Dashing through the trees at full pelt, Taurthol cut his leg on a twig that was sticking out in his path. He paid no heed to it but kept on running. Soon he began to tire, the track was beginning to fade, and many feet had trampled it, all running in different directions.
Eventually, with much toil and anguish he came to where the rest of the party were. Many who saw him marvelled that he had caught up with them; he had green slime on his tunic and many cuts and burses. Some came to him offering aid, but he politely declined and came to the king.
"My lord, I have news," he panted "These spiders are not invincible. I have killed three of them, I bare wounds from them and they are not fatal." Thranduil turned to him in slight astonishment.
"Three?" he said, "By you?"
"Nay lord, with the help of Tálmor, but he is slain." Taurthol shook his head, suddenly remembering the grief, "I think we can destroy theses monsters, or at the least force them back to their lairs."
"How?" asked a near by elf, "You may have killed three, but that is only a few leaves in a forest, if you see what I mean."
"I did not say it was an impressive total." said Taurthol turning back to the king, "The best method, I think, is to detract them while others cut from them their weapon, their stinging tail. Then they will be weakened and discouraged. Thus our chances will be increased."
"I must think on this," replied Thranduil "The men may not like it."
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