bravehearted

THE MINSTREL found himself leaning against the trunk of a tree – hands pressed against his wounds, fat tears dribbling down his face. He was normally not one to cry, but to be suddenly accosted by orcs should be ample reason for his tears. Lindir squeezed his eyes closed, breathing harshly through the pain – he knew he should’ve trained more for scenarios like these, but he had underestimated the orcs && he was paying for it now.

        The PASSAGE back to Rivendell through the mountains was bound to be ROUGH, but Glorfindel had not expected an ambush of this SIZE. A group of perhaps ten Orcs would not have been an issue if the group they traveled in was larger, but they were only two. If he had not had his bow so close to him to dispatch arrows QUICKLY into the skull of each of the foul creatures, they would surely both be DEAD.

       Unsheathing his SWORD to put an end to the last of the beasts, Glorfindel ran the blade through its chest in one SMOOTH movement. He remained mostly unscathed, other than a shallow cut on his right CHEEK. With the way that his heart was racing from such an encounter, he could hardly FEEL it. He turned SWIFTLY, looking around for Lindir in the small clearing. The Minstrel’s distinct BROWN head was visible near the treeline, and it did not take long for Glorfindel to rush towards him, making light work of hopping over the BODIES beneath his feet. His arrows could be retrieved later, should he find any of them to be salvageable.