Jinan clambered to his feet, wheezing for breath. The Gondorian had escaped. Escaped. Under his watch no less. He had let the Gondorian escaped, but who could have expected so much fiery spirit in his broken frame?
Jinan snorted and stormed out of the tent. The Haradrim soldiers (the sheepherders as the Gondorian had aptly named them) were still fumbling for their arms and shooting arrows at the lingering cloud of dust. "Stop wasting your arrows, men!" he shouted. "The dust is not a living creature that will swallow you alive. Because of your incompetence, they have gotten away. I hope that you are pleased with yourselves," he snapped.
In the distance, the lieutnant, his horse rearing upon its hind legs called, "Rally your men! We march straightway to the Poros settlement!"
A thing that should have been done long ago. Jinan thought as he marshalled his farmers. It was not good to let an enemy know of your presence, nor was it good to let your numbers known to them.
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