The wind howled through the tree trunks, hitting the lone man with a covering of bear fur padded onto his shoulders and a dark ragged cloak whipped around him. In his hand was drawn a large sword, it's blade perfectly sharpened and reflecting the light of the pale moon that seeped through the bare branches above.
"You know what you have done, don't you?", the man asked as he eyed up a tied up red-headed man, with scarred features and missing an eye. He was bleeding, and bent over a tree stump with his head jutting off the edge.
"Yéa. I don't regret it, needed a new pair of hide boots." The middle-aged brigand laughed, spitting blood and saliva in the direction of the cloaked-mans boots.
A frown grew on Gladraug's lips as he looked down to his leather boots, wiping them clean on the tall grass as he gripped his sword's hilt.
"I would've given you warmth, food and drink if you had asked for it. There was no need to kill my horse. How do you expect me to get around now?"
The strange accent of the Gondorian man, living in the Mark for many years now, was loud as he paced closer towards the man, wind blowing through his dark hair.
"Expected you not to, you don't deserve to you Stoningland-fucker!", he spat out once again, going to get up though the ropes that bound his wrists behind his back stopped him. A boot was placed against his back to shove him back down, and an amused huff escaped.
The sword swung up high, before it came down cutting through the air and with one clean cut the red-haired man spoke no more as his head rolled from his shoulders and into the grass.
"Great.. now I will have to go and get a new one.", Gladraug cursed as he wiped his blade down with a rag as he returned to the small hut nearby.
The next morning, at the first light of the sun, the hooded Gondorian trekked out from the solitary hut, taking all of his valuable possessions that he would need to make it to the nearest town..
