No Ordinary Day
Summary: What starts out as an ordinary day full of frustrating boredom turns into a day wrought with peril as two friends try to merely survive.
Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien; go figure!
Chapter Two
"Estel.," he cried out in a husky, pain-filled voice. But he had no time to even think of his friend as he sensed the other wolves enter this widened part of the path. The wolf at his back once again bit into his hurting left shoulder, growling in his ear and jerking him back to reality as he realized his desperate situation. He was alone to face the entire pack.
He struggled to pull his knees underneath his body, and drew his arms under as well. With effort, he was able to throw the wolf off his back. It landed hard and was momentarily stunned, giving Legolas enough time to pick himself up and turn to face the pack. His right hand pressed into the bleeding wound on his left shoulder, and he grimaced in pain.
Most of the wolves circled around the dominant white male who had made the first attack and the elf that stood swaying, trying to clear his head from the pain that clouded his senses. His bow lay several feet away, and would be of no use here anyway, the beasts were much too close. He quickly drew both his knives from his back instead, the movement causing the pain in his shoulder to flair. None of the other wolves would dare attack this single being unless something was to happen to the alpha male. The large wolf growled at the elf and then turned and barked and nipped at one of the other wolves that had drawn too near. This gave Legolas a moment to take a much needed deep breath. The alpha male then bared its teeth, and hunched it's body down in preparation for another attack. Legolas widened his stance and held his knives defensively in front.
The attack came quickly, the large white wolf launched at the elf, snarling. Legolas crossed his knives in front just an instant before the wolf struck, then swiftly uncrossed them, slicing open the neck of the wolf. Warm blood sprayed everywhere, soaking his skin and clothing. Legolas reached up to wipe it from his eyes, as the large wolf fell with a thud at his feet, dead.
It took several moments, but once they realized their leader had fallen, the remainder of the wolf pack erupted into chaos. Legolas was momentarily stunned as he watched several other wolves advance on him, while others snarled and nipped at each other, already in a contest to claim the leaders spot. Legolas was hunched over, hands upon his knees, trying to control his breathing.
Two wolves stopped a meter in front of him, baring their teeth and growling. Saliva dripped from their mouths and now they took on an attack stance.
Legolas took a step backwards and felt his heel hit the roots of a large tree. He glanced up quickly, spying several low branches that would be easy to reach. Without another thought and ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he quickly sheathed one of his knifes, and then jumped up, arms raised, to catch one of the overhead branches, a mere meter above his head. The wolves, aware of the sudden movement of their intended prey, launched their own attack a second later.
His hands circled the branch, his grip was tight, and he began to pull his body up when he felt a searing, hot pain enclose his left calf. He looked down and saw the body of a grey wolf hanging in mid-air, its teeth sunk into his calf, and felt its weight pulling at him. His shoulder screamed in protest at the strain and his calf was burning with pain and pressure. An instant later, he felt more weight as another of the wolves bit down on his cloak then began backing up, tugging on the cloth. The combined weight was too much, and he felt his hands slip as his grip failed.
He grasped futilely in an attempt to retain his position, kicking out with his free leg at the creature with his calf in its teeth, when yet another wolf clamped its jaws around the back of his left heel. Pain raced up his leg, and he cried out in surprise and shock. The weight was finally too much and he felt his hands slip free.
He hit the ground hard on his stomach, the wind knocked out of his lungs. He could feel wet sticky blood running along his shoulder and back, soaking his tunic, as well as down his leg and ankle, soaking his leggings before filling his boot. The wolf that held his heel wrestled his leg, pulling the soft leather boot from his foot. The other wolves lost their grip on him when he fell and rolled back to their feet quickly, seemingly unharmed.
Legolas managed to get his legs underneath himself as he gasped to return air to his lungs, and he turned to his attackers. He took a faulty step backwards, his left leg nearly buckling as he could barely support his own weight. The three wolves advanced a step as well. The other wolves were nearby, circling menacingly, growling and snapping at each other.
Legolas had no time to pull his other knife before the closest of the three wolves leapt at him. He slashed downward, his movement clumsy as he was off balance, and he caught the creature across the forelegs, a deep, biting cut. The wolf went down whimpering and unable to stand. The second wolf flew at Legolas too quickly for him to adjust his stance and he felt teeth latch down on his now exposed right forearm. The last attacking wolf landed on him a second later, and he fell backward into the tree, striking his head soundly against the trunk.
