The mighty hammer Metiquetta swung once more, and another orc fell. The remaining few fled in all directions, like leaves scattered to the wind. For they saw the fire of battle in the eyes of the bloody handed elf that stood over their fallen people. And they knew their doom was at hand if they did not retreat before the hammer was raised again to strike.
Many of those foul folk already lie dead at the feet of Turmagor, and he was no closer to weariness then when first he ambushed and took up his weapon. He now set his great hammer's head upon the ground and rested his hand upon the upturned haft. Looking over the field, he surveyed the fallen and was pleased. As long as it had been since he last wielded weapon, he had not lost his skill or speed and with his returned strength of old, he felt more formidable than he had since he and his brother had marched under Maedhros. Even so, he was well aware that there were many more evil beings throughout this once great land of Eregion, and it was saddening.
But Turmagor's mind was his own now, and this was not his mission. His eyes were drawn southward, across the river that stood not a league off. Crossing the shallows were one could ford the river, the lands were known as Enedwaith. The Eldar who still dwelt here in Eregion, where the three elven rings were forged long ago, had seen a company of elves pass, well armed and armored bearing the mark of the hammer. Turmagor looked to the afternoon sky but there was no trace of a bird to guide his way this time. The reports the elves of Eregion gave would serve as a general guide, and he would need to watch for other signs or people as he neared his goal.
Lifting Metiquetta lightly, he threw it over his shoulder and he marveled again that it now seemed as light to him as a feather on the wind. A smile crossed his face, for the light within him was of the Elder Days, and he relished in the thrill of battle. All was clear to him, from the brisk wind to the distant sounds of wolves. He was keenly aware of everything that moved or breathed with life, and the haze of shadow no longer held him in thrall.
Raising his head to the afternoon sun, a sharp whistle escaped his lips. Sullaer who was now grazing not far off trotted up to him and nuzzled against his arm. He pat the destrier on his muscular neck and said, "We near the Hammer, my friend. With every day we close the distance, for they must move in an ordered company and we are free to go on so long as our strength endures. I am sorry we must push so, but if we tarry to long, the trail may come to an end. We will make camp when dusk is upon us, but for now we must move with a speed born of the West."
Sullaer whinnied loudly, throwing his head back. Turmagor smiled, as the horse spoke with joy, anxious to greet tomorrow's morning sun on the open road, with the wind singing about him. Sullaer's spirit matched his own, thriving on tests of bravery, strength and endurance. This great steed had borne Turmagor when he and his twin had seemingly earned the right to return to Eriador by defeating the forces that their great enemy had gathered. And he then bore him with pride to the reuniting of him with mother and kin. He would bare him still in glory, now that Turmagor's light had returned and he was strong again.
Securing Mettiquetta into it's place among the belongings Sullaer carried, all was again prepared. Turmagor looked back and said a word in thanks to the elves of Gwingris and Echad Mirobel who had offered shelter and news of his kin. None heard it but the wind, which was enough to satisfy him. He breathed the warm air in and closed his eyes refocusing in his mind on the path he would take. The time for courtesies was done and now only haste mattered.
Turmagor turned his gaze southward once again with a resolute expression upon his face. He pulled the grey elven cloak's hood up, as he now wore the clothes that would help him remain undetected when he was not mounted upon his warhorse.
In the blink of an eye, he pulled himself up lightly onto Sullaer saying, "Let us ride, friend. Whatever doom awaits us shall we meet together. Let us ride now, to our fate!" Turmagor spoke a word to Sullaer and the horse reared up on his hind legs before bolting towards the river and the lands beyond.
