[Firefoot]

In the past couple of days, Grask had run a full gamut of emotions – adventurousness, nervousness, curiosity, trepidation, satisfaction – but not until this point had he felt any true fear. His search for the females had been outstandingly unsuccessful; he had not even found a footprint or a bag left behind. To all appearances, they had simply disappeared. Grask wondered if they might have simply up and left, tired of the males’ drinking and lazing about. Up until a little while ago, he could have cared less, but now, with all the males held captive in the pit, it meant he was alone.

Completely, helplessly, alone.

Not to mention wet and miserable.

He had hunkered down beneath a squat thorny tree after his initial failure to locate any of the others, both in hopes of remaining hidden from the men and as at least a token shelter from the rain which had begun to fall steadily a little while ago. The tree was no match for a nice, dry cave however, and before too long Grask felt soaked to the bone and chilly.

Then he had heard what sounded like Orkish voices not too far away and felt a gleam of hope return. Before he could get up to join them, however, he heard more shouts and a commotion in the direction of the camp. After that he heard no more Orc voices or rustling in the bush. He could only guess that Ishkur and his mates had been captured like the rest.

And he could only guess that all the Orcs that had been captured would be killed. He did not know why they simply had not already killed them and had done with it, if that was what they were going to do anyway, and Grask saw no other alternative.

So where did that leave him? Even if he were not found, he would be left on his own out here in the wilderness. He had no idea where he was, and was not even sure of the direction from which they had come. Oh, sure, he could survive out here for a while, but without a larger group he wouldn’t last long.

He might die out here.

He was afraid.