‘What to do? What to do?’ He’d told Aiwendil he could come up with something to help against the slavers who would soon be on their way. The problem was he really hadn’t an idea of what that help might be.
Rôg hunkered down behind the little piling of rocks, his back squirming about to find some comfortable place to rest against. He reached out with his right hand and scooped up a handful of small pebbles. One by one he tossed them out onto the dirt a little ways away from him. One of them, by chance, hit a small, old, hallowed log half buried in the dry, brown grasses. A low, angry sound swelled from the opening of the log and several, large winged insects flew out, intent on finding the attacker.
Hornets!
Rôg sat stock still, eyes shut, breath held, as they buzzed near him. He let out a long breath as the sound of their angry drone drew away from him. A smile creased his face as he nodded thoughtfully.
Where there is one nest, there will be others. All I have to do is find them.
With a single, fluid movement, he stood up, shaking the dirt from his cloak. In a moment he was flying northward, in the direction Aiwendil had taken.