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The road to Minas Tirith from Edoras lay still and quiet in the noonday sun. Nothing moved. A rod or two away, however, life was very different.
The remains of a soldier, perhaps an errand-rider, were being ravaged. Carrion birds flew high overhead, screeching their hunger while waiting for the stronger birds below to finish their meal and move aside, so that they could land and eat what was left. Those birds on the ground squabbled amongst themselves over the few pieces of meat left by the Orcs who had provided them this little feast. A shredded tunic, with a skeletal-like white tree embroidered upon it, lay half a rod away from what was left of the body. A sword and banner, with the same tree marked on it, lay next to the corpse.
Rain began to fall; plump droplets spattered down upon a piece of parchment that lay next to the tunic. The ink began to run as each drop hit. The signature was the last to be obliterated by the falling rain…
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