural certainty, focusing on the tracks of their prey. Today it was no mere flighty creature; it was one that struck its prey with as much assuredness as the Elves themselves did. A pack of wolves had made their territory too close to the Kingdom for Thranduil's liking. Early in the week, Thranduil summoned Eliathas, oldest of his children and heir to the throne, and Linnethuil, third oldest, tallest and swiftest runner. It was through his two older brothers that Legolas learnt he was to accompany them on a hunt for a pack of wolves.
At first Legolas was bewildered. It was not often that he was asked to join a hunt. Although a few centuries old, he was still considered young by Elven terms, and often deemed not worthy. But wolves were hardly a great hunt, and Thranduil specifically asked for Legolas' bow.
He was anxious, slightly nervous. Although quite friendly with Linnethuil, he had not yet formed a trusted acquaintance with Eliathas. Eliathas was a grand sight to behold. So much like his father, it was no surprise that one day he would be King. He was tall, with hair cut cleanly below his shoulders, emerald eyes and a hard nose. His face was often set in a grave mood, part of the reason why Legolas was hesitant to approach him. When Eliathas did confront Legolas, it was mostly to command him to dinner, or inform him of some important going-on in Mirkwood which did not concern Legolas in the slightest.
When the threesome had readied their bows and cloaks, Legolas stopped just before leaving the confines of his known Kingdom. An odd chill swept through him, and unconsciously he touched his heart.
"Legolas." Eliathas had a deep voice that refused to be ignored.
Legolas quickly turned from his home and slowly met the hardened gaze of his brother. Almost immediately Legolas broke the connection. For the trip into the surrounding forest, Legolas kept his sights settled on the dirt paths and encompassing trees, mutely following his older brothers. Occasionally Eliathas would murmur something to Linnethuil, who nodded or grunted in agreement, but never loud enough for Legolas to hear.
It was a most uncomfortable time.
But now, in the shelter of the trees, in the serene calmness of the dawn, Legolas felt at peace. He folded his arms across his bow, hugging it close to his chest. Eliathas was a supporter of the daggers and even commanded Legolas to keep them closely to him, however Legolas still favored the bow that his own brother Erydben had crafted specially for him. Erydben was closest in age to Legolas, although that was still centuries older. Erydben was kind to Legolas, kinder than most of Thranduil's children. Erydben was also Legolas' teacher in the art of defense and archery. Erydben had not minded the task set to him by his father, but was eternally grateful that he had taken on his younger brother's training now that Legolas had shown the greatest potential for archery.
And although he was loathe to admit it, Eliathas also admired Legolas' ability. If only he could keep his mind on the present.
A whistle cut through the air, and Legolas' head popped up and quickly traced the sound to his glaring brother Eliathas. Eliathas made quick gestures, motioning for Legolas to take the ground path. Immediately Legolas dropped from his perch, landing on the ground with a soft thud.
Linnethuil stared at Eliathas questioningly. The ground was not in the Elves favor; they were much sharper in the trees. Not only that, but Legolas would also be more protected in the safety of the trees. Eliathas met his stare for only a moment, and then ignored it. His actions were not to be questioned.
Legolas stalked cautiously, ears perked for any sound that might carry through the trees; bow ready and arrow already notched. His pale eyes sliced through the soft fog that flowed just above the ground, seeing the tracks for the first time.
There was no denying who they belonged to. This was a large wolf, more than likely the dominant male. But he was alone, and his path did not stray. The tracks were fresh; droplets of moisture still clung to the trenches that the claws made in the mud. Legolas stooped lower to the ground, squinting as the tracks began to grow fainter. After a time, he stopped altogether, crouching on one knee, searching the ground.
A shrill whistle called to him. Legolas looked up to the tree where Eliathas peered down at him. Legolas stood and shook his head. Eliathas frowned and looked to Linnethuil who shrugged back. Eliathas suddenly looked to the West, and after a moment's study leapt soundlessly from branch to branch, weaving an odd pattern throughout the forest. Legolas studied his moves, trying to track his movements but unsure of what to do.
A hand on his shoulder jumped him out of his reverie.
"Stay here. We shall drive them toward you." Legolas looked to Linnethuil whose kind glance spoke of friendly concern. "If you are in need, call. I won't be far."
Legolas nodded, mouth setting firmly in the face of what could be a wild hunt.
His bow was ready, the string was taut, the arrow ready to fly. His stance was rigid, perfectly upright with years of proper posture training. His right eye was squinted slightly, the left wide open. He could hear the beast. He knew it would not be long.
And then it was there. A tall, strongly built wolf. It was gray and white, with ears standing at attention, nose sniffing the air as though it were waking for the first time. Hazel eyes pierced the fading dawn, and for a moment Legolas thought perhaps it never saw him standing only yards in front of it. But as the wolf stopped its light tread to sniff the earth, its eyes never strayed from Legolas' face. He could sense Legolas as easily as Legolas could see him. Legolas pulled the string back further, the kill would be swifter. Suddenly the wolf brought its head up quickly, staring Legolas firmly in the eyes.
Legolas could not let the arrow fly. His eyes could not leave the wolfs'. A sudden brisk wind seemed to sweep through the forest, although only Legolas acknowledged it with a slight shiver. The forest seemed to darken, or at least Legolas thought it was darkening. Black ridges formed on the outlines of his sight; the forest had taken on a dull gray sheen. And still the wolf stared.
His pulse quickened. His fingers felt chilled unlike anything he had ever experienced. The wind picked up; this he knew for sure was not his imagination, for the leaves swirled between him and the wolf. And with the wind there came an eerie whisper.
But there came also a calling that Legolas dumbly realized belonged to Eliathas. Eliathas was yelling, urging him to shoot. But he could not.
Panic gripped the young Prince. Dimly he felt the bow and arrow fall from his icy grip, as his breathing turned into gasps. He clutched at his chest, which he was sure his heart would soon burst out of. There came the familiar twang of an arrow being propelled from a bow, and through hazy eyes he saw the wolf flee as an arrow sunk itself deep into the tree only inches from where it had stood. He heard an uncharacteristic swear from Eliathas as well.
It took a moment for Legolas to realize that someone was shaking him. Slowly he forced himself to concentrate on his brother Linnethuil, whose concern was mounting by the moments. His knees felt they might give out at any second.
"Legolas! What is it that ails you?" Linnethuil clasped his shoulders tightly, as Legolas shook his head and swayed with the movement.
Suddenly Legolas understood the wind's song.
"Mother." He quietly said, before turning to look southwards where the Kingdom lay. "She's dying."