[Mad Baggins]

Beroth lifted his sword to deliver a fatal blow and stopped in mid-air. The sun was peeking over the horizon and the trolls had fallen silent. Tentatively, he touched one of the trolls and felt stone beneath his fingers. Relief flooded through his body as he raised his sword in a gesture of victory. Wiping his bloodied sword upon his tunic, he suddenly remembered the cut he had received earlier in the night. Pressing his hand to his forehead, he felt a long gash caked in blood.

He turned to see how the others had fared and noticed two still figures on biers. One of them he recognized as Anga, but the other...Nuwethion?

Beroth's eyes filled with tears as he joined the procession, trudging solemnly behind the biers. They were laid to rest respectfully and the Rangers and Elves dispersed among the camp. Beroth wiped his forehead with his dirtied sleeve, unmindful of his injury. The cut opened and blood began to trickle down his face.

Wincing, Beroth pulled a small fabric bag out of a pocket and opened it. He pulled out a leaf of athelas and replaced the bag. Then he pushed the leaf into his cut and pressed the sleeve of his tunic against it. His eyes watered as the leaf stung, but it subsided and became a soothing coolness instead. Beroth wandered over to where a group of rangers sat and let himself fall to a sitting position, filled with grief over the loss of their comrades.