Stars swam before his eyes, and he shook his head to clear them away. He was dizzy from pain and loss of blood, and he struggled helplessly under the weight of the two wolves. His long knife was pinned to the ground by the wolf that held his arm in its teeth, and he was unable to defend himself. He swung his left arm up and down, and caught the last wolf across its sensitive nose. The wolf backed away momentarily, stunned by his blow.
The wolf that held his arm shook its head, his arm still tight in its teeth. A new wave of pain lanced through his body as he felt teeth hit bone. He reached desperately for the small knife in his boot. His hand groped along the ground, and he tried to draw his leg up. He felt fingertips brushed along the hilt, and he leaned upward to try to reach it. His hand circled around and he pulled the knife from his boot; a second later, he buried it to it's hilt in the soft neck of the wolf.
The wolf yelped and pulled away, tearing the flesh from his arm as its grip broke. It fell on top of him, dead. Legolas pushed up with his good leg and hoisted the body of the wolf off his chest. He struggled to his feet once again, grasping at the tree as his vision swam dangerously. He was dizzy and nauseous, and his body ached fiercely. He looked on the remaining wolves, then thought of Estel, his first chance to do so. He prayed that his friend had not been injured too badly in his fall.
The attack had not lasted for more than a few minutes, yet he felt as though he had been battling the beasts for hours.
He was pulled from his thoughts as yet another wolf flew at him from the side, knocking the dagger from his hand. He slashed at the wolf with his long knife as he felt the wolf bury its teeth into his side, tearing his tunic. The wolf released its grip slightly, than clamped back down again before Legolas stabbed downward with the knife, burying it partway into the creatures skull. He slid slowly down the trunk of the tree, the wolf's weight bringing him to the ground. Even in death, the wolf did not relent, its teeth still sunk into the elf's flesh. Legolas was forced to pry the teeth back, blood spurting from the gashes in his side. He pushed the wolf's body away with his feet, and it landed with a thud among the wolves that remained.
The smell of so much blood and confusion over being leaderless and without direction sent several of the others wolves upon each other. They were not vying for dominance; they were simply giving in to their bloodlust. They had not forgotten the elf, and several growled menacingly at him as they circled, just out of reach of the sharp knife. Legolas rose and stumbled forward, retrieving his dagger from the ground. He stood back up, still hunched over his wounded side.
The wolves continued to circle and Legolas grew more and more dizzy as he continued to lose blood. He was distracted and his head spun as he turned to watch several pairs of wolves fighting with each other. Teeth bit and claws scratched, and one pair tumbled too close to the elf, knocking him off his feet. The continued their vicious battle, growling and barking madly, the elf nearly between them, and Legolas pushed and stabbed out with his knife, drawing blood and causing injury. Their teeth and claws scratched at him, drawing blood from various places, and at last he collapsed to the ground, too weak to stand. He remained wary and upright, however, and any other wolf that dared get close enough was rewarded with a slash from his deadly sharp knife.
Several of the wolves limped away injured, no longer interested in the elf. The order of the pack was disrupted, and a new leader needed to emerge. Most of the secondary wolves were too involved in their own fights to take a stand or to group the remaining wolves together. Legolas sat on the ground, the rain falling into his eyes, his head spinning, as he watched the wolves slowly leave. Only seven of the original pack remained, three lay on the ground dead, and at least five had run off.
Legolas remained where he was for several seconds, unable to believe he still lived. His thoughts came back to Estel, and he struggled to rise, using the tree beside him to haul himself up. He was dizzy and he swayed on his feet. For several seconds he leaned against the tree, his forehead against the smooth bark, his mind reaching for the strength he knew the tree contained.
He pushed away and staggered to the edge of the path and looked out over to the river below. Over the edge the ground sloped for many meters before it simply dropped off. There was no sign of Estel. Behind him, he heard the movements of the wolves as they once again began to circle him.
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Estel felt his friend push him from behind, and he was pretty sure what had caused Legolas to stumble and fall into him. Before he even had a chance to try and right himself, he stepped over the edge of the path, where his foot met muddy earth. It slipped out from under him, and he spun his arms in circles as he tried to regain his balance. He was unable to do so, as his other foot slipped as well, and then both feet slid out from underneath his body and he landed hard on his rump. His sword fell from his grasp as he struck the ground and clattered down the slope. He wrenched his head back, and could just make out the sight of Legolas falling beneath the body of the wolf, its teeth sunk into his friend's shoulder, before he slid from sight down the slope.
