God of middle-earth (5/n)

Phew. Safe at last. Dundro sighed. He noticed the Horde of the Orcs were getting closer. Their unnaturally synchronised marching gradually filled the marsh with a terrifying din. And then came the Orcs.

An Albino was leading the Horde. He struck a terrifying figure, towering over his subordinates atop a Silvermane Warg. His armour was dull, blades keen. The milky white of his skin was criss-crossed with old scars. healing but nevertheless there. The rest of the Orcs matched Frodo's descriptions exactly. Their squarish blades cut the humid marsh air. Some had long spears pointed heavenwards. Their helms were rusted and bent, revealing only their hideous mouths lined with yellowing teeth.

Dundro watched all this from above. As much as he was scared out of his mind, there was something else about the sight that reinvigorated the adventurer in Dundro. He imagined Bilbo, crouched upon a burning bough, looked on by Wargs.

The Orcs marched swiftly, and soon enough, Dundro saw the last in their ranks pass by, leaving only the cacophony of footfalls in their wake. Dundro counted to 100 before feeling safe enough to descend from his arboreal shelter.

And so he did. As soon as he landed upon terra firma, he took off like the wind, making once again for the Brandywine river, hoping to follow it upstream so he could return to the Eastern Road and back to Hobbiton. Thus was his plan.

He followed the Orc tracks back to the Brandywine. But on his way, he spotted a strange article, embedded in the mud. Dundro caught it in his peripheral vision and stopped in his tracks to investigate. He bent over and pulled the object out of the mud, and shook the dirt off of it. His eyes widened. He looked the object over multiple times, trying to discern its purpose. But he could not glean anything from its appearance. It was fascinating to see, but Dundro could not make any sense of it.

What was it?