* On reading his new orders, Borleg crinkled Saruman's parchment until it was as wrinkled as the wizard's face. The Dunlending warrior clenched his teeth into a scowl gritty from where the wind sprayed stray grains of sand. So then, they were to sit and wait. Let the weight of The White Hand fall where it would, do most of the work against the forgoil. Personally, Borleg didn't mind leaving tasks to others. But his men would be itching to fight tonight, deprived of the battle and booty they'd been gearing up for. Might turn on each other. Borleg would watch his back. Sighing, he called his men together and explained the change of strategy in a gruff voice. *
* Using the mutes as bait/distraction was no longer necessary. The aged sign-language interpreter told them through gestures to stay together with the Dunlendings now, lay low, and continue to observe while keeping hid, as the warriors kept alert, ready to wield weapons at the first sound of a Horse-Man's hoofbeat. *
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