[The Ruling Ring]

Fededhor looked after Donlamir as they left, then turned back to the others.

"We must wait here, I am afraid," he said. "Or somewhere where they will be able to find us again," he swallowed hard, thinking of his family, trapped in the dark, with the orcs. "My mind tells me that it is folly to merely bide our time with the orcs, yet I do not believe we should advance without the others. It would only result in the sheding of blood, ours and the prisoners'. If any of you disagree, please tell me what you think we should do," he bowed his head.

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"AFTER THAT TARK SCUM!!!" Pirk roared, leaping to his feet in the muddle, bloodied by the broken skin at his knee that had resulted from his being shoved. He took off in pursuit of the person, panting more in fury that strain. Suddenly, a burst of dust flew up into his face, digging into his eyes. Pirk gave another roar, rubbing at them furiously with one hand, hearing Unglusch roar behind him, hailing some of the orcs to come.

Pirk opened his eyes to a bleary vision of three slight human forms, their little weapons in their hands. None of them looked like prisoners, but at least two of them looked like soldiers of Gondor.

Tarks, Pirk thought again. Tarks for the kill.