[littlemanpoet]

Tharonwe

Taitheneb. Tharonwe had not heard of that Elf. He must be a young shoot out of Lorien, less than a thousand years, likely. The human boy, Ædegard, was a fish caught on his line, and the best they would do was send a dog to find him and bring him back. Tharonwe was best with sight and hearing and thought, not smell; but his servants had excellent noses. He commanded them to draw both human and dog away.

But that was apparently all the dividing of their forces that could be achieved. Tharonwe could not detect any threats laid down by Amroth and the other one, so it must be that they were followed by cowards whose fears overcame loyalty. At least this Ædegard was no coward. A Rohirrim. It would be a good death, so those folk said. It would be a shame that none of his folk would know of his fate; no song would be sung for his heroic death, just a mournful lament for his loss. Fair and well. It was time to call the servants holding the other two women back to him. Divide and conquer had been played out; now it was time for strength in numbers. He made his call.

Jorje Tirril

His paws ate up the trail as he nosed for signs of Ædegard's big one-toe dog. Jorje was used to them, his old waroo had had his very own, as had the rest of the pack. When waroo's days of smelling had come to an end, waroo's one toe dog had been given to a new pack member, and Tirril - for that had been his name then - had been claimed by the strange new waroo of the two legs. But the new waroo was mean. Tirril had run away, had scrounged for himself until red man. Red man was a good waroo, except that Tirril's name from red man had not been aroo. Jorje. He had tried to make it become aroo, but it was not second smell yet. Now it didn't need to anymore; red man now knew aroo, and Tirril was happy.

There was the one toe's scent. Tirril slowed and made sure to keep the scent. It kept to the main path. Woof! No! Tirril stopped. The scent was warmest just off to the side. Yes, there was another path this way. Not as well used. But Ædegard's one toe had gone this way. Tirril ran.

Tirril halted. A new scent. Human female and something else. The something else made him retch. It was foul, not rich like dung. This foulness was of a different kind of rot. But it was growing faint. Tirril ran on. Many paws later, Tirril saw Ædegard's one toe dog ahead, long before he smelled him. This swamp was so thick with odors that an animal scent was dampened. No two leg though. Tirril sniffed around. The one toe looked at Tirril and he snuffled and knickered. Tirril had heard his old two leg pack call it that. One toe was scared, had smelled and heard the foul things too. They sniffed noses. Stay together, Tirril snuffled.

The one toe followed Tirril as he ran down the path, nose to the mucky ground, hard after the scent of Ædegard. It was not right that Ædegard left his one toe behind. And it was not right that the man had passed by the female human smell, for Tirril knew hunting; Ædegard was hunting for the female human, and had lost the scent, which meant that Ædegard was lost. Tirril would have to find him. The big eye in the sky was only a few sniffs above the edge of the world. They ran on.