The spring evening brought with it the damp, and a bright, near full moon. In this woodland, though, the Chetwood, only glimpses of the moon could be caught, but the damp could be felt all around. Up ahead the forest's trees gave way to the light of the moon, and the open ground which parted the Chetwood from the Weather Hills.
He led his horse to a stop just before the break of the tree line, tied the poor mare off to a thick branch as she could not be trusted to wait for him if the time came to flee. That was just one of his regrets. The moon looked down on him, as if it was waiting atop the Weather Hills. He watched the brow of the closest hill, hoping for some hint of his quarry. The chestnut horse beside him brayed and snorted, her ears turning all about in search of the source of her discomfort. She settled, though briefly, and her attention confirmed Ceregadan's assumption. His dangerous prey lay just over the hill.
The stalking began, the grim and already aching ranger skulked his way up the hill, lowering himself to the dusty ground as realisation grappled with his exhausted mind.
Time passed, and a fear of capture ebbed its way into his mind. He needed to watch, that much was clear. His attention never wavered as he listened to foul black speech, and watched as orcs feasted on whatever beasts they could capture with their twisted contraptions. Time flowed into one long blur as the night continued to pass by.
The sun was threatening to rise behind him and he saw an opportunity. Orcs were giving up the night and were retiring to crude tents. Panic struck them.
Chaos took to the camp as an arrow landed close to its mark, then another caught one orc in the arm and a furious shrieking rang out. Swords and daggers were drawn, arrows were notched. Then, the sun showed its first glimmer over the brow of the hill. The orcs themselves were thrown into disarray, though it did not take them long to recover. Another of the ranger's arrows flew and found it mark in an orc's chest and their pursuit began. Ceregadan forced his aching limbs into a run towards the forest, and then north. The haunting cry of his chestnut mare pierced his senses like a nail into wood as a returning band emerged from the tree line, they slaughtered the noble steed and took up the chase with their foul, black-blooded brethren.
