Do you hear my voice within your mind?

"I do."

That is good. That means this enchantment has taken. Listen carefully to my words then. I will guide you. Do not dare venture out beyond what I command.

"I would not know how."

We shall see. I only warn you that any action on your own may undo everything that has been set into motion. And we know the consequences should my plans fail!

"You need not threaten me. I know my role."

Very well. Let us begin. Close your eyes. Let your mind relax. Concentrate on my words. Your mind is floating free. Tell me everything you notice or see.

"I cannot feel my body, but I am aware of everything around me. It is as if all my senses have been heightened somehow. Outside, I hear the crockery and cookware that is being used in preparations of the meal. I know the day for those in the camp is underway. I can hear the children laughing and the men speaking and the women answering. I can smell fatback frying and biscuits baking and the mingling scent of coffee coalescing with the smoked herbal aromas that linger in your wagon. I feel the embroidered sash of which I was playing at my fingertips. The patterns seem suddenly so intensely intricate and fascinating. But I can't open my eyes. It is so strange. I feel like I dream and yet I feel incredibly aware."

You live in both realms.

"Is that wrong?"

Not at all. That is exactly right. Now try to use your eyes. Open them. See all that you sensed before.

"Ahhh"

What is it?

"It is magnificent! I can see it all! The children! Ha! They play silly games with words! It is as if I am there with them. And the women"

Yes?

"I am at their side. I am cooking with them. No! It is more. The smells, the food, I can feel the essence of their aromas as a part of me. And the men their thoughts are wild!

They always are.

"Mattias"

Not now.

"But I can see his thoughts."

Not now!

"Oh! He is so heartbroken! I must"

DO NOT GO THERE!

"Why do you fear this?"

I told you not to venture away from me! There is too much to do to prod around in the minds of those who do not matter! Those ones are mine. Listen to my words and follow my instructions lest I constantly be forced to uphold my threats to you.

"Nono, you are right. It is just so new and exciting. Forgive me. What do you wish for me to do now?"

Reach out. Reach out with your mind beyond this camp, beyond this wagon. See if you can find the strangers. I need them now. I need to know where they walk and if they are near. Can you see them?

"I see them."

Which of them?

"The Man Strider. And the Dwarf."

Anyone else?

"Nay. Only them."

Where are they?

"In the foothills, near where we walked last night."

That is good. Breech the surface now. Look into their minds. I must know if anything of my last spell still breathes within them. Seek out their minds. Look for their thoughts as I guide you there. Do you see anything of my smoke spirit left within them?

"I do not see it anywhere in the Dwarf, but it is present still in the man. It is weak and dying though."

Dying eh? It is still good news. We can use this. Even weakened we can use it. And now the others. Look now for the other man. And the Elf.

"I do not see them."

Keep searching. I will help you.

"I do not see them."

Patience! Give it time! You look in too much a rush. Slow yourself down. Give your thoughts a moment to collect and read them.

"I see them!"

Ah, there! You see! Now the same. Are they alone?

"Yes."

As I thought. Where are they?

"In the wood. They wander where the trees grow densest."

Good. Now look into them and tell me if the smoke still lies there.

"It does. Clearly it does in both. The smoke is much stronger in them."

Careful then. Pull away before they perceive you. Your thoughts are easily read when the smoke is about. I am not ready for them yet, though soon. Let us go back to the Man and the Dwarf. I would like to see if we can maneuver them.

Give me your hands so I may see as well. There that is better. Now I see them. Follow my lead and do as I do. Together we will take control of the Man's thoughts and lead them onto the path of their undoing.

