Elleraden looked with disgust at the broken shaft of one of his arrows. It had snapped against an orc's chest-plate, though slaying it in the process. Tossing it on the ground, the ranger retrieved his other shafts and cleaned them carefully; after which he washed the dark blood off of his sword and knife.
As he walked into the middle of the camp, Durvagor suddenly yelled out; "The horses, the horses! They're gone!"
Elleraden looked around quickly. Durvagor was right; they had been frightened off by the orc raid. For all the rangers knew, their steeds were a mile away; deep in Mirkwood. Elleraden swore under his breath, realizing the hopelessness of their situation. Not only were they now stuck in Mirkwood forest, far from civilization, without a fast means of transportation, but much of their food and other supplies had been carried off by the horses in their flight.
He looked around the rest of the group, who stood silently in the center of the camp. All eyes turned to Islist, and Elleraden uttered the phrase which everyone felt and thought. "What do we do now, sir."
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