[Lyra Greenleaf]

The worst thing was the stench. The stink of blood, death and Orcs hung in the air like a fog.

With a dreadful calmness Telpeheled fought, battling the pain, the smell, the tiredness and the enemy at once. Instincts and the routine of good training had taken the place of thoughts as he slashed and parried, wounded and killed.

One of the Easterlings had managed to give him a gash in his arm, but had been well repaid withn death. Telpeheled found it harder to fight these men than Orcs or wolves. They are too like us he thought, while his arms continued to fight.

He wanted to retch.Urgh! The stink!

As he turned to protect his back, he saw the horrible sight of Durelin lying still on the ground. No! It cannot be he thought, disbelief and sadness distracting him for a while from the fight. The Orc he was battling saw weakness and leapt forward in a frenzy. It was all Telpeheled could do to keep him at bay.
It cannot be true he thought again, numbly. It was the first time someone he knew had ever died, and the bitterness was intense. Furiously he yelled, and slayed the Orc. They must pay! he thought, and began to fight ferociously and recklessly, thinking in a way he had not before.

[ February 28, 2003: Message edited by: Lyra Greenleaf ]