****

They had been walking along the prairie lands, nearing the lower foothills. The sun was rising on the other side of the hill, just past the forest's edge on the rise, and cool shadows of blue and deep violet made the tufts of the coarse grasses and wildflowers pocking the lee look rutted and deep. Their footing was slick as droplets of dew covered their boots and trousers, seeping into their clothing and chilling them as they marched along. Aragorn had his head down, his thoughts locked on finding tracks while Gimli remained close to his back, eager to be of aid should they meet with their quarry. The air was mild and the hint of a breeze whispered from the south telling Gimli heat would follow that day. He admired the warm amber glow where the sun touched the tips of the grasses at the top of the hillock. A halo of light edged the landscape above them in golden hues. He looked behind them to see where the sun fell on the horizon, seeing the long stretch of peach-colored tones fall over the plains. And in contrast, he noticed the change in color their footsteps made on the grasses due to the disturbance in the dew going from pastel watercolor to rich dusky shades where their feet had been planted. The trail disappeared over distance, but was most apparent where they stood near. And then he noticed a cross path to theirs, deeper still than the color of their steps and realized it was freshly trodden. Something passed there. A deer? With stealth the creature must have moved for their ears had not detected it. But the deer trail of which they had been in search was now clearly marked.

Tapping Aragorn on the shoulder, he nodded back to the plains below them and pointed out what he saw. It was a silent communication, for Gimli knew the ears of the animals were sharp, and despite the ill-perception he had given Aragorn yesterday of his hunting skills, he was eager to prove he could indeed be a capable hunter.

The King's brows rose in surprise, and a pleased smile graced his face as he discovered the path Gimli had pointed out. Patting the dwarf lightly on the shoulder as if in thanks, he led them back down the hill, walking silently, in case more deer were following. Stepping into the trail, he grunted, pointing out the fresh tracks. Then he stood up and looked about, craning his neck to make out a tactical position. Gimli did the same.

Aragorn nodded them back along their own trail, downwind from their current position until they had traveled a good thousand feet, and then he broke their silence.

"Your eyes are good, Gimli. We may have never discovered their path had you not the sense to look behind for clues. The tracks there appear deep, as if placed by a larger beast. I believe we may have found our buck. And if not, it is surely sizable enough to make up for that loss."

"As I thought," Gimli answered, running his hands along the staff of his halberd. "I have considered a plan to snare it if you would care to hear."

"As have I," the Ranger said with a smile. And then pointing in the direction of the trees, he spoke. Simultaneously, Gimli pointed in the direction of the hill, and also spoke.

"We should climb a tree and wait," the former Ranger said.

"We should dig a hole and wait," the Lord of the Glittering Caves said.

And then as if realizing what the other had just said, their words collided again.

"Dig a hole?"

"Climb a tree?"

But before their words might meet in passing again, Aragorn spoke. "Aye, climb a tree. It is a method that I have used in the past. It gives the advantage of being out of the line of sight to the deer, and also allows a better vantage point for targeting and shooting."

"And I would try to convince you that the method I would use is also tried and tested by the Dwarfs. My plan also would be to keep us out of view of the animal. It need not be a deep hole, only a camouflage, though had we time I would offer that we dig an entire pit as a trap."

A long pause followed as they pondered these ideas, and then as if on cue, the two looked at one another and broke out in a snorted guffaw, clapping one each other on the back in their amusement. Both found the other's idea preposterous and judging the other's personality, saw well the humor in either suggestion, almost unbelieving the other had even been willing to offer it. And now, having aired them, it was obvious neither method of entrapment would work for their prey. Not given the differences between the King and the Dwarf.

Gimli chuckled softly to himself. "Climb a tree indeed," he muttered as simultaneously Aragorn give a likewise smirk of good humor.

"Dig a hole," the Ranger chuckled, shaking his head incredulously. Then the King nodded in the direction of their path and said, "Let us continue as we have then and we shall face it as we had the others yesterday morn. That is, if you think you might have quieter steps than those you placed on our attempts then."

Gimli stiffened at the affront, but then a slow smile turned up his lips as he humorously scowled. "And have I not been good partner to you today? I shall move with utmost concern for noise, I promise you. I have every intention of winning this contest, my friend. Unlike yesterday, I have a vested interest in proving my superiority to the Elf in this arena," Gimli said as he eyed his weapon again, running his hands up and down the shaft of the halberd.

"Very well, then," the King said as he led the way back.

