Dinengel

Ivorneth fired at the crowd of orcs, moving with the other two archers to find better positions as the fight swirled. They aimed carefully, not wanting to hit one of their own men.

She left Gorlakon sleeping soundly, her own slumber disturbed by thoughts that would not settle. Zorzimril slipped on a pair of leather shoes and a cloak over her linen gown, silently departing the tent. The fires burned low, most of the Creoth and Duvardain snoring where they passed out from too much ale. Others stood guard, with tired eyes and deep yawns. And there were those that watched that never grew tired or drunk.

Zorzimril's eyes blazed as she shouted at her men to stop the ranger, she knew it was one of the loathed Dunedain. He was tall and dressed in the colors of the forest, masked and hooded. The wargs snarled on their chains as the horses stomped and whinnied as one of them lost his tether and was stolen by the ranger.