The sound, the smell, by all the God’s these beasts were close. But what were they. Arathoniel could not tell. These were no Orcs that she had ever seen. They were beasts, to be certain, but they were of brute strength. The evil they carried with them was palpable. She could feel it. Of more importance, they carried the mark of the White Hand. The White Wizard. Saruman. Had he truly turned against those who had trusted him for so many years?

Closer she crept to their encampment. What was that smell? What was it that they burned? It smelled of flesh. Yes. That’s what it had to be. The flesh of man. By the God’s, they were roasting man flesh on a spit. Her heart was pained again. Never had she known a man, but to be reduced to this. The dinner of evil warriors. She felt her stomach turn. Were there food in her belly, she was sure she would have retched it.

She could not allow food, or lack thereof, to be a distraction. No. She must learn what these coarse bests were about. What actions they were to take. What their weaknesses were. A pain racked her suddenly. The name of the beings. Uruk-hai. The Army of Saruman. Built to destroy the world of man. Her stomach turned again.

Her head turned as the Uruks began to move against one another. Battle practice, to be certain. But they would fight until death came to one. Her eyes focused on the rough hands that fought with out battle ready swords. They betrayed their weakness to her almost immediately. If the armor could move, they were easily killed. The weakness was at the neck. At the neck and under the arm. Cloaking herself in shadow and tree, she raised her arrow. As it struck the neck of the beast, Arathoniel’s fate was decided. She would not take them all.