The pony under me walked along rough terrain under his hooves. Jagged rocks and tough foliage clogged the roadside, making him take careful steps. I rode upon his back in silence, feeling the chill of the wind whip through my clothes. The fresh smell of rain filled my nose and occasionally I felt water drip down from the sky. My hood shielded my face from the elements as best as it could.

From Weasel's back I could see fainter outlines of the terrain from the vibrations coming up from his hooves.

When the land evened out some, I pulled him to a stop.

Storm clouds gathered overhead as the rain became heavier. The wind whipped the cloak around my shoulders to the west. Dismounting Weasel, I touched the ground and immediately the image of the land got clearer. In the dirt in front of me were footprints.

Heavy, plotting.

Definitely Orcs.

With Weasel's reins in one hand, I knelt before the tracks. Reaching out to the dirt I got many details that many would have missed. When my fingers touched the soil I saw images in my mind's eye of the enemy.

There were seven Orcs in total. They had been dragging something behind them it seemed.

Aragorn.

The heels from his boots had scraped the earth behind them.

I ran my hand amongst the dirt to get a better time frame.

Five hours ago.

"We're getting closer, Weasel…" I murmured, drawing my head up to the path ahead of us.

Thunder rumbled overhead and the rain began to fall.

"Let's go get him boy." I told the chestnut pony as I mounted him again.

With the storm behind us, we rode off to save Aragorn.

Our last shred of hope.