[Firefoot]

The surviving Orcs arrived back at the camp more or less together in a straggling, drawn out group. Grimkul and Ulwakh were near the back; Grimkul was mostly unharmed, but Ulwakh could barely walk. The bleeding had only let up not stopped, leaving a straggling trail of black blood on the cold ground where he walked. Ulwakh kept up only because he had to - an Orc that stayed behind was not merely left behind but very likely chopped to pieces by other Orcs for sport.

To all appearances, Grimkul was of little help. He provided no shoulder to lean on or any moral support – in fact, he seemed not even to notice Ulwakh at all, keeping up a running monologue about the pushdug Elves and Dwarves. What he did do was threaten with snarl and brandished scimitar anyone who seemed to be entertaining the idea of attacking his weak companion. Thus in his own way did Grimkul show his slightly twisted loyalty and in the same way Ulwakh was appreciative, though he said no word of it.

Though he tried to deny it, Ulwakh was excessively weak from pain and lack of blood by the time they reached their patch of ground. No longer able to support himself, Ulwakh collapsed to the ground, barely retaining consciousness. Wordlessly, Grimkul dug into his pack and pulled out a container of a brownish-colored paste-like substance. He removed a glob of it with his fingers and smeared it on Ulwakh’s wound.

The medicine, if it could be called that, had few if any healing properties. Its chief purpose lay in stopping the blood flow and keeping the wound closed, and it did not work as well in cold temperatures such as these. It also burned like a cold fire upon application, and tended to itch fiercely once it had dried all the way. It was healing of the most rudimentary sort, and its use was the furthest knowledge either Orc had in the topic.

In his passing moments of clear thought, Ulwakh was worried. He knew from his information gathering that the Captain intended to head over the mountains once this attack was over, and he worried that he would be unable to keep up. He would have had enough trouble on a regular basis, but with the strenuous crossing of the passes, he couldn’t even be sure that the wound would stay closed.

But there wasn’t anything that he could do.