After their successful foray into the woods, events did not go well for Brak and his crew. Though they flew from the trees triumphantly, fortune did not continue to smile upon these crebain. As often is the case in battle, elation can turn to sorrow in a mere heartbeat.
By the time Brak had organized his company for the next wave of aerial assaults, it was clear that the horse lords were not going to win this battle. A general retreat had already begun and there was only one small group still engaged in battle. These warriors had arranged themselves in a ring, completely surrounded by orcs, but were doing an adequate job of holding their opponents at bay. Brak decided that he and his crows would be the ones to break the stalemate.
It was a sound decision at the time. The attacking Uruks only needed a small window with which to breach the defenses of the ring. Brak’s crows would provide this distraction. However, the timing of Brak’s decision turned out to be most unfortunate. At the same instance he spurred his comrades onward in a diving attack, a group of Uruks had retrieved their bows and fired a volley of black arrows into the melee.
It was a completely irrational strategy, so Brak never considered it would occur. No trained archer would purposely fire an arrow into an area where he could hit his own colleague. But these were not rational beings. These were Uruks. They were bent on a single purpose: to utterly defeat their enemies. To this end they would not think twice about sacrificing their own kind.
Brak had only a split second to contemplate this as the deadly arrows fell among his company. He squawked to his colleagues to take evasive action and cut hard upwards. Nevertheless, the intently focused crows had trouble shifting purpose that quickly and many could not avoid the arrows. As Brak banked skyward, he did not miss how many of his soldiers went down, black-feathered shafts protruding from their bodies.
When the surviving company circled back to survey the damage, the battle was already over. The arrows had accomplished their purpose, but at a high cost to the crebain. The victorious orcs had already begun to scavenge the spoils for meat, signaling that it was time for the murder to be leaving.
Brak was angrily mumbling to himself about the hazards of being allied with orcs when he caught sight of something that numbed his mind with shock. There on the ground, amongst the mortally wounded crows who could no longer take flight, was Krikaw. He was taking what appeared to be his last meal. Even from this height, Brak could see that one of his wings was completely useless. He almost turned around right then to see if he could help his old friend, but he knew that the honorable way of the crebain was to let Krikaw face his end as he saw fit.
As he continued to fly away from the scene of his friend’s impending death, Brak allowed grief to wash through him. Though he was nearly always in control of his emotions, the shock of the last few events was too much even for this stoic crow. He knew his company would suffer losses, it was inevitable in battle. But, he always just assumed Kirkaw, Pip’kha, Iadoc, and his other friends would be there. The loss of Krikaw was hard to accept. It blasted holes into the curtain of indestructibility that always seem to cover Brak and his friends when they took chances.
Brak may have dwelled upon the stark reality of mortality for some time had duty not brought him back to his senses. There was responsibility that came with being a captain in the murder, which was why Akaaw had chosen him. He needed all his faculties for the upcoming journey. He had allowed himself a brief period of mourning, but that time must end as new challenges awaited. His company would look to him as their leader and he must not let them down. Focus returned to Brak as he formed up his team and prepared to lead them into whatever dangers may lie ahead.
[ January 11, 2003: Message edited by: Anglachel ]
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