The entire slope was covered in thick mud and he found himself sliding along at an ever-increasing rate. He flipped onto his side, his hands reaching out to grasp at something to stop his descent. Branches slapped at his face and body drawing blood and tearing his clothes, but he sped by too fast to grab them. He slammed into roots, rocks, and trees, hitting his head, hips, and sides. A gash on his forehead bled into his eye and a small branch sliced his cheek open. The pointed end of a branch that jutted out in the path was too thick to give way as he passed, and it sliced into his upper arm, ripping a gash all the way to his shoulder. He grabbed the wound with his other hand instinctively and could now no longer grab at anything to stop himself. Instead, he tried to dig his heels into the ground to slow himself down, but only managed to twist his ankle badly in the process.
The slope itself was long and it took a full minute to reach the end, but suddenly Estel felt nothing underneath his body as he shot off the edge. He glimpsed the river below before he thrust both arms backward, clawing at anything to now break his fall. His hands met roots, and he grabbed at them. His body jerked to a halt, wrenching his shoulder violently.
He dangled there for several minutes, pulling ragged breaths into his lungs. He struggled to find a foothold so he could pull himself up, but found none. His hands slipped along the roots and he readjusted his grip desperately to keep from falling. The river was at least five meters down, and looking over his shoulder, he could see it's rough, swirling waters rushing past.
Again, he tried to find a spot for his feet, and his hands slipped further. He clawed at the earth trying to find a more stable hold, but still his hands slipped. His entire body was covered in mud. The roots cut into his palms, drawing blood, creating even more slickness to contend with.
He finally reached the end of the roots, there was nothing left to hold, and he slid away. He felt the sensation of falling, his body dropping through the air, before he smacked down into the water. His breath left his lungs from the force of the impact, and he plummeted down several meters to the bottom feet first. The water was filled with rocks and trees, and as he tried to push off from the bottom, he found that his cloak was tangled in the branch of a sunken tree.
He pulled at it in vain. He planted his feet down as he pulled, hoping to tear the cloak away, but it held fast as it was made of good elven cloth. His vision began to swim as he had no more air, and he grabbed at the fastener that held the cloak around his neck. His fingers worked desperately at the cord, and finally it let go and he was free. He pushed up with all the strength he still possessed and seconds later his head broke the surface.
Estel filled his empty lungs with sweet air. Swells of water broke over his head, and he suddenly realized that his situation was still perilous. The river was swollen with four weeks worth of rain, and as he struggled to remain above water he was slammed into flotsam that bounced along with him. He grabbed at rocks and branches, and finally was able to keep hold of the branch of a tree that had fallen down the rain soaked slope and lay halfway across the river.
Estel kicked his feet as he made his way along the branch toward the river's edge. Finally, his feet hit solid ground, and he struggled on until he collapsed on shore, breathing hard. He was wet and cold and he shivered, as he lay there, too tired to rise. He thought briefly of his father, and dreaded to think of what the elf lord's reaction would be to the situation he was in.
Thoughts of Legolas and the wolves on the path above were what finally drove him to his knees. He looked up, trying to locate a way to reach the top. His drop to the river had been far, but had it been dry, he would have been able to find enough hand and foot holds to climb back up. As it was, there was nothing but slick mud and rock, and so he was forced to find a way around.
His body ached as well as his head, and he bled from many scrapes and scratches, but nothing life threatening. His shoulder hurt the worst and he feared it had been dislocated when he grabbed at the roots as he went over the drop. Time would tell, if his fingers became numb or he lost movement in his arm. He would deal with it then. The gash on his arm still bled as well, and his ankle throbbed when he tried to put any weight on it. He spotted his sword lying near the exposed roots of a large tree. Picking it up and re-sheathing it, Estel moved on.
The ranger scrambled over fallen logs and skirted around rocks and the uneven ground as he made his way back to the path as quickly as possible. It took an agonizingly long time, and he was exhausted by the time he reached the higher ground.
He reached the path about a half league from where he had left it. Turning east, he quickly headed down the path to where he hoped his friend was.