Gimli's eyes followed the Man as they returned to the trail. Automatically the King's steps changed, seeming more measured and balanced, weighing more to the balls of his feet than the flat-footed treads typical of the mortal race. Each footing hold was quietly placed, and Gimli mused how Aragorn looked much like the Elves when he walked this way. I would have been better placed with Faramir, Gimli thought. At least there is a Man who truly acts like a Man. This one has tendencies too much like the Eldar. Not that Gimli minded really. He had long grown used to the discriminate differences between he and Legolas. And all the other Elves he had encountered for that matter. Yet it was a little disconcerting for Gimli to see the Gondor King adopting the ways of a race not his own. Akin to Dwarves accepting homes in the trees, Gimli thought. He smiled at the picture that would make. "Trees," he murmured once more in a barely perceptible voice.

As if he heard, Aragorn turned around and gave a look to Gimli that demanded silence. With rounded eyes, the Dwarf quieted himself further surprised at the sharp ears of the Man and making certain his steps indeed matched Aragorn's for the lack of sound they emitted. While it was not so natural for him in the world above ground, Gimli was also capable of stealth. Now I wonder just how capable he would be of silence were he in the underground world of my realm, Gimli thought for that was a talent all Dwarves had innately. To venture into the home of a barrow-Dwarf uninvited was a dangerous proposition as one could be easily overtaken in the dark by them, their sounds meshing with the echoes of the caves. He may have been trained by Elves in his youth, but Aragorn is still missing the rounding of his education a long spell under the tutelage of the Dwarves could give him, Gimli thought, again watching the King from his position at back. But such apprenticeship was hardly likely to come, and Gimli supposed any indoctrination of the World of Men into that of the Dwarves would have to wait until Aragorn or Eomer produced a ready heir.

Gimli sighed (silently) as he thought about that. He could not admit it he would not admit it but a small part of him was jealous of his friend. The King had something he did not, as did Faramir and Eomer. It wasn't title and it wasn't wealth, for Gimli had both and was content with his status. It was something more elusive for a Dwarf, though Gimli could have happily traded much of what he had to gain what he did not. For the love of a lady was the thing of which the Dwarf longed, and sadly, there were no prospects for such a thing occurring any time soon in the Dwarf's life.

Gimli had studied long the women who had journeyed with them. It was hard not to notice the loveliness of female laughter, the touch of willowy fingers in satiny hair, the brush of thick lashes in a flutter against a cheek, the sweet rosy color of a blush. And he saw how the men responded to such charms, almost breathlessly and eager, even if they were not aware they acted as such. There was still great love in the marriages of his friends, though in truth he saw how very dissimilar to each other they were.

Not that the love he saw within the realm of Men was kindred to that of Dwarves. Hardly true. If anything, the relationship between male and female Dwarves was volatile and testy and hardly ever affectionate like what he saw among his friends. The sweet cuddling moments and loving embraces he saw the Men make toward their spouses, and the equal admiration and good humor shown by the women toward their husbands was as foreign an idea in a Dwarven world as was climbing those cursed trees. Still, there could be passion. And love was felt deeply by Dwarves, though they were not so gentle in how they showed it. Still it was there and not to be denied, and true Dwarven love was a lifetime commitment. It was never questioned. It was what gave Gimli the fortitude to accept the concept female Dwarf for a mate, so unlike those of human wives.

Nay, Gimli's misery came from the fact that a mate did not appear to be forthcoming. True, while many male Dwarves had been more than willing to start a new venture under Gimli's rule in the underground fortress of Aglarond, few females had come forth to the Glittering Caves, and those that did were either already spoken for, or very much quite married. Gimli supposed if he were willing to travel back to his homeland in the Misty Mountains, a match might be had for him. But to do that, he would need to sacrifice years of time that might be spent in his own realm, in his own mines. Dwarven women did not court easily. And even were he willing to sacrifice so much, there was no guarantee a lovematch might be found. It took a lot to woo female Dwarves, and despite Gimli's reputation in the outside world for his role in the Fellowship, that notoriety held little merit among the Dwarven colonies. He was better off outside of his species.

Not that he would ever marry outside of his own kind. Why just the thought of it was unsettling to the Dwarf. At least for himself. He had no compulsions of disgust for Aragorn and Arwen. That union just seemed soright. Perhaps again it was Aragorn's Elf-like mannerisms. Or maybe it was Arwen's more Human-like compassion. But whatever it was, Gimli had never really considered it odd or unusual to see two creatures mated out of their race. But for himself? It was completely out of the question.

