[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Grash and Aldor scrambled about the edges of the cavern, desperate to find a way out, but every passage, every crack, had been sealed over with the stinging webs of their terrible foe. In the darkness behind they could hear the muted sounds of combat, mixed into a monstrous kind of harmony with the rough sliding of the beast’s body over the stones and the creak of her giant limbs. Grash whirled at the cry of agony and tried to pierce the eternal night of the realm, but all he could make out in the scattered lights of their now discarded torches were shadowy forms scurrying about beneath the ominous bulk of the monster. Grash saw one of the smaller shapes fall and the creature dove for it, but then a flurry of activity seemed to catch her up and Grash stared in amazement as the Elf stepped forward, brandishing his bow. It was madness! He would be crushed by the beast and there was no hope for him.

“Come on!” Aldor hissed in his ear. “Let us find a way out! We can come back and tell the others!” Grash nodded dumbly, but at the back of his mind he thought of the females Darash and Lyshka. They should find them first. He turned to the Man to explain when the cavern was filled with a sound of primordial agony and hatred. They whirled about, reaching with terrified hands to cover their ears in vain attempts to block out the piercing shriek. They stared in disbelieving awe as Shelob staggered back from the Elf, one of her legs now dangling from her body by no more than a strip of her plated shell. How he had accomplished it, they could not tell, but before they could put any more thought into it, they saw prostrate upon the floor of the cavern two forms – two forms that the beast was once again advancing, clearly intending to make of them her easy prey.

Grash stared in horror as she loomed over the Dwarves and in a flash it dawned upon him that it was he who was responsible for their deaths. He had freed them and brought them here, to serve as bait so that he could escape. If he had not led them, they might have been able to find some other path, and while he had no hope that they would have escaped Mordor, at least their deaths would have been of their own choosing and not his. He felt shame, then, but without being able to explain it. Instead, he raced toward them, little thinking what he could do to aid them, but determined to try.

Orcs used others in the way that he had tried to used these Dwarves. And if nothing else, Grash was determined to prove that he was no orc.

The monster had raised herself above the Dwarves, and was readying all her massive bulk to crush down upon them, when Grash reached their prostrate forms. The stench of the beast was overwhelming, choking him and bringing stinging tears to his eyes. He tried first to drag the Dwarves away, but there was no time, for she was about to strike. But then, as though by a stroke of unlooked for luck, Grash saw that she had been wounded in the belly. A small gash, no more than a hand’s width, had laid open her armoured underbelly, but from the steady trickle of ooze that came forth, he could tell that it was a deep wound. Before he had time even to think, Grash drew his sword and thrust it up at the wound. The steel easily passed through the gape into the tender flesh underneath, and twisting the sword about he sought to gut the monster. Again she screamed and threw herself away from her prey, landing on her remaining seven legs and preparing to spring. Grash stood his ground, knowing that hope was now lost.

A flurry of cries sounded and from the side of the cavern flew several forms, led by the copper-skinned might of the woman Darash. They attacked the monster’s legs, hacking at her with all their might. Who they were precisely he could not tell, and he did not have the time to watch any longer. Seizing Brór under the arms he dragged the Dwarf toward the side of the cavern, hoping to keep him from harm’s way there. Aldor appeared and bent to take Dorim but then he came to Grash’s aid. “No no!” Grash said, gasping at the weight of his burden. “Other Dwarf. Bring other Dwarf!”

Aldor shook his head. “He is dead,” he said quietly.

Rhând

Seeing the two dwarves lying on the cold ground, the young Haradrim swallowed. Grash had already headed over, and was now grabbing Brór by the arms and dragging him towards a safe corner in the cavern. Rhând went unwillingly, and fairly hesitant, to take the other. He took the dwarf's hands, eyes filled with disgust, immediately understanding that something was wrong. The petty little creature was covered in blood, and his pale face revealed his fate.

"You darned fool!" Frowning, Rhând looked at the dwarf shaking with anger. Again, it seemed like an impossible task to earn his freedom and again serve Him. Already, there was one man down. And realising that only one night hadn't passed since they had escaped, he sighed miserably. Was it possible to go on for days in this land without the whole lot of them getting killed? The thought of returning to Him with only two or three prisoners out of twelve in total, didn't sound very promising. On the other hand, would this dwarf really be missed? By the look of him, Rhând guessed that he was of no worth, but still it bothered him. "Breathe you disgraceful hound!" he muttered. It became clear to him, however, that he had more concerns. The dwarf was one thing, but he was dead and nothing could be done about it. Then another thing bothered him even more: the women. He would have to focus on them now. First priority, he thought. They knew he had taken suverah, and that he hadn't used it to overcome Shelob. Surely, they had to be suspicious when it came to his behaviour and especially why he didn't use it against the monster. He would have to take care of them as soon as they escaped the spider, before they told anyone else.

Rising from his position, he trudged over to Grash's side, eager to know what had become of Brór. "One more dead fool and my chances will be ruined," he said under his breath as he settled himself down with Grash.

"Bring other Dwarf!” Grash looked at Rhând, or Aldor as he knew him, and pointed at the other dwarf. Stupid twit, Rhând thought to himself, turning his attention to the body again.

With great effort he managed to press forwards that Dorim was dead. He tried to look into Grash's eyes, but it was hopelss.The whole thing, Rhând realised, was so ironic that he was just about to break into a great laughter. If it hadn't been for the cloth, which still was tied to his face, the other prisoner would have seen the gigantic smile of his.