[The Barrow-Wight]

Akaaw glared angrily at Pip’khaw and Iadoc as they flew over the hill, then cackled a quiet insult to himself. The wretched strawhead should have been dead from the deep wounds he had suffered, but its sudden attack had almost killed the big crow. Pip’s arrival had been fortuitous, but it had surprised Akaaw nearly as much as the warrior’s sudden resurrection. Frightened, angered and embarrassed, the old crow had caught the amusement in Iadoc’s eye and would not forget it.

He hovered a moment high above the scene of the event and waited for Fingot and his fellows to approach. At this height, no yellow-hair could harm them, nor could any stray Uruk arrow fly so far. Akaaw watched with pleasure as Pip’khaw led his company in a daring feint that delayed the fresh horse soldiers a while. He cringed slightly and cawed in dismay as several crebain fell, but his attitude improved when he watched Mitikaw’s group miss its mark altogether. Seeing the impertinent sparrow humbled yet again chased all ill feelings against Pip high into the sky where they scattered into the clouds.

“Look how Brak drives the strawheads into the arms of the Uruks,” remarked Fingot, obviously trying to distract attention from his son’s most recent folly.

“Yes,” replied Akaaw. “Brak has many moons of experience and the full confidence of his company. He is a fine and respected bird, whom all under him trust with their lives. Look how he leads them skillfully, but without bravado.”

Fingot croaked that he agreed, but he clacked his tongue to stop any further remark that might escape his beak. It was clear that Akaaw was enjoying the missteps of his son, and the ancient crow was beginning to feel anger creeping into his craw.

The crow chieftain noticed that his comments had bitten deeper than intended, and he tried to lessen the blow by noting, “But look! Brak is too eager and flies to join the others when I commanded him to ‘ware the trees.” He shook his head in an exaggerated gesture of disappointment, watching to see that Fingot was looking. “I guess its up to us to make sure things are done right. Follow.”

Akaaw led the small group of older birds and their servants, no more than 30 crows all together, into a sharp dive that quickly brought them under the dark eaves of Fangorn Forest. Here the battle had already passed, and only corpses and splatters of drying blood showed that there had recently been a fight. A small wind blew among the fallen leaves, but the woodland remained strangely quiet. The noises of the battle still raging not far away were hushed as if miles distant.

The crebain sailed among the twisted branches of the forest, keeping within eyesight of the area cleared by the orc axemen. Akaaw did not want to risk getting too far under the trees, for the trees themselves were unfriendly to vistors that were not invited. The sun was fast heading westward, and the horde would need to roost soon. The last thing everyone would want was to sleep among the high grasses of the plains, and if he could be sure no tree-herders were near, the crebain should be safe among the leaves for one night.