[Amanaduial the archer]

"I hate them."

Koran simple, murmured statement made Ehan look across at the older man, slightly surprised at his matter-of-fact way of speaking such a bold statement. The Southron captain allowed his eyes, just for a moment, to dart deliberately across to the group of orcs not far away, illuminated in the pool of light from their fire, and as he did his eyes were vivid with constrained loathing. Koran leant forward over the fire, calmly turning over the pointed stick spit on which a few strips of heavily salted meat were speared, and his demeanour was so calm that the statement may have been disregarded - after all, most of the Southrons resented being classed with the orcs - their 'hatred' became every day. But when Koran's eyes darted up, there was no doubt that the serious looking captain had not made the statement lightly. His dark eyes held Ehan's for a moment, then he looked down again. Another sudden, vulgar whoop errupted from the group nearby and with his keen eyes Koran saw that the object of their play was alive - some small animal, a ferret or rabbit or the like. Ehan turned quickly to glance at them, the looked back. The good-natured boy grinned slightly, always one to make light of a situation. "Why so much?"

Koran shrugged simply, hastily, avoiding Ehan's eyes as he carefully removed the spit, the stick held with surprising delicacy between his long dark fingers as he pretended to concentrate much more. Inwardly, he berated himself. Fool, Koran, fool - what, you come to represent your clan and instead let this boy know your true thoughts... He had vowed not to let his feelings be known unless there was need for them to be, unless he was sure of his company - sure he had scanned them for sign of Ferach and Cortim's corruption. He was sure they would have someone watching him - and he didn't think it would be to check that their dear young cousin was keeping well and dressing warmly. There was no love lost between the cousins - it was not merely paranoia that kept them on his mind always, that meant he was constantly alert, listening to more than just words when people spoke to him. The clan of Cenbryt may have been a fading one, but it was a noble house of warriors, a formidable name among the Southern clans. Though it was hardly the style of the Haradrim, Ferach and Cortim would do anything to take hold of Koran's reins as the head of the tribe - a knife across the throat would do as well as any for them, that Koran knew.

As Ehan looked back to his food, Koran surveyed him surreptitiously under his long eyelashes, watching as the fire played upon the former's dark skin, lighting it at strange angles and making him seem older, more mysterious. He had spent the day in the boy's company, preparing for the long march, and was beginning to learn something of the boy. Boy always seemed the right word for him as well - he could not be more than six or seven years younger than Koran himself, but they seemed much farther apart, Ehan's merriness and almost simple accepting of situations making him seem much younger than he really was. In his world of a myriad greys, the concept of such a clear view seemed almost alien to Koran, and so made Ehan seem childlike. Yet it was also somehow refreshing. However, he also felt he owed his younger companion some sort of explanation.

"The orcs...they..." he trailed off, exasperated, not sure of the words. "They are untrained, unskilled, inhuman...I dislike fighting with a force with less sense than a domestic rabbit."

"Less sense? Oh, I'd say some of them came close to rabbit skills..." Ehan replied mock-thoughtfully, holding the remains of his strip of meat at a philosophical angle, a slight grin on his face. Koran grinned back, raising one eyebrow. "No, definitely, there is very little semblance between a rabbit and...that." He pointed his dagger sharply towards one particular orc, who was playing a game with his own knife, stabbing the spaces between the fingers. The two southrons watched this fine specimen of orc-hood for a good few moments, stabbing between his stumpy digits with reckless speed, then seeming surprised when, to the guffaws of his companions, the blade met his fingers. He did this a full five times before Koran finally looked away in despair, his lip subconciously curling in disgust. Looking back at Ehan, he raised an ironic, eloquent eyebrow. Ehan grinned back openly and nodded consideringly.

"I concede, Captain, they are..." he trailed off, searching for the right word, then gave a small laugh, causing Koran to grin as well. "But indeed, some of the Southrons have little training as well - and besides, no rabbit would have such sharp little claws," Ehan finished, wishing to justify himself.

Koran's face darkened and he leant back, half enveloped in shadow, spinning his fine, precious dagger absently between his fingers with unconcious skill. "Claws can attack both ways..." he murmured, watching the group.

"Hmm?" Ehan raised his eyebrows, and Koran was caught by the simplicity of his expression as he munched on a mouthful of food. He blinked a few times and shook his head quickly, his dagger coming to a halt between his dark hands to fit snugly into the palm of one hand more easily than any glove as he leant forward casually, his face clearing as the light illuminated it once more, out of the shadows.

"No...no matter, Ehan. Just musing. I am curious - have you served with orcs or uruks before?" The way the question was phrased seemed simple enough, but underneath it Koran was inquiring to other matters: such as how much fighting experience the young man actually had...