York-ie felt like he never felt in all his days, both those years in torment and labor, and those few weeks of freedom; he felt sadness. No wound that had ever inflicted his skin hurt more then the piercing sadness through his heart. Gordon and Dok were two Dwarves out of the company who York-ie felt did not care he was an Orc, and now they were gone. A tear dripped from is eyes. And suddenly, his orcish instincts raged out of him like a flood, and his sadness turned to anger.
He roared and ripped Rulldon’s axe out of its sheath. York-ie began to beat the ground with the weapon and cutting down limbs off trees with one swoop! His anger was furious and couldn’t be stopped; but after a few moments his meager amount of energy was drained, and he fell to the ground, weeping. He rubbed his eyes fiercely, unable to adapt to the sensation of tears. Never had he cried before, and never had he lost someone who he cared for; he had never felt any compassion for a being, and when he grew fond of Gordon, it was his first time. And now, he felt the pain and agony of loss, and it only brought back his orcish anger and hatred that was hoped to be gone forever.
`Hows, hows did they die?’ Asked York-ie.
`They drowned,’ replied Rulldon. “Gordon and Gurwick were swept downstream, and drowned. Dok ran after them, and never returned. Khadum and Oli did the same. We waited for them, but our time was running short, we couldn’t wait any longer.’
`Hows far are we from the rivers?’ asked York-ie.
`A day’s journey,’ Rulldon said. `We must continue on, we are already in the back of the line. I am sorry, York-ie. I wish I could give you all the time needed to morn for the lost, however we must press on.’
`I am no weak fools!’ angrily said York-ie, hissing, with spit spraying from between his teeth. `I will run to Lonely Mountains if I must! Do not treat me as a child that is learning freedom for the first time!’ York-ie stood and walked in line with the Dwarves, cursing and spitting.
Bordon lead the company at the front of the line, with his hand resting on the hilt of his axe, and his beard tied close to his chest, so not to get tangled in the ever thickening brush. He wondered when, or if the forest ever ended… looking up he saw no light coning through the canopy of leaves, and the path cut into the thick forest for as far as the eye could pierce. The company felt everything seemed to get closer around them, falling over the path until all who traveled on it would be caught and strangled in the vines and boughs.
Bordon, as he walked, began to think about Gordon, and all the times they spent as children, running through the Dwarven halls, their laughing voices echoing into the depths of the mountains. Gordon always kept Bordon safe, protecting him no matter what trouble they got into… and when the time came that Gordon needed protection, Bordon couldn’t give it. This haunted the Dwarf, chewing at his mind, causing him grief and dismay. He looked down at his feet and didn’t bother to look ahead, watching the mist float among the trees. All he wanted was to watch the memories of his brother being played in his mind; the mission did not matter, the wars were forgotten, and the company’s status was of little interest.
Suddenly, as quickly and quietly as a morning breeze, the company had the tips of arrows pointing down at them, and just as fast as they lifted their arms in surrender, they were completely surrounded…