Orc in Ithilien

Orcs were late risers, or so it seemed.   It was long after sunrise when Ludlow left Shagrat, still snoozing in his bed, and made his way out of their cave.  Out he went into an overcast morning, where he found that he was the only person in the Orc’s make-shift encampment who was already up and about.  Looking around he spied a gnarly-trunked crab-apple tree near the edge of the cliff, stunted by the winter wind and with its roots clinging tenuously to the bare rock.  From the leafless branches still hung a quantity of small, yellow fruit.  The apples were waterlogged and pulpy, softened by frost and the Hobbit made a face at the first sour taste, but they were a step-up from no breakfast at all.  He swung up into the branches of the tree and began filling his pocket full.

 The Hobbit sniffed the damp air.  They were high in the mountains and there were still patches of old snow all around, but midwinter had passed and the south-westerly breeze that was blowing up from the valley held a hint of a thaw and perhaps better weather to come.

On one side the mountains fell away in a long sweep down towards the plain of Gondor, hazy in the grey distance,  and on the other climbed up towards a series of even higher peaks that stood in a long, jagged line all along the horizon.  At length Ludlow’s attention was drawn by a speck of movement far, far away, a long way down the hill on the Gondorian side.

His eyes narrowed as he recognized the fair-haired figure, shoulders shrouded in a green cape who was approaching, zig-zagging his way up the slope astride a big white horse.

When he was still some way off, the keen-eyed incomer noticed the Hobbit up in his perch, and raised one hand, waving a salute.

Ludlow didn’t return it.  He scrambled down from the tree, glaring in the rider’s general direction and gave him a long, hard stare, keeping his arms folded up against his chest.

Down in the valley Faramir’s stance shifted uncertainly.  He let his arm drop back down by his side.

Maintaining his aggressive, no-nonsense midget stance a while longer, just to make his point, Ludlow turned on his heel, huffing his disapproval and hurried back towards the cave that he and Shagrat were sharing.   Inside the Uruk was still lying where he’d been sleeping, curled on his side.  The Hobbit’s bedroll was at his back and one of his arms was flung over the gently slumbering, slobbering Warg, which had squashed itself tight up against his front.

Ludlow’s expression softened fondly as he regarded the malodorous pair.  While he watched them Shagrat cracked open a bleary, slightly crusted yellow eye.

“Better get up!”Ludlow told him, bending down to shake him awake properly.  “Up, and make yourself decent, Shagrat!  Your boyfriend’s back!”