[Envinyatar]

Fen Sheperdspurse

Fen had had plenty of time to slip away from the Inn and speak with the Orc chieftain after he’d given his information. The companions had taken a couple of days to make their decisions on the other two places of attack to be investigated. Once done with that, they needed to replenish their provisions. Fen had hung about long enough to confirm they would meet at Weathertop. Late at night, then, he had stolen away, saying he was going to fetch his own horse so as not to slow down the search party.

What small amount of information he had, he passed along to the Orcs. He’d been disappointed, expecting a little reward. But the Orc had leered at him, saying if the information proved true he would be paid well. ‘Just tell me something,’ Fen said, as the Orc turned to go. ‘What do you have planned? Should I be afeard for my own skin?’ ‘Let’s just say this,’ the Orc, said laughing. ‘Once your party gets near the top of Weathertop, I’d say you want to turn tail and run.’

The pony he’d fetched for his purposes came from one of the farmhouses he’d slunk by on his way back to the Inn. A raggedy old grey gelding, but good legs by the feel of them, Fen thought. ‘And we’ll be needing them, my friend,’ he whispered to the pony as he led him away from the ramshackle barn.

-----

The morning of departure had come. Fen walked out of the Inn with Tarondo, a bit disgruntled at having some female Elf to contend with. Elves gave him the shivers anyway, and she, with her cool eyes, unnerved him even more. With little ceremony, the group mounted up. Fen prodded his steed with his bony knees and trailed after Tarondo. He drew back even further as the group left Bree, leaving the others to chatter on. He snorted, looking at them.

Cats with sharp claws and long teeth waiting for you, my little chattery birds! he thought to himself with some satisfaction. His fingers twitched against his reins, already counting his monies . . .

---

Arrival at the Whittleworth Farm . . .

A half day of steady riding brought the companions to the outskirts of Staddle on the southern edge of Chetwood. The three smaller groups then went their separate ways. Fen and his Elven companions would head north just a bit to where the Whittleworth farm was located. The others he recalled were heading further east – one group just beyond the Midgewater Marshes and one the other side of Weathertop. Tarondo reminded the other two groups they would meet at Weathertop in five days time, then each group went their separate way.

‘If we keep riding, we can be at the farm by the middle of the night,’ commented Fen as Tarondo took the lead with Silruth following last. She said she was keeping a lookout for trouble, but Fen had the sneaking suspicion it was him she meant to keep and eye on. ‘Now if I was you,’ Fen went on as he brought his horse alongside Tarondo’s, ‘I wouldn’t want to be riding into the Whittleworth farm in the dark.’ He shook his head and shuddered a little as if he were thinking of the awful events of that previous night. ‘I know a place we can’t shelter for the night, safe like. Then in the bright light of day you can see them grisly things what I was telling you about.’

It was late evening when they cam to the sheltered camp area. Tarondo and Siruth split the watch and the night passed uneventfully. A quick morning meal eaten cold in the saddle the next day and they were off toward the farm. It was well past noon when they cleared the little rise and looked down on the scene of carnage. No one had dared go to the secluded little place since the killings. The bodies lay strewn where they’d fallen. The reek of death washed up the little hill, borne on the afternoon breeze. And here and there, hopping among the fallen were the busy crows and the ravens. They cawed loudly as the three riders approached, declaring their ravenous sovereignty.