[Thenamir]

Thenamir rose, heaving great gulps of air trying to recover from his near-suffocation. The wargs were now much fewer in number than when the battle was joined and the remainder seemed to be in retreat, but looking around Thenamir spied a good number of their company who were wounded and needed care. He barely had time to nod a grateful thank-you to Gurthden before he heard Baranthol's cry, "To the horses!" What little advantage they had over the Dunlendings depended in large part on the speed of their horses. They had been so busy defending themselves against the wolf-onslaught that the horses had had to fend for themselves. Thenamir grabbed Gurthden by the arm and ran, sword arm still swinging at wargs, to where the horses had been picketed.

The grim sight that awaited them was not easy to take. Several wargs lay where the horses had lauched mighty kicks at them in defense -- a few who merely had their ribs crushed still breathed, but were unable to move. Of the horses, though, not one remained. Not one. Thenamir's own Windwight lay lifeless, with horrendous gashes and open wounds. Baranthol knelt beside his own mount silently weeping. Thenamir turned away, both his explosive anger and his stomach threatening to well up again.

In turning Thenamir noticed something in the pale light coming from the campfire some yards away. One of the injured-but-not-yet-dead wargs had been trying to creep away unseen, the leader who was first seen in the firelight. Thenamir stepped close to the dying animal, who looked up into Thenamir's face with a scowl, and spoke.

"Have mercy...and slay me quickly...tark...end my suffering..."

Thenamir stifled his surprise and replied, "I will grant you this boon if you will tell me your master and your purpose. Otherwise I and my companions will end your days by throwing you into yonder fire!"

The warg emitted a weak growl of rage that faded into a whimper of agony. "Saruman...can do no more to me now...kill you if possible...slow you at least...aid Stor...wolos and...Dundlendings...now slay me, as you promised."

No matter how evil the beast, Thenamir could not watch it suffer. Thenamir raised the notched and bloodied Aranbold and gladly mingled the beast's blood with that of his comrades, but not without pause. A noble beast, one even to speak like Huan of old -- bred and tricked and turned to evil from birth by forces he knew not, for purposes he could not comprehend.

Thenamir then raised his head and began to walk slowly back to where the others were tending each other, wrapping gashes, setting broken limbs -- makeshift medicine, and how Thenamir hated it, all the more since the death of Aspida, the healer who might have joined them except for these barbaric servants of Saruman. It was a miracle any of them had survived this long, and Thenamir wondered how many would remain alive after tonight.