[Eorl of Rohan]

Sure. This is a rough draft.

Del dealt a death stroke to one of the bandits, crying "Run!" as he battled. His splintered shield lay beneath his feet. Yet Ferethor stood transfixed on the spot, the others almost forgotten.

"Leave him!" Atharen called, his voice tinged with pain. "Del buys us time to escape with his blood. Let us take it, and go! It is ours to live." But still Ferethor hesitated in a dreamlike state, lingering. Only when Atharen, driven by urgency, cried, "Ferethor!" did he come back to full awareness. Turning with his hands clenched, Ferethor asked, "Leave him there?" Atharen replied as he mounted his horse and chased after the others,"There's nothing we can do."

And Ferethor knew that it was true. He leaped on one of the horses whose owner must have met his end, and made it gallop across the open fields. A volley of arrows whistled over his head, and the arrowheads seemed aflame in the light of the sunset. The poor horse whinnied in pain and fell heavily on the ground as it was shot. Ferethor, narrowing avoiding falling with it, made for the woodlands on foot.

He winced as a searing pain cut through his shoulders, one of the parting gifts from a bandit archer. He hid himself in the shadows of trees, regretting that he had used up all his arrows in the first battle. A few moment later, the bandits themselves came to look for him.

"Sir! He wouldn't have gone far." One said confidently, shouldering his bow. "I am pretty sure that I got him." But thw man who seemed to be in command turned. "We do not have times to search for a single man in the woodlands all night! We head back to our refuge by Anduin by nightfall."

The darkness of night fell on the forest. Ferethor lost conciousness to the loss of blood.