Summary: What starts out as an ordinary day full of frustrating boredom turns into a day wrought with peril as two friends try to merely survive.
Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien; go figure!
Chapter Two
"Estel.," he cried out in a husky, pain-filled voice. But he had no time to even think of his friend as he sensed the other wolves enter this widened part of the path. The wolf at his back once again bit into his hurting left shoulder, growling in his ear and jerking him back to reality as he realized his desperate situation. He was alone to face the entire pack.
He struggled to pull his knees underneath his body, and drew his arms under as well. With effort, he was able to throw the wolf off his back. It landed hard and was momentarily stunned, giving Legolas enough time to pick himself up and turn to face the pack. His right hand pressed into the bleeding wound on his left shoulder, and he grimaced in pain.
Most of the wolves circled around the dominant white male who had made the first attack and the elf that stood swaying, trying to clear his head from the pain that clouded his senses. His bow lay several feet away, and would be of no use here anyway, the beasts were much too close. He quickly drew both his knives from his back instead, the movement causing the pain in his shoulder to flair. None of the other wolves would dare attack this single being unless something was to happen to the alpha male. The large wolf growled at the elf and then turned and barked and nipped at one of the other wolves that had drawn too near. This gave Legolas a moment to take a much needed deep breath. The alpha male then bared its teeth, and hunched it's body down in preparation for another attack. Legolas widened his stance and held his knives defensively in front.
The attack came quickly, the large white wolf launched at the elf, snarling. Legolas crossed his knives in front just an instant before the wolf struck, then swiftly uncrossed them, slicing open the neck of the wolf. Warm blood sprayed everywhere, soaking his skin and clothing. Legolas reached up to wipe it from his eyes, as the large wolf fell with a thud at his feet, dead.
It took several moments, but once they realized their leader had fallen, the remainder of the wolf pack erupted into chaos. Legolas was momentarily stunned as he watched several other wolves advance on him, while others snarled and nipped at each other, already in a contest to claim the leaders spot. Legolas was hunched over, hands upon his knees, trying to control his breathing.
Two wolves stopped a meter in front of him, baring their teeth and growling. Saliva dripped from their mouths and now they took on an attack stance.
Legolas took a step backwards and felt his heel hit the roots of a large tree. He glanced up quickly, spying several low branches that would be easy to reach. Without another thought and ignoring the pain in his shoulder, he quickly sheathed one of his knifes, and then jumped up, arms raised, to catch one of the overhead branches, a mere meter above his head. The wolves, aware of the sudden movement of their intended prey, launched their own attack a second later.
His hands circled the branch, his grip was tight, and he began to pull his body up when he felt a searing, hot pain enclose his left calf. He looked down and saw the body of a grey wolf hanging in mid-air, its teeth sunk into his calf, and felt its weight pulling at him. His shoulder screamed in protest at the strain and his calf was burning with pain and pressure. An instant later, he felt more weight as another of the wolves bit down on his cloak then began backing up, tugging on the cloth. The combined weight was too much, and he felt his hands slip as his grip failed.
He grasped futilely in an attempt to retain his position, kicking out with his free leg at the creature with his calf in its teeth, when yet another wolf clamped its jaws around the back of his left heel. Pain raced up his leg, and he cried out in surprise and shock. The weight was finally too much and he felt his hands slip free.
He hit the ground hard on his stomach, the wind knocked out of his lungs. He could feel wet sticky blood running along his shoulder and back, soaking his tunic, as well as down his leg and ankle, soaking his leggings before filling his boot. The wolf that held his heel wrestled his leg, pulling the soft leather boot from his foot. The other wolves lost their grip on him when he fell and rolled back to their feet quickly, seemingly unharmed.
Legolas managed to get his legs underneath himself as he gasped to return air to his lungs, and he turned to his attackers. He took a faulty step backwards, his left leg nearly buckling as he could barely support his own weight. The three wolves advanced a step as well. The other wolves were nearby, circling menacingly, growling and snapping at each other.
Legolas had no time to pull his other knife before the closest of the three wolves leapt at him. He slashed downward, his movement clumsy as he was off balance, and he caught the creature across the forelegs, a deep, biting cut. The wolf went down whimpering and unable to stand. The second wolf flew at Legolas too quickly for him to adjust his stance and he felt teeth latch down on his now exposed right forearm. The last attacking wolf landed on him a second later, and he fell backward into the tree, striking his head soundly against the trunk.
