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

Chapter 10: Hunted

   It was dawn once more when Eldahir woke. Caledorn merely looked at him, got up, and immediately began running. Eldahir shook his head and took off after him. Do elves ever get tired? He thought the answer was probably no.

   They ran for several hours, continuing through the autumnal forest until they reached a small ravine. Caledorn stopped and began searching along the side of the ravine, every now and again peering over the edge into the forest below. Eldahir wanted to ask what the elf was looking for, but he didn't want to be a bother. Instead, he watched the elf intently, trying to figure it out himself.

   Caledorn crouched down beside a small rock, turning to Eldahir with what might have been construed as a triumphant expression, though had anyone else made it Eldahir would have assumed they had just tasted something unpleasant. He tapped it and nodded, then signaled Eldahir to follow him. He did this at several other places, and Eldahir finally just decided to ask.

    "What exactly are you looking for?"

   The elf seemed a little surprised, and turned back to Eldahir. "There are few alive who can find the haven of Imladris. We are drawing near now but we must find the path. There are white stones that mark it. These are not ordinary stones, and are not easy to find. Only those welcome in the House of Elrond will see them." He turned away and began looking again. He went to a tree and brushed some dead leaves away from the base of it with the end of his bow, revealing a dull white stone.  

"Stones like that." Caledorn pointed at it and continued on for short distance, pointing out several more obvious stones. Eldahir tried to help the elf, but Caledorn seemed to already have a general idea of where they were. Suddenly he stopped.

Before them was a giant chasm. A river ran lazily at the bottom and its shores were dotted with yellow and gold trees. The path seemed to have ended abruptly though. Eldahir looked around. He didn't see it continuing anywhere. 

Caledorn saw his confusion and stood beside him. "You looked to either side, and in front of you and behind you. But did you look down?" The elf pointed to the drop-off right in front of Eldahir. He looked down carefully. Below him was a winding path leading down the cliffside, descending down to the forest below.

Caledorn looked at him expectantly. Eldahir looked back for a moment, then climbed down to the trail. They traveled along it for a little while, then came upon a tunnel of carved stone. They carefully navigated it, having to squeeze through sideways at several points. They finally reached the end, and Eldahir gasped in awe at what he saw. In front of him was Rivendell, the Hidden Valley of the Elves.

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The Orc picked up a blood-soaked leaf. He put it to his lips and tasted it, his nose scrunching up. 

"Tark* blood!" The Orc said to his comrades. 

The other orcs looked to their leader and growled. The captain licked his lips in anticipation.

"Man flesh," he hissed.

"Be not overly excited at the prospect of a meal, orc," A noble voice interrupted, causing the small band of orcs to turn to face the newcomer. 

There were two men standing before them, cloaks of midnight black cast over their broad shoulders. Both men wore helms of iron that framed their pale faces, making them appear cruel and inhuman. They carried longbows and sharp short swords were sheathed at their sides. The man who had spoken first stepped forward, and the orc captain drew back in deference. 

"How old is the blood?" The man asked, raising his chin imperiously.

"About two hours." The Orc spat. "He can't be far. We should have him soon."