[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The party moved quickly along the canyon floor, fearful of another attack…and of the nameless dread that stalked them with such expert skill. Twice more that day Hænir was certain that he caught wind of that same elusive scent, and once he thought, for a moment, that he caught sight of something or someone darting through the branches of the trees more than the height of two Dwarves’ above their heads. He called Bali’s attention to it, but even his quick eyes could see nothing and they pressed ahead all the more quickly.

Hænir did not know how aware the other Dwarves were of their danger, for they had fallen into an even deeper silence than usual. Their hardships had come upon them so suddenly and so unremittingly that they had all been plunged into despair. Even the mad Gortek looked uncharacteristically subdued as he trudged along at the side of the straggling line, only occasionally jerking his head or squinting his eye. The Ranger and the Elf seemed a little better off than the Dwarves, but not much so. The Man in particular seemed to be suffering from the insects. For Hænir, the worst part of the trip was rapidly becoming the heat; encased as he was in his suit of armour and bearing his heavy axe, the sticky warmth of the jungle rose around him like a thick and uncomfortable blanket, stifling his breath.

At one point they reached a small path that headed off to the East. They peered down its length, and some among the party were eager to follow it, for it appeared to be well trodden and would be a much easier route than the one they were attempting to hack out through the dense growth. To Hænir, however, the path only sent a shiver of apprehension down his spine – it if were well used, he did not relish the thought of meeting the people whose feet had beaten it down so well. The snatch of rhyme that he had heard all those long weeks ago in Laketown, all but forgotten, came to him:

The night like daggers glistening,
Cry out for the sun,
Fear a death by darkness,
In the land of Rhûn

He turned to the others in the party saying, “This path may be easier, boys, but it does not lead the way we want it to go! I believe that Bali is right; if we are to find the Sea, we must keep ahead along the floor of the Canyon and follow it down.” He caught Bali’s eye as he spoke and saw that their leader both understood what Hænir was doing, and appreciated how he was trying to do it.

It was Nerin who replied to Hænir’s suggestion. “Perhaps this path will lead us to a village or even a city where we can obtain new food and gear,” he suggested. “At the very least, it might give us a way to get out from under this infernal jungle and away from,” he swatted the back of his neck, “away from these infernal stinging insects!”

Hænir could see Bali starting to reply but all conversation was interrupted by a blood curdling howl from up the very path they were debating about. All eyes stared down its length, fearful of what might appear, but there was nothing more. Still, it was enough to decide the issue – they headed down the Canyon. They had not walked for very long when a scent that was familiar to some in the party, but wholly alien to Hænir, came to them through the thick reek of the jungle. Bali quickened their pace despite his pronounced limp and they all pushed ahead to follow. Through the great trunks of the trees they caught sight of a distant glimmer, and there came to them a fresher breeze than any they had felt since coming to this land. The party practically broke into a run as they made for the edge of the Sea…