Of course there were dalliances. A smile lit his face as he thought of the barmaid at The Sleeping Dragon. Now there is a handsome woman, Gimli thought. And while he might be willing to sneak off to the back room for a quick liaison with that buxom blonde, he would never consider marrying her. For that matter the invitations always were hers, for Gimli thought it poor judgement on his part to tarnish a woman's reputation for his own needs, whether there was a reputation to tarnish or not. But marriage? Unthinkable. Nor would she think of marrying me, he snorted.So much of their relationship hinged on their flirtations alone. To give in would destroy the fun they had with one another. And such was true with others he had met through the years. Nothing serious would come of them because the Dwarf would never allow anything more than some harmless amusement to be had.

And yet, that left Gimli with little. And what he wanted was an heir. A son. Someone to carry on his name and his heritage. Someone to carry on the leadership that Gimli brought forward. Someone who would mourn him when he died. And someone to keep his legacy alive in the chronicles of Dwarven history. That is what Gimli wanted more than anything else he could think of, and quietly he let it fester within him. There was no one for Gimli to love.

But he had his friends. At least that was sure, and even if he had no measure of family to follow him, he knew at least that he would be mourned when he passed, that someone would tell in the annals of time of Gimli's feats and deeds even if that memory did not live among the Dwarves. He had his friends. There was a small amount of comfort and satisfaction in that. Friends.

He looked up at Aragorn as they trudged over the rise, still making their way soundlessly as the former Ranger watched carefully the hoof prints of the animal they tracked as the dew began to dissipate with the heat of the day. This Man is one of my closest friends. That thought, though not a new one, startled Gimli as he realized just what it meant. He had known Aragorn for nearly thirteen years, and while Gimli had known many Dwarves for longer periods than that, he was certain he did not feel as close to them as he did this Man. This Man with so many names, Gimli thought mirthfully. Strider, Aragorn, Estel, Telcontar, Ellesar, the Elfstone, Thorongil, Envinyatar, the Renewer, and so on. Yet to Gimli, this man would never be anyone other than Aragorn. It was who he was, and Gimli was not about to start confusing the Man's personality by adding other names to the mix. It was a confusing enough mix as it was. There were many in Aragorn's court who had tried to rectify this, insisting Gimli call the man Elessar or Telcontar while in formal proceedings with the King, but Gimli listened with a deaf ear, and Aragorn had never bothered to correct the misnaming. Thus, Aragorn it remained. And as for the title of King Gimli took that position with as much awe as he felt toward Legolas' horse. Which is to say he spent little time in admiration for his friend's post. Not that he lacked respect, it was just that title mattered little to the Dwarf, and rarely did he offer a formal "Your majesty" or a "Highness" in his speech to the King. Nor was he one to scrape and bow often in the grand gestures shown to royalty. Had he, Aragorn would have surely guessed something to be amiss. They were friends, that was all, and nothing more than that was needed to acknowledge the position between them. And Gimli was certain the Man appreciated being treated as a person, rather than an object held in awe.

There was much that worried Aragorn. Gimli could see that. All of them could see that. But this trip seemed to brighten his serious mood, and Gimli realized it had been long since he had seen the King smile. Yet on this trip, he almost continuously smiled. It does him good, the Dwarf thought, to be away from the pressures of reality. If only he may keep what he has regained here. May he find a measure of happiness to live on past this journey.

The former Ranger stopped and slowly dipped to kneel, as if in reverence of something great. Gimli, lost in thought, nearly walked into the Man. But he did not, cutting himself short and nearly losing his balance in the process. They had come to the top of the ridge where an outcrop of the forest renewed itself, and the depth of shadow here converged with the shade on the slopeside of the hill. The trees were old, mixing with sprigs of spindly saplings trying to find light in the density of the forest. As such the view was interspersed: thick trunks with thin bramble. Very little grew horizontally in this plain and shrubbery was sparse. The ground was littered with fallen branch and dead leaves. For a long distance, the forest went on this way, unwavering even in offering small dips or hollows to break the flatness of the glade's floor. Gimli brought himself next to the Man, crouching low in imitation of his friend, yet stretching his neck and torso in an attempt to match the view Aragorn had from his height. "What is it?" he mouthed noiselessly.

