Scouting the Northern Plains

The tree really wasn't as comfortable as it had looked from the ground. Lubiella moved around, happy at least to have the softness of a hobbit behind to help her settle in on the gnarled branch. It was well concealed, though, offered a good view across the fields below her and it was not in the wind direction of the band of meanies she was suppose to keep a lookout for. She sighed and took out her last apple, it would just have to do for today's second breakfast. She was halfway through the apple when the first of the orcs slowly walked out onto the road beneath her. It was less than 300 meters away and it looked crude, dangerous and smelly. A chill ran up her spine and for several seconds she had to fight the urge to jump off the branch before it suddenly looked right at her and it would all be over. Finally her fear was overcome by stubbornness and she forced herself to sit completely still and watch the orc. He stood a while and watched the plains before he waved to somewhere behind him and the rest of the war-band emerged from behind him. Had Lubiella seriously thought that the first orc was big, she now knew better. It was the small one, the quick scout probably; the equivalent of herself, just on the opposite side. The difference was that the scout orc was still big enough to toss a hobbit over the roof of a house and she was barely big enough to reach a dinner table. Of course, the other difference was that this orc was not in hiding, she was. Her hands trembling, she got out the little whistle from a little pocket in her leather armour that she had stitched in there herself. She put it in front of her mouth and blew in a slow rising key as she had been instructed. The sharp sound carried with the wind sounding as if a bird flew right over her. The orcs did not seem to respond, luckily; they were arguing about something amongst themselves. Now it was just a question of waiting. Somewhere in the vague distance she told herself that she heard a similar call, but she couldn't be sure. The orcs, there were perhaps twenty of them, moved lazily through the growing sunlight. In about an hour they would have found a place to camp for the day, but she expected that they wouldn't get that far. Already, the pale, rising sun seemed to make them more agitated. Suddenly the biggest orc, who was bellowing at the small scout, fell to the ground. Lubiella could not see what had hit him, but in the seconds that followed the tall, green grass became stained with black blood. The men came out from the hills above the orcs with arrows and spears. The orcs huddled quickly together behind their shields, but it was only a matter of time. Under the constant, probing arrows they had no choice but to eventually rush uphill to their doom. The whole battle lasted less than two minutes and when the last orc fell, crawling desperately down the hill with a spear sticking out of his side, Lubiella released a sigh. She saw the men clean their weapons as they started to pile the orcs. They would not wave an aknowledgement towards her, she knew. Not because they did not appreciate her efforts, but because they would do nothing to jeopardize her position to anyone watching. And there might always be someone watching. She was looking at them starting the fire, when she heard the rustling of grass very close to her. Adrenalin shot through her like electric current as she looked down on an orc crawling through the grass into her little grove of trees. It was the smaller orc scout. She could smell it already and hear it cursing under its breath. If it looked up right now, she would be in more trouble than she had been in before, even worse than when she climbed Old Saversons pig and broke its leg. She was but a nice roll of bacon to these creatures, she knew only too well. Carefully it passed underneath her as she brought out her little knife from its leather sheath and held it in a trembling hand. It looked ridiculous, this tiny, white hand with its broad, stumpy fingers holding on to a knife that would barely penetrate the armour and hide of the orc below her. But if it came to it, she would fight to the end, she had promised herself that many times. It stopped underneath her and sniffed, twice. It held a ragged, rusty blade in the left hand and turned its head from side to side. Cold sweat ran down Lubiella's spine as she considered jumping off the branch right now to maybe get a bit of an edge until the men could maybe get there. 300 meters, was that perhaps ten seconds? Twenty? She felt a lump in her throat but knew better than to swallow it now. Lubiella was slowly tipping her feet over the edge of the branch, fear of the coming battle etched into her eyes below the filthy blond hair, when the roar of flame came from the field. The bonfire had lit up suddenly and both her and the orc turned with a shock to stare at it. She heard it curse and caught a glimpse of the anger in its eyes, the dark, leather-like skin, the sharp, pointy teeth. Finally it turned away from the fire and ran, bend down against the grass out of the grove. She saw the last bushes close behind the orc, the adrenalin left her body and tears welled up in her eyes. Silently she sat and fought them back as they drew lines of smudge down her round cheeks. Eventually she got herself under control and climbed down the tree, sniffling slightly. Why am I not brave enough to kill such a thing, she asked herself. She kicked herself angrily as she started crawling through the tall grass towards the men by the fire. She would warn them and with any luck the escaped orc would be tracked to its daily hiding place and killed before any damage was done. She watched her right hand, still clenching the dagger as she crawled quickly and silently through the grass. Useless hobbit!, she thought to herself, repeating it over and over again until she finally reached the foul smelling bonfire.