Stars swam before his eyes, and he shook his head to clear them away. He was dizzy from pain and loss of blood, and he struggled helplessly under the weight of the two wolves. His long knife was pinned to the ground by the wolf that held his arm in its teeth, and he was unable to defend himself. He swung his left arm up and down, and caught the last wolf across its sensitive nose. The wolf backed away momentarily, stunned by his blow.
The wolf that held his arm shook its head, his arm still tight in its teeth. A new wave of pain lanced through his body as he felt teeth hit bone. He reached desperately for the small knife in his boot. His hand groped along the ground, and he tried to draw his leg up. He felt fingertips brushed along the hilt, and he leaned upward to try to reach it. His hand circled around and he pulled the knife from his boot; a second later, he buried it to it's hilt in the soft neck of the wolf.
The wolf yelped and pulled away, tearing the flesh from his arm as its grip broke. It fell on top of him, dead. Legolas pushed up with his good leg and hoisted the body of the wolf off his chest. He struggled to his feet once again, grasping at the tree as his vision swam dangerously. He was dizzy and nauseous, and his body ached fiercely. He looked on the remaining wolves, then thought of Estel, his first chance to do so. He prayed that his friend had not been injured too badly in his fall.
The attack had not lasted for more than a few minutes, yet he felt as though he had been battling the beasts for hours.
He was pulled from his thoughts as yet another wolf flew at him from the side, knocking the dagger from his hand. He slashed at the wolf with his long knife as he felt the wolf bury its teeth into his side, tearing his tunic. The wolf released its grip slightly, than clamped back down again before Legolas stabbed downward with the knife, burying it partway into the creatures skull. He slid slowly down the trunk of the tree, the wolf's weight bringing him to the ground. Even in death, the wolf did not relent, its teeth still sunk into the elf's flesh. Legolas was forced to pry the teeth back, blood spurting from the gashes in his side. He pushed the wolf's body away with his feet, and it landed with a thud among the wolves that remained.
The smell of so much blood and confusion over being leaderless and without direction sent several of the others wolves upon each other. They were not vying for dominance; they were simply giving in to their bloodlust. They had not forgotten the elf, and several growled menacingly at him as they circled, just out of reach of the sharp knife. Legolas rose and stumbled forward, retrieving his dagger from the ground. He stood back up, still hunched over his wounded side.
The wolves continued to circle and Legolas grew more and more dizzy as he continued to lose blood. He was distracted and his head spun as he turned to watch several pairs of wolves fighting with each other. Teeth bit and claws scratched, and one pair tumbled too close to the elf, knocking him off his feet. The continued their vicious battle, growling and barking madly, the elf nearly between them, and Legolas pushed and stabbed out with his knife, drawing blood and causing injury. Their teeth and claws scratched at him, drawing blood from various places, and at last he collapsed to the ground, too weak to stand. He remained wary and upright, however, and any other wolf that dared get close enough was rewarded with a slash from his deadly sharp knife.
Several of the wolves limped away injured, no longer interested in the elf. The order of the pack was disrupted, and a new leader needed to emerge. Most of the secondary wolves were too involved in their own fights to take a stand or to group the remaining wolves together. Legolas sat on the ground, the rain falling into his eyes, his head spinning, as he watched the wolves slowly leave. Only seven of the original pack remained, three lay on the ground dead, and at least five had run off.
Legolas remained where he was for several seconds, unable to believe he still lived. His thoughts came back to Estel, and he struggled to rise, using the tree beside him to haul himself up. He was dizzy and he swayed on his feet. For several seconds he leaned against the tree, his forehead against the smooth bark, his mind reaching for the strength he knew the tree contained.
He pushed away and staggered to the edge of the path and looked out over to the river below. Over the edge the ground sloped for many meters before it simply dropped off. There was no sign of Estel. Behind him, he heard the movements of the wolves as they once again began to circle him.
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Estel felt his friend push him from behind, and he was pretty sure what had caused Legolas to stumble and fall into him. Before he even had a chance to try and right himself, he stepped over the edge of the path, where his foot met muddy earth. It slipped out from under him, and he spun his arms in circles as he tried to regain his balance. He was unable to do so, as his other foot slipped as well, and then both feet slid out from underneath his body and he landed hard on his rump. His sword fell from his grasp as he struck the ground and clattered down the slope. He wrenched his head back, and could just make out the sight of Legolas falling beneath the body of the wolf, its teeth sunk into his friend's shoulder, before he slid from sight down the slope.
