God of middle-earth (14/n)

Dundro exercised significantly less caution heading back for Hobbiton. Having not seen a sign of the enemy on his way here, he was confident that the same would be true on the way back. Little did he know how wrong he was.

Dundro had now convinced himself that his plan was in retrospect, far too paranoid. Maybe he had been dreaming things. After all, he did not have any evidence that the Orcs were hunting him specifically, right? Yes, okay, the sword lying amongst Farmer Sandy’s corpse was a giveaway, but that didn’t really say much about their target, didn’t it? And it wasn’t as if regular Orcs, with their dismal intelligence, were even capable of coordinated attacks. Comforted by these thoughts, he marched on.

Meanwhile, a few bushes away, the two Orc scouts had moved into position. Hobbits walk quietly, thereby concealing themselves from detection. That is, detection from regular Orcs and other ‘lesser beings’. But these Orcs were the elite. To their heightened senses Dundro was like a mobile circus to them. They had already been following Dundro since he had first step foot into the cornfield. They stalked him with practised ease, awaiting further instructions from the Albino, though they knew full well that they could slaughter Dundro and recover their precious cargo before he even realised he was dead.

Dundro marched ahead, whistling to himself merrily, pushing aside cornstalks. Suddenly, a pungent smell filled the air. He breathed loudly and the scent wafted down his nostrils. He stopped and frowned. He placed a hand on Sting and drew it. The blade shone electric blue. Immediately, Dundro took in the nature of the suurounding. Without a second thought, he fled, purposefully concealing the sound of his footfall, Sting in his hand.

Meanwhile, the Orc scouts had received the scent. They prowled, and gave chase. There was a silent communication between them. The game was on.