A huge grin, one like many Gimli had witnessed over the last few days, filled the corners of Aragorn's face. "We have found it," the King answered in a soft whisper.

"The deer?" asked Gimli in an eagerly returned whisper, directing his eyes to where Aragorn stared. He saw nothing, "Where?"

"There," whispered the Ranger nodding in the direction of which he spoke, "About 50 yards ahead. Is he not a beauty?"

Gimli shook his head, still not seeing the creature. "I will take your word for it," he answered, frustrated that he had not sited the great stag. "How should we proceed?"

"Let us divide. We shall attempt to use your weapon if we can get near enough. If it attempts to move aside, blockade it. But if you can, use the halberd as it is meant to be used in your eyes though it would be appreciated by me if you would be kind and avoid the head. Aim for the chest and the heart with your spear end. I will attempt to take it from my side, but should either of us miss, we may have a second chance if we can drive him down from whence we came. I will come about left and drive him forward. You should move around to the right, but prepare to double back. We shall offer him a lane to drive through to this side. I will concentrate for now on only glancing shots to give you ample chance to make the killing blow. Still, we should each be wary of the other lest we fall victim to our own weapons. Try to keep at an angle away from me and I will do likewise. Are you ready?" the King asked, looking down to make eye contact with his companion.

"Aye," said Gimli with a slight smile, more than thrilled that he was being given opportunity to show his merit. He knew Aragorn wanted the final shot, and Gimli would try to offer it. It was generous to offer to aid slow the beast, but to give Gimli the killing blow in warrior fashion was truly kind and showed just how much the King felt toward the Dwarf. The thought was enough. Gimli had every intention of letting the King get his shot, though Gimli would make sure his own efforts were not completely overlooked. And then in appreciation he said, "And should I actually see this deceptive creature, you will know my worth as a hunter."

And then they broke apart, Gimli silently moving right and Aragorn going left.

****

Something was terribly wrong and though the trees screamed it out to him, Legolas could feel it more innately in his flesh and his bones. There was danger in this forest and he was uncertain where to turn to avoid it. It had started very shortly after they had departed, just as the sun rose. The echoes of the night before caught him first, and for a while he gave it little merit. The songs of the trees were oft confusing and vague, reflecting a timelessness as if everyday were a continuation of the next, with little difference made between them for the setting and rising of the sun. It made it very difficult to use the trees as a gauge of any real measure of harms. The warnings that they cried out might have occurred months ago, or even years back. It was part of what made the job of the Elves of Doro Lanthiron so difficult. Convincing the trees to move past the old pains inflicted on them had been the greatest feat in repairing the wood. What's more, the trees were never very specific about what it was that vexed them. Last night was a perfect example. Their cry had been of a bird of prey in the forest. An owl. They did not indicate what the bird did that might make them wary. Nor did they indicate where the bird might be. For all Legolas knew, the animal might have been clear to Cair Andros and only preying on field mice. The slightest concern often set the trees off. And so he had long learned not to heed their warnings much as too many times they proved to be fruitless.

But in this instance He wished he had listened to them earlier although he didn't need the trees to tell him really.

They had marched on a few miles from their camp when the sense of dread really pierced Legolas fully. He had been far too caught up in the excitement of their journey to give it much thought earlier, and Faramir's eagerness made it all the more difficult for the Elf to pay it much notice. For a while he considered his apprehensions to be a reflection on his deep-seated objections to the hunt, but then as he reasoned with himself that this was more contest than a measure of injustice, he realized there was something far greater bothering him. And that was when he fully noticed what was occurring about him. There was something within him that told him of danger lurking ahead. And yet Legolas could not pinpoint what it was that was making him feel this. Beyond the trees.

No longer were they crying over the minor slight of the bird. Now they called out warnings of deeper threats unknown.

He stopped in his march, turning around in circles, reaching out with all his senses to find the source of his fear. Shaking his head, he grimaced in frustration. Faramir noticed and