[Ransom]

Volkmar lagged behind the group, grasping his warhammer in both hands. He’d seen orcs that would reduce grown men to sniveling cowards and trolls large enough to smash through rock. But this tree thing, this ent, took the preverbal cake. He’d heard a few tales of them, mainly from old men and women reminiscing about the old tales over a tankard of ale. It certainly seemed friendly enough, even offering to lead them out of this forest.

Finding himself without much of a job, the ranger had taken it upon himself to guard their rear. Volkmar lagged about thirty feet behind the main body, stopping every once in a while to listen for pursuers. None came. His mind began to wander into his memory, traveling gray and murky paths.

They had been traveling for three weeks, traveling back towards Rivendell and home. Volkmar, then a simple green soldier, had been in the rearguard when the main body of Rangers stumbled upon a small settlement besieged by orcs. He had drawn his swords along with his mentor and charged, fully expecting a victory.

A sharp pain in his left foot brought him back to reality. Not one of his friends had survived that day. Volkmar began to feel lonely and presently decided to rejoin the rest of the group. He quickly covered the gap and joined the rest of the group, eying the warg with some trepidation.