[Imladris]

Olo sighed in irritation. He had heard it all before. They would be ordered to drop their weapons, and with that order they just might comply. Then they would be commanded to give up the Leaf, which assuredly they would deny that they had or they would refuse point blank. Then after that it would be a show of arms and then the hobbits would be put their mangy tails between their legs and go howling off somewhere -- probably to the old Took's place.

He could scarcely believe it when he saw them unshoulder their packs and make for their weapons: it was like a rabbit threatening some trolls. He frowned at Josias, but the young hobbit wasn't looking at Olo. He looked at Brass, and saw that his round hobbit face was blanching until it was a pale as paper.

Screaming, the man behind him drove his heals into the horse and charged the hobbit group. Terrified, a shrill shriek issued from Olo's mouth as he managed to roll from the horse's back. He landed solidly on the ground, gasping for breath. He saw the men, the orkish men, whirling at the hobbits, their swords flashing in the pleasant sun and the hobbits scurrying away like rats.

Peering into the mele, he looked for Brass but didn't see him. He decided whether he should join in the fight, but decided against it. In the fight, he could be killed by either one party or another. If he staid put he would win either way: if the hobbits proved victorious (doubtful), he would beg on bended knee for their forgiveness (which they would surely, if grudgingly grant) and plead that he had had a change of heart. Hob, of course, would be smart enough to see through the charade, probably, but he didn't matter. If the men would, they'd continue to treat him like a sack of potatoes which, though far from comfortable, was much better than feeling steel within your gut.

Looking around, Olo saw a grove of trees which offered convenient shelter. Edging closer to the fight, he crept towards it, trying to tune out the shouts of agony and fear. Hob was putting up a stout fight he saw, the two hobbit lasses were back to back, but he couldn't see if they were fighting per se, Josias and another were tackling a man. Olo felt a hand close upon his the collar of his jacket, heaving him off the ground like a kitten. "You'll help, you scurvy vermin," Assiram hissed.

Out of the courner of his eye, Olo saw that Helios had become unhorsed. The beast reared violently and neighed shrilly. It whirled around, charging for the same grove of trees Olo had been nearing. As the horse neared them, a last effort thought flashed through Olo's brain: twisting out of the man's grasp who was leaping away from the mad beast, Olo managed to hit the ground and struggled to roll away from the horse. But, as fate would have it, he lay prone, his head knocked upon the stone, and his life's spirit was trampled beneath the hooves of the horse.