Hyrondal's breathing wheezed in his ears. Dirt clung to his face and stuck beneath his fingernails. Without water, the food in his stomach sat like a knotted root.

Hyrondal squinted. Did Thranduil have red hair or was it blond? Who was Thranduil anyway? Who was he? He tried to speak, but his voice dragged out into a cough. He wiped a hand across his forehead, but even his hot skin was too dry to sweat.

The sun burned down, cutting through the meager branches of the pathetic, dwindling trees and baked the brown ground crusty until it cracked. Nimrethil had said it was good for bread to steam up inside and rise up and crack, but this bread was flat and wretched; a failed baker's experiment. Bread? What bread?

Hyrondal bit into his arm. He bit until he tasted blood and then he sucked, even though it felt like he licked a rusty sword until the blood made him sick, but the pain refreshed him.

Hyrondal. That was his name. And he knew who Thranduil was.

He needed water. With the swamp three days behind him, surely the wolves who haunted his sleep drank from somewhere.

As the sun lowered itself to bed, Hyrondal crawled on stiff limbs to nestle under the low branches of a tree. He doubted he could muster the strength to smile let alone climb. He stared at the slight moisture in the ground before him until his eyes glazed over and his breathing pinched his ribs. He awoke to the howling of the wolves.

With his orc blade strapped to his back with the last shreds of his cloak, Hyrondal crawled into open air. The night was damp and fresh and Hyrondal breathed until he could see the stars clearly. With slow steps, he followed the direction of the howls until he flattened himself against a steep embankment and listened to the echoing wolf voices above his head.

Without warning, the wind swept through him and the wolves' howls turned to snarls. Hyrondal gripped his blade as the great, grey animals slunk down the bank and surrounded him. Their teeth were the white of the moon and Hyrondal saw his pinched face reflected in their eyes. It was foolish to run; at least here he had the bank to his back.

The lead wolf lunged at him. as the animal nipped at Hyrondal's heels, the rest of the pack followed suit. Hyrondal grunted as teeth tore his legs. He slashed his sword and a wolf yipped, red blood splashing the air. Hyrondal hissed and crouched forward. The hot smell of blood excited him as much as the lead wolf, who glared into his face.

The lead wolf pounced. Even though he ducked, claws ripped Hyrondal's shoulder and ran down into his injured arm. The putrid smell of stagnant pus poisoned the air and white blinded Hyrondal's eyes as the green-yellow liquid splashed the ground.

Moaning and clutching his arm, Hyrondal sank against the bank. He waited, but even the wolves were disgusted by the stench of his rotting flesh. One by one, they followed the alpha out into the night in search of good game.

Hyrondal could not move. The blood seemed to have fled his body and his limbs fell flat like rubbery asparagus cooked too long. His eyes were dry and grainy and refused even to cry.

And then he heard it. Water. Yes, water, pouring out of Nimrethil's pitcher—no, running through the land.

Hyrondal dug his hands into the bank. He scrabbled with his elbows and knees and climbed in the prints of the wolves until he rolled onto the flat top of the bank. Dirt clung to his wounded arm as he lay and panted. He heard the water rolling by at the bottom of the sloping hill he lay at the top of and tried to raise his head to see it. With a grunt, he flopped onto his side and let gravity carry him down the hill.

Cold water flooded across Hyrondal, growing colder as he fell away from the flat strip of land between him and the steep hill. He sat on his knees in the river and drank until his stomach was full. He washed his face and arms and tried to squeeze the pus and dirt out of his swollen arm. Even under water it felt hot.

Hyrondal sat on the bank and bandaged his arm. He looked down the river until it curved out of sight and he knew he must follow it if he wanted to survive.

A snarl started him. Hyrondal whirled around as a dozen orcs crested the hill, holding a straggling wolf corpse. A black wood arrow sliced into the ground between his fingertips. Hyrondal knew the lacked the strength to run as the orcs slid down the hill toward him. He splashed into the river and gave himself to the strong current in the middle of the flow.

The water swept him off his feet and dragged him under. He spun in circles as he fought to follow the light of the sun to the surface. Briefly he bobbed up and heard the near cry of a waterfall billowing over rocks. His arm gashed against an underwater rock and then he was out in open air, flying through the mist cast by the waterfall.

The water felt like ice when he slapped down against it. Hyrondal coughed as he came to the surface and struggled to find footing in the pool at the bottom of the waterfall. He waded to the bank, his back stinging, and rolled onto the grass. Too tired to watch the sun rise, he closed his eyes and slept.

Hyrondal awoke in the cool of the night. He swung his legs into the water and sat up. The moon's reflection was almost full in the pool; he had two days left to reach the far end of the ravine.

The moonlight glinted off silver in the water. Hyrondal licked his lips as the realized it was fish dallying in the night. He looked up at the mouth of the waterfall as he grasped his orc blade and realized how high up it was. He sat and waited until his good arm ached from holding the blade and threw it. It speared a fish and he grabbed the weapon before it could float away.

Hyrondal gathered brushwood. His hands shook as he lit a small fire and stopped shaking as he gnawed at the roasted fish. His legs hurt when he stood, but he doused the fire and limped down the bank. He saw more white in the water and realized they were skulls.

A shorter chapter then usual, I know, but one that I hope was good nonetheless!

Thanks so much for reading; I love hearing from you.

Next Chapter: Jailil learns a lesson and Thranduil causes fuss (in that order).