Dear Lillidora,
I am resting on the shore of that little lake in Staddle, the one where sometimes you went playing tricks to the farmers sleeping there as they were trying to catch a fish. It has been a doomed night, for a Ranger has failed his mission against the Evil. And that Ranger is me.
I was heading to the depth of Chetwood North, to clean the ruins of the Ancient which lay there from some of those brigands who made that sacred soil their new base. The wood exhales a putrid smell of corruption and evil in these days, and all the creatures there have become much more aggressive than usual. No light enters from the tightened trees, and the wind carries the fetid stink of the Marshes, as it blows from south. The people here around, the bravest foresters too, shake when asked to get there, for many of them have not come back. But there is no place in my heart for such fear: I have explored and lived this forest, and all the others here in Bree-land, for many, many years, and it bears no secret for me. At least, that is what I thought.
I was carefully sneaking through the wood, my backpack already filled with hides and bandits' broken weapons I had looted so far. The wind was low, my smell hidden by the other smells of the forest, my steps noiseless: in practice I was invisible for both men and beasts. In front of me, the big ruins where these Blackwold set their main camp. I could see that pesky Covell Woodwright, that young man I tried to convince to get back to his mother, instead of playing something bigger than him, and many other of them, patrolling the surroundings. Getting inside was no trouble, for my arrows flew precise and my sword cut deep. As I finished clearing the blood from my weapons and clothes, I reached the target of my mission, but I will not tell you anything about this, it is a secret among my kinship, my local contacts and me. I would just tell you the fight was hard, the brigands and wolves where not the only opponents I faced, and this is a proof of the great Evil which is flowing down in this land.
The faltering step happened after victory was gained. I fear I was too relaxed, I indulged in feelings that a man can have after a success, but a Dunadan can not, especially when walking so close to the edge of destruction, being it his own end, or the one of Free People. I began sneaking my way back, paying no attention to that hidden, background sense of unease that was chilling my bones. Suddenly, the wind had changed and all the creatures of the forest had become inexplicably silent. The very same moment I became aware of this, already an arrow was notched in my bow and all my senses ready for the fight. Alas, I did not even look at what I was shooting at, as soon as that black, enormous shadow jumped out from the bushes in a terrifying growl: the arrow stuck deep in its flesh, its yellow eyes shone in evil in the mid-dark of the forest, a terrible sound roared out of its jaws.
It was a Warg. And the very same moment I realised it, I knew that stroke of mine, which should have instantaneously killed a bear, was just a scratch for it. And an invite to feast on my body with pleasure. Rhaich! - I cursed to myself for my incompetence and distraction, then I step back, waiting for the charge of the beast, ready to shoot a couple of arrows more before the fight. It was not the time to flee, anymore: if I have to die - I thought - let's do it facing the foe.
The Warg looked at me with hatred and hunger, his muscles tensed, ready to jump. Its smell was terrible, far above the smell of dirty animals, it was the small of the Shadows. The beast was twice as big as me, dark fur stretched by impressing ancient red scars. Each of its claws was half big as my dagger, and made a hurting scratching noise when hitting the ground. As I could read in its eyes its foretasting of my flesh, I shot a couple of arrows at his body - Lasto lalaith nîn! - I shout, in a mockery. The beast growled, this time hurt. But the pain just helped making it more angry.
Last thing I clearly remember is the weight of the Warg falling on my body, in a mixed shout of my voice and its roar. We fought for a while, an endless while, my hands trying to keep its fangs away from my throat, my sword fallen aside. We rolled on the ground, each inch of the battlefield got covered of blood, its blood and my blood. At a certain point, my hand touched the hilt of my sword: I tried to grasp it, but the moment was fatal. As I took the sword and swifted it against the beast, it dug its claws in my side deeply. For a moment, all around turned black, and my voice was cut by the pain: I don't know which force drove me, but I managed to swing the sword and hit the beast's forepaws, I heard the noise of torn gristles and cut flesh, together with an unnatural growl of the Warg.
The beast jumped aside, and I took advantage to stand up and try to move away from it. I did what a ranger does not, usually, I left the battle, I ran for my life. The Warg tried to follow me, but the damage at its paws was huge, its speed significantly decreased. Mine too, to be honest: my side was heavily bleeding, I tried to run but it soon turned to a fast walk, trying to avoid branches and bushes, spiders and wolves. I felt the beast chasing me, for a while, but my knowledge of the forest helped me, unconsciously, to reach a safe spot, where it lost my tracks. There I collapsed in a sight, black shadows crossing my mind as I fell in a sleep I feared I would have not been awaken.
Instead, I woke up. I was at the Lumber Camp, some hunter or woodcutter had found me and took me to safety.
Yer wound was a-nasty, pal - said one there, waving at me his three-fingered hand - guess you had a touch of Ol'Baugarch down there.
I tried to stand up, but almost fainted. Rim hennaid, many thanks, my friend... the beast you named, is it the Warg? - I asked in a whisper
- Dunno what a warg is, mate, but sure it ain't a wolf that thing. Cut out many of a man here, you know? And we need someone to make a steak out of it, I swear! - The man had a sudden laugh - If yer met it so close and survived, yer be a good hunter!
- Alas, my friend... not that good, I fear... the beast still lives, and I can barely move. - I closed my eyes in a sigh
- Yep, agree... but yer wounds will mend, and the beast will fear you, for it bleed from yer blade! Go on and give us a great favour, chop it down! And you'll have a pint from each of us, I swear! - the man laughed again.
I will not do it for the beer, my sweet friend, you know... I have a foe now, a personal one. I will come back to that forest and wipe that beast away, I promise...
Back to the road now, my sweet mellon... I hope you are fine, wherever you are. I dreamed of you, as the shadows where trying to catch me: it is because of dreams like that that one can face the worst times. Some of the people of Bree told me they saw you recently at the Prancing Pony... too bad I had "some difficulties to move"...
No in elenath hîlar nan hâd gîn, mell'amin... Until we meet again!
Cugyl
