The Lastborn: A Middle Earth Story(Book 1)(EDITING)

Chapter 1: The Ranger

Dawn came to the West in a fiery hue of orange as the sun's warm rays kissed the snow-capped Misty Mountains in the distance. As the light began to touch the glades and valleys of Eriador, they came alive with the sound of birds and woodland creatures, and the morning mist began to fade from the still air like a thin veil being lifted from the canvas of the world.

But while the rest of the world was just waking up, the Dunedain were already on the hunt. The last remnants of a line slowly fading into memory, their very survival often depended on the success of hunts like these. Two of them silently stalked through the thick underbrush of the valley, crouched low to the ground as they followed the fresh trail of their quarry. Both men wore dark grey cloaks, and black scarves obscured their pale faces. They blended in well to the subdued greens and greys of the valley, moving like ghosts from shadow to shadow.

The taller of the two signaled to the other, his keen silver eyes a shade lighter than the sea-grey eyes of his companion, who was somewhat shorter and slighter-of-build. They both crept forward slowly, making no noise to betray their passing. The smaller ranger nocked a sharp, grey-feathered arrow onto the string of his bow as he saw their prey standing tall in the small glade that lie before them. Their target, a large male deer, was still unaware of their presence. It chewed on a mouthful of grass lazily, its white-tipped tail flicking back and forth.

Leaning close to his companion, the taller ranger barely breathed out his next command. "Take the shot when you're ready."

Giving a nearly imperceptible nod, the smaller ranger narrowed his eyes as he drew back the string of his longbow, the intricately carved hickory barely creaking as it bent back.

The deer suddenly stood stock still, raising its head and looking to and fro. Whether its suspicion was aroused by the sound or some unfamiliar scent, it didn't matter. It was a second too late.

The arrow flew from the string with a sharp whir as it sped ahead. The ranger's aim had been true. The buck leaped into the air, recoiling in surprise as the arrow lodged itself into the soft flesh behind its shoulder. It only took a second longer before the life left him, and he collapsed to the ground.

"Good aim!" The taller ranger exclaimed, clapping his companion on the back in congratulations as they hurried over to examine the deer. By the time they reached it, a pool of blood had already gathered around the wound, its bright crimson color a testament to the skill of the shot. For such a large deer, it had led them on quite a chase; They had tracked it for nearly two full days before they had finally found it in this very clearing.

"Look at the size of it," The smaller breathed, his tone one of astonishment. "It'll feed the entire camp for a week!" He reached for his scarf and lowered it, revealing a young, rugged face that would be considered handsome were it not for the dark circles under his eyes, one of which was obscured by long auburn hair that matched the short, unshaven beard that framed his smile.

"That might be a slight exaggeration," the other laughed as he mirrored his companion's action. His hair, much darker and slightly more greasy, came to his shoulders and was flecked with grey in spots.

"At least admit that it's one of the larger deer you've seen, Aragorn," the younger ranger replied with a smirk as he poked at it with his longbow.

Aragorn nodded, looking the deer over appraisingly. "It's indeed larger than Eldahir's, if that's what concerns you." The last words were said with a knowing glance at his companion.

"I knew it," the younger replied smugly. Eldahir was his best friend, his senior by only a year. Every Dunedan completed certain trials before they were given the title of "ranger", and one of these was to track and hunt a deer without help from anyone. The younger rangers often compared their kills, telling stories about them for years to come.