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

Chapter 2: The Darkness in the Forest

A low pitched howl rumbled through the forest, shaking Gerithor from his peaceful slumber with a start. The forest around him was eerily silent, a thin veil of mist hanging in the still night air. Through it, Gerithor thought he saw a large shape like that of a wolf standing at the top of the hill. Though it was too dark to see it clearly, he thought he saw the firelight glinting off of two hungry eyes.

Just then another howl, further off and higher pitched, answered. A chill went down Gerithor's spine as he saw the shape at the top of the hill quickly disappear behind a tree. He rushed back to the campsite and poured water on the dying embers of the fire, stomping out the stray flames the remained. Grabbing his bow, he crouched beside Aragorn, who was fast asleep.

"Wake up!" Gerithor whispered hoarsely as he shook his cousin, attempting to wake him. Aragorn's eyes flashed open, and he immediately reached for his sword.

"What is it?" He said, seeing the fear in the younger ranger's eyes. Gerithor didn't have to answer for at that moment another chilling howl pierced the silence, much closer this time.

"Quick, into the trees!" Aragorn murmured urgently. Gerithor immediately ran to a large, sturdy pine tree and sprang lightly up to its lowest branch, helping Aragorn up when he reached it. They had ascended the tree just in time, for a muscle-bound black warg stepped into the clearing at that moment, its dark fur bristling. It raised its powerful muzzle into the misty night air as it sniffed, attempting to find the scent that had brought it there. Another warg came into the clearing from the opposite direction. This one was smaller, and its face was covered with deep, pale scars. It seemed to be blind in one eye, and its head was constantly tilted to one side to compensate. The two wargs met at the campfire, which was still smoldering despite Gerithor's best efforts to put it out. They sniffed at the burnt wood, their nostrils flaring as they attempted to pick up a scent. When they were unsuccessful they began searching the rest of the clearing, looking for any sign of the rangers. The smaller warg poked around in the bushes, slowly getting closer to where the rangers had hidden the dead buck.

"Please don't find it, please don't find it," Gerithor breathed, his heartbeat thumping loudly in his ears.

It took a moment longer, but eventually it came to the deer, snarling and giving two short barks. The jet black warg let out a howl, and the smaller warg joined in the mournful, yet frightening, sound.

Gerithor exchanged a frightened glance with his cousin as three more wargs trotted into the clearing. To the surprise of both rangers, riding upon the back of the largest was a Man, cloaked in black and wearing a helm of iron. Gerithor shivered involuntarily, for a dark energy surrounded the newcomer and filled the clearing. A mask partially covered his face, but despite this Gerithor could see intense, almost inhuman blue eyes scanning the campsite.

"Grishna, Daro!" The man exclaimed as he glared at the smaller warg, who was digging at a mouse hole under a tree. "Man caral?!? Ego!" The smaller warg shrunk in fear and ran away into the forest. The Man's voice was deep and filled with menace, echoing through the trees.

Elvish. The man was speaking Elvish. Gerithor felt a chill go down his spine at the realization; This man was no mere bandit or marauder. He was something far worse, though what exactly, Gerithor did not know.

Suddenly, two more wargs trotted into view at the other side of the clearing. Another Man, clothed in rusty iron armor and wearing a bearskin cloak, sat atop one of them. He had a ragged dark beard and was covered in dirt. White markings covered his body, though whether they were tattoos or warpaint was unclear. Gerithor thought that the man probably smelled terrible. "Le suilon!" The man said in a deep, gravelly voice.