We ran...

As if the evil wind pushed us back our strength lingered by a thread, yet our will drove us onward to our friends, the Hobbits which had been taken. Gimli's breath grew the shortest and I would linger back with him, pushing him onward with hope and words filled with promises of survival. But were they lies? None of us could tell.

Aragorn son of Arathorn ran ahead of the three others which were us. Legolas Greenleaf, elf of Mirkwood, Gimli son of Gloin, Dwarf who dwells in the mountains, and me Rhasslairiel, Elf Ranger from no particular land. His head rested on a rock, his eyes closed, listening for footsteps ahead of us. I knelt beside him, looking into his face with the eye of friendship.

"Their pace quickens," Aragorn said, looking up. I sighed.

"They must have caught our scent. Hurry Legolas!" I cried and stood with Aragorn, watching as he ran ahead and waited for my two other friends.

"Come on Gimli!" Legolas called and passed me.

Across the plains and through the mountains and over the hills we flew again. Stopping only for a few moments to wait for each other, our only way of rest, any food that we could pull out of our packs as we ran was the food we ate... but we did it willingly.

Three days still of running brought us to a canyon like pass, where the tracks of the orcs were freshest. Aragorn, still ahead of us all, driven with a strength that I knew not, knelt down in the mud and retrieved something.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall." He whispered to himself.

"They may yet be alive." Legolas said and I ran up behind them.

"Less than a day ahead of us." Aragorn replied and I nodded in agreement, beginning to run again.

This time of silence but the breathing of friends brought to me a time of thought and observation. For the first time I stopped all thought of the trek of danger that we were on and observed my three friends, the four of us all that was left of the Fellowship.

Legolas, light haired and bright blue eyed ran nimbly due to the grace and strength of the elves that was granted to us. He was dressed in but one or two layers of brown, white, and blue clothing all light and wore two swords on his back, though his main weapon was his bow. A green cloak fell over his shoulders, one that was given to us in the forest of Lothlorien by Galadriel, elf queen who dwelled there.

Aragorn ran not but slightly behind him. A son of ancient kings, the last heir of Isildur, king of Gondor. His hair was a dark brown and fell to his shoulders, matching that of his eyes. He too wore a bow and arrows on his back but his main defense was his sword, something that I had never seen leave his side, not even at formal dinners he attended to when he was in Rivendell. He wore fingerless gloves and was dressed in but one more layer of clothing than Legolas, his color choice being that of a forest green and dark brown. He too wore a cloak of Lorien.

Gimli ran farther behind, a stout dwarf with a long red/brown beard and hair which was braided in various places and brown eyes. He looked old, though in reality he was quite young (well to me anyway). He wore chain mail and many layers of clothing, gloves on his hands and an ax on his back, one also in his hand. He wore a helm also, one of dark colors but the bronze that made the decorations weaving together like a never ending chain. It came down on his forehead and around his chin, though the latter never connecting. He too wore a deep green cloak from Lothlorien.

Finally, I ran between them. Brown hair that fell to the bottom of my back, tied back into braids to keep it from finding its way to my face and green eyes, the color of the forest of which I dwelled. I was a Ranger, much like Aragorn in many ways, running from my heritage, hiding from the life of a proper she-elf. I wore leggings as if I were a man though a small short skirt fell over them, more to my comfort than any other reason, and a tunic and vest, the latter of brown and the former of green. Many weapons dawned my body, for it is the nature of humans to believe that a woman cannot handle herself... I was heavily armed for that reason. The main of my weapons though stood as follows: a bow and quiver of arrows on my back, a sword on the left side belt, and two knifes, their handles carved from the craftsmanship of Dwarfs on the left, a gift from Gimli. A dagger, which which was given to me by a man of Gondor before his death was lodged in my knee high boot, easily reachable from the most uncomfortable positions. Once again a cloak was draped over my shoulders.

My thoughts were interrupted as we stopped at the top of a hill, overlooking a new land, though it looked not different than the lands we had just passed. I knew where we were.

"Rohan." Aragorn said, "The home of the Horse Lords." I looked at him silently, "There is something strange at work here. Some evil gives speed to these creatures, sets its will against us." My eyes scanned the plains, brow wrinkled in thought as I saw the Uruk-hai and their trail. Rushing forward

I ran to the hill ahead of us.

"Rhasslairiel? What do you see?"

"The Uruks are turning North East." I gasped, "They're going to Isengard..." and at that moment I knew what was at work... where the Hobbits were being taken... to Saruman, Lord of Isengard, the White Wizard.