The entire slope was covered in thick mud and he found himself sliding along at an ever-increasing rate. He flipped onto his side, his hands reaching out to grasp at something to stop his descent. Branches slapped at his face and body drawing blood and tearing his clothes, but he sped by too fast to grab them. He slammed into roots, rocks, and trees, hitting his head, hips, and sides. A gash on his forehead bled into his eye and a small branch sliced his cheek open. The pointed end of a branch that jutted out in the path was too thick to give way as he passed, and it sliced into his upper arm, ripping a gash all the way to his shoulder. He grabbed the wound with his other hand instinctively and could now no longer grab at anything to stop himself. Instead, he tried to dig his heels into the ground to slow himself down, but only managed to twist his ankle badly in the process.
The slope itself was long and it took a full minute to reach the end, but suddenly Estel felt nothing underneath his body as he shot off the edge. He glimpsed the river below before he thrust both arms backward, clawing at anything to now break his fall. His hands met roots, and he grabbed at them. His body jerked to a halt, wrenching his shoulder violently.
He dangled there for several minutes, pulling ragged breaths into his lungs. He struggled to find a foothold so he could pull himself up, but found none. His hands slipped along the roots and he readjusted his grip desperately to keep from falling. The river was at least five meters down, and looking over his shoulder, he could see it's rough, swirling waters rushing past.
Again, he tried to find a spot for his feet, and his hands slipped further. He clawed at the earth trying to find a more stable hold, but still his hands slipped. His entire body was covered in mud. The roots cut into his palms, drawing blood, creating even more slickness to contend with.
He finally reached the end of the roots, there was nothing left to hold, and he slid away. He felt the sensation of falling, his body dropping through the air, before he smacked down into the water. His breath left his lungs from the force of the impact, and he plummeted down several meters to the bottom feet first. The water was filled with rocks and trees, and as he tried to push off from the bottom, he found that his cloak was tangled in the branch of a sunken tree.
He pulled at it in vain. He planted his feet down as he pulled, hoping to tear the cloak away, but it held fast as it was made of good elven cloth. His vision began to swim as he had no more air, and he grabbed at the fastener that held the cloak around his neck. His fingers worked desperately at the cord, and finally it let go and he was free. He pushed up with all the strength he still possessed and seconds later his head broke the surface.
Estel filled his empty lungs with sweet air. Swells of water broke over his head, and he suddenly realized that his situation was still perilous. The river was swollen with four weeks worth of rain, and as he struggled to remain above water he was slammed into flotsam that bounced along with him. He grabbed at rocks and branches, and finally was able to keep hold of the branch of a tree that had fallen down the rain soaked slope and lay halfway across the river.
Estel kicked his feet as he made his way along the branch toward the river's edge. Finally, his feet hit solid ground, and he struggled on until he collapsed on shore, breathing hard. He was wet and cold and he shivered, as he lay there, too tired to rise. He thought briefly of his father, and dreaded to think of what the elf lord's reaction would be to the situation he was in.
Thoughts of Legolas and the wolves on the path above were what finally drove him to his knees. He looked up, trying to locate a way to reach the top. His drop to the river had been far, but had it been dry, he would have been able to find enough hand and foot holds to climb back up. As it was, there was nothing but slick mud and rock, and so he was forced to find a way around.
His body ached as well as his head, and he bled from many scrapes and scratches, but nothing life threatening. His shoulder hurt the worst and he feared it had been dislocated when he grabbed at the roots as he went over the drop. Time would tell, if his fingers became numb or he lost movement in his arm. He would deal with it then. The gash on his arm still bled as well, and his ankle throbbed when he tried to put any weight on it. He spotted his sword lying near the exposed roots of a large tree. Picking it up and re-sheathing it, Estel moved on.
The ranger scrambled over fallen logs and skirted around rocks and the uneven ground as he made his way back to the path as quickly as possible. It took an agonizingly long time, and he was exhausted by the time he reached the higher ground.
He reached the path about a half league from where he had left it. Turning east, he quickly headed down the path to where he hoped his friend was.