From the North Downs: Chapter V

Hayorda pressed her back up against Wosi's, baring her teeth as she thrust and parried. Blood streamed from a wound in her calf, but she refused to acknowledge this. Her life, and the lives of her loved ones, were at risk; she couldn't allow herself any distraction. All about lay the bodies of those who had fallen, both Orcs and Men and still the Orcs pushed closer, hemming in the survivors. 

The auburn hair of Nathan Hodge could be seen peaking up above the others in comical contrast to the hobbit by his side. Or it would have been comical, had the situation not been so dire. There were few enough Hobbits in Annundir, and at any other time the former Blackwold would have been interested in asking about the lands she had left all those years ago. But not now; not when death surrounded them. 

She regretted that she had allowed Wosi to stay rather than sending him off with the rest of their family. Or that she hadn't returned from woodcutting sooner, so that they could have left earlier. But would that have been enough? The ambush may have been waiting for them all day. She gritted her teeth as she disemboweled another Orc, twisting her knife into its belly and then tugging it out again. The body fell at her feet and she kicked it out of the way, tripping another Orc. 

Then a shout went up from the Orcs. It was not a shout of victory, but one of surprise. Hayorda glanced up, her expression briefly flickering into one of relief; there bearing down upon their foes were the guardsmen of Trestlebridge. And from the direction of Fornost three more figures made haste: Two men (one in the garb of the Rangers) and a dog loped down the slope from Amon Raith, howling a battle cry. 

The presence of armed and alert guardsmen proved a deterrent; One of the Orcs issued harsh instructions and the attackers retreated, pursued by the Trestlebridge guard. Wosi followed after, spending the last of his arrows picking off the fleeing Orcs. 

Hayorda sighed and dropped to one knee, pressing a hand against her injured calf. The man who had come with the ranger hurried to her side. 

"Are you well?" He asked gently. She recognized him as one of the Peake's farmhands. She hoped that her neighbors had escaped safely; she hadn't seen them in the chaos. "Ah. Pothlír. I'm fine. Just....a scratch." 

"A scratch can easily be infected." Pothlír chided. "Let me check to be sure there's no poison." 

Hayorda ground her teeth but sat perfectly still as the blond man cut away at her pants to reveal her wound, inspecting her carefully. The ranger's dog trotted up to sit beside them, sniffing at her in greeting. 

"Amarion has a refuge set up at Amon Raith." Pothlír commented as he worked. 

"I'm going to Trestlebridge." Hayorda gasped as his fingers prodded her calf. "My family fled that way." 

Pothlír nodded absently. "Back, Iorhu," He warned the dog as a slobbering tongue came dangerously close to licking Hayorda's face. "Then allow me to bandage you up and you may be on your way." 

Hayorda sighed. The ranger, Amarion, was tending to Nathan Hodges; the hobbit was nowhere to be seen, now. Another of the Peakes' farmhands, who had his arms wrapped about a large chest, hovered anxiously nearby. How he had managed to not get himself killed with such a burden in tow was beyond Hayorda, but she was glad enough to see anyone alive after that ambush. Agnes Martlet and her niece Idaline were searching through their broken wagon for the few goods they had brought along. Hayorda was sure that Agnes had left behind most of her belongings; she never was one to take threats to her home as anything more than an inconvenience. 

"When Wosi returns we shall be on our way. But thank you for your kindness." The smile she flashed Pothlír was genuine. "Without your help we would have been lost indeed."