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It had been perhaps half an hour since they had split; Angóre and Gaeredhel to the north and Rôsgollo and Faerim to the south, and Angóre was starting to get worried again. Half an hour of slogging through this frigid water should have been more than any creature would bear, and yet neither he nor Gaeredhel had spotted so much as a print in the soggy riverbank. Gaeredhel was checking back with his brother with more frequency now, and Angóre could tell that he was bothered as well. But Gaeredhel spoke only to update Angóre on the south parties' progress and Angóre spoke not at all; all his attention focused on the muddy bank.
In the end, it was Gaeredhel who found it. He had been patrolling the western bank while Angóre took the eastern and the prints of a whole troupe of orcs could clearly be seen in the mud on that side, leaving the river and moving off to the woods before continuing northwards. He called to Angóre, who quickly joined him. "I have informed my brother, and they will be rejoining us shortly," he said as Angóre jumped down from his horse. He laughed. "See! The water has proved too cold for them after all! I was starting to get worried. And look, these tracks cannot be more than an hour or two old. We may catch them up during the night tonight, if our luck holds and we are set no more puzzles."
Angóre's face lightened as he examined the tracks. It certainly seemed as though Gaeredhel had the right of it. "Let us continue on then!" He said desicively, "The afternoon wears, and I would catch them before the light is gone entirely; I do not like the thought of tracking in the dark against so cunning a foe. Tell your brother to make haste!"
"Wait a moment!" Gaeredhel cried. "You have missed a piece to this puzzle. Look, some of these tracks are older than others. The captain must have sent scouts ahead of him, and I would know why before we charge ahead."
"What can it matter?" Angóre asked impatiently. "Do you fear an ambush ahead? If they were to set such a trap, we have passed several places to do so, certainly. I think they must be content with their river trick. Come, let us go!"
"I do not know what it is I fear," Gaeredhel responded slowly, "but something about this is not right. We shall continue, but be on your guard! I shall tell Rôsgollo to make haste."
The Elves moved off at a brisk trot, eyes scanning the clear tracks of the orcs as well as the trees ahead. Gaeredhel seemed ill at ease, and his eyes scanned ever the surrounding trees. After a while he spoke. "Rôsgollo has turned away from the river. He cannot be more than a few minutes behind us. Let us wait for him here! A threat is growing in my mind."
But Angóre was unmoved. "We are close now, and I grudge every moment that Lady Betheril and Erenor remain in captivity. Your brother shall find us soon enough, whether we wait or no."
Gaeredhel slowed his horse to a walk. His keen eyes scanned the trees. "Do you not feel it?" He cried "there is danger here! We are being watched by unfriendly eyes. Let us stay!"
Angóre checked his horse and turned, frowning. "I see nothing," he said, giving the trees around them a cursory glance. "I-"
He was interrupted by a black-feathered arrow that buried itself in his horse's shoulder, missing his knee by inches. The beast screamed and reared, throwing the lithe Elf to the ground and taking off through the woods. As though the arrow were a signal, harsh cries rent the still air and dark forms leapt out at them from the trees.
Angóre rolled to his feet, unharmed but dazed as the orcs closed with him...
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