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"Er... Wilhelmina? I think we have a little problem here."
"Yes," she looked back, wrinkling her nose in disgust, "I can smell him too."
"I weawwy mutht obzhect!" the orc squealed back. "I-"
"Quiet!" Fléin roared at him. "You, back seat, minimal noise. What do you not get?" The kamuraorc sulked in response, allowing Fléin to turn back to Wilhelmina. "That wasn't, in fact, the problem I was referring to. Er... I don't smell too, do I?"
"What was the problem you meant then?" she responded rather diplomatically.
In response the Dworc pointed at the fuel gauge. It was only about a quarter full. "155 miles at best. 95 at worst."
The pair sat for a little, contemplating. By this time, all the other cars had gone - Alli in that little French Car with no Guts; Panakeia, Valde, Mardil and Sai in the other four Cruisers.
"95 miles isn't that bad. I'm sure there'll be a petrol station on the way. It's only... how far to Mount Doom?"
"225 miles. And I wouldn't count on petrol stations along the way, not in this blasted land."
They debated a little longer, hoping the smog would clear, though it only appeared to get worse as time went on. The idea of siphoning off fuel from the four remaining Little French Cars seemed best, though they needed some method of doing so, and, according to Fléin, there was none without the use of extremely specialised equipment.
"We'll just have to brave it and hope for the best then," Fléin finished, and, turning the key in the ignition and pressing a pedal, proceeded to cause the car to hiccup a lot in a vaguely forward direction.
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