[Bêthberry]

It was not to be. The two women, Lyshka and Darash, had been delayed in their attempts to reach the elves, but they saw that, at least, Zuromor and Raeis were together. Still, they had to reach Morgoroth. The surging, chaotic melee swirled about them, orc rushing after orc, orc breaking rank, orc falling behind, and orc shifting ground and direction, almost fearful of the winged creature now high over head. Darash put her hand on her knife, not the one Grash exchanged with her, but the one hidden under her jerkin, and grabbed tightly the hilt. She looked over at Lyshka and wished they had been able to say more to each other.

Lyshka, did she feel what I felt? Did her skin itche with a thousand pricks of distress and warning as mine does? Darash asked herself. Then she saw something which confirmed her suspicions. She saw in a huddle this man Aldor with orcs, seven of them. They seemed to surround him, but then broke away and, yes, began to tromp over towards her and Lyshka!

Quickly, without thinking, Darash began to pull Lyshka towards her, pushing her head down, and then to duck in and out of several of the marching, swarming orcs near them. Lyshka held back at first, but then caught sight of a deep frown on Darash's face. Something was extremely troubling to the dark-skinned woman and Lyshka decided to follow her direction for the time being.

Then, without warning, Darash pushed Lyshka violently away from her, into two orcs who had been struggling to keep up, but not so violently that the Easterling lost her footing. Then Darash moved back, behind another group of orcs, who, with a bit of indirect nudging, she was able to maneuver towards the orcs who had left this man Aldor and come towards her and Lyshka. The pursuing orcs were confused, for they had lost sight of the two hooded figures the Haradrim had sent them towards. They began to look around, spreading out, but the crunch of the entire orcish swarm made their movements difficult. They lost their quarry and each other.

Darash pretended to stumble and let herself fall even farther behind. With a lurching stealth she came up behind one of the orcs who Aldor had sent, she was sure, out to her and Lyshka. With a sure, quiet movement, her dagger made contact with a small part of the orc's back, small, but devastating. She severed his spinal chord and he fell, silently, with a push from her, which made his fall appear to be just a trip. For good measure, Darash feinged a stumble also. None of his companions nor those around him marked his disappearance with concern.

Darash then changed her demeanour. Rather than shrinking and bending low, she stood erect, even tall, and walked with long, deliberate strides so as to make her look very different. She put her left arm up and around the shoulders of another orc, one she was sure belonged to the seven of Aldor, and directly caught his attention. He was surprised and at first turned to greet this touch as that of one of his companions, showing him the direction. He turned his gaze towards the tall, slender orc and her face was the last thing he saw. Spittle burbled out of his face as his eyes rolled backwards into his head. Darash had slit his throat. Then, she grabbed his body, as if she were helping him along. Orcs parted to let them by and soon forgot about them. When a new group had overtaken them, she swooped down low and let go of the dead orc, moving sideways into the press of stinking bodies. She had lost sight of the other five who had marched towards her and Lyshka, but with lumbering movement she attached herself to a new group. Half screeching and half blustering as if out of breathe, she tired to disguise herself even further as she sought her bearings.

To her left, she caught sight of Lyshka engaged in her own battles. Darash made an oath upon her ancestors that Grash would be told of this. She would not march again with Aldor, she knew that, if she had her way. Yet she knew not if Grash would listen to her. How to make him, she wondered.