[The Ruling Ring]

"Pirk! Pirk!"

Pirk halted in his tracks, groaning slightly as he turned to face the little messenger orc.

"Mauwurz," the orc panted, "Mauwurz has two--tarks with him. Live ones."

"Does he wish to boast?" Pirk said miserably, looking over Snaga's shoulder at the leaping flames and flitting figures.

"I believe he wishes to share them, Pirk sir," Snaga continued. "Where do you want prisoners?"

Pirk's head snapped violently to, glaring down at Snaga, then looking desparately at Groshan.

Prisoners... He hadn't thought of holding any humans prisoner, despite how hard it seemed to make these humans fall. He looked back at Snaga.

"Just--" he faltered. "Just--tell Mauwurz to bring them here."

----------------------------

Fededhor frowned, holding his head as if ill, making his way away from the meeting place. He was exhausted, and he knew he would need all strength starting tomorrow, for that was when they would be leaving. All staying details, such as food and supplies, he had organized before the meeting had even been arranged. He wanted to leave nothing to be done but for the men to agree to come, or not.

Suddenly, he heard a frantic scurrying noise, and fell back on the ground as a body collided with him. He gave a startled yelp, reaching for his sword, but then hearing the other one do the same. He sat up.

"Culedhel?" he mumbled, squinting at him through the darkness. "What are you doing here now? What's wrong?" he could tell the man was quite out of breath, and a bit frightened.