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Thorvel looked appraisingly at Calenvása. Something had... happened with him over the past few days, and Thorvel was trying to figure out what it was. Thorvel did not like it one bit that Calenvása had let Ambarturion take charge. He did not like Ambarturion particularly; the other Elf had come into their band, assumed charge, and started giving orders as if he had done it all along! Worse yet, Calenvása had let him do it, and that was what truly bothered Thorvel. He trusted Calenvása, but he was beginning to doubt the rightfulness of that trust. Thorvel did not want to be on his own again, but he did what he had to do, and he would not follow a leader he did not trust. That certainly ruled Ambarturion out, and Targil as well. Still, he did not let go of trust lightly or easily, and decided to give Calenvása a few days.
At this point, combat with the Orcs seemed inevitable to him, and though it grated with him somewhat to be doing what Ambarturion had said - or ordered, rather - he took his bow in hand so that he would be ready should the Orcs come upon them at any time soon. Ambarturion would learn soon enough that Thorvel only followed orders if it seemed wise for him to do so, and not always then. That brought to mind the greater scheme of things. The Elves would likely all be travelling together back to Lórien, and even at the greatest possible speeds it would still take a few days. It would be a long few days, if the past hour or two were any indication.
Thorvel became aware of the silence that had stretched over the three Elves - Targil had gone over to the others and was talking to them. Targil looked less wary of Ambarturion than Thorvel felt, but similarly seemed unsure of how to take Coromswyth. Before he could continue with his observations, however, his ears caught the sound of a stick snapping in the surrounding trees. He whirled towards the sound and at the same time fitted an arrow to his bowstring. He had very little doubt of what it was. He saw a flash of black armor gleaming in a patch of sunlight, and loosed his arrow at the point.
“We’re under attack!” he called out, as if it were really necessary; all the Elves had seen his arrow and were instantly ready. Very little mattered to him then; it seemed nothing existed but himself, his bow, and his target. A volley of black feathered arrows came from the trees: both from in front and behind. The Elves with bows returned the shots with their own arrows, and Thorvel was certain he had taken out at least a couple Orcs. He rarely missed. He found himself back-to-back with Calenvása, and the thoughts floated on the periphery of his mind that it was nice to know his back was guarded. The thought floated away, and he concentrated on staying alive and killing Orcs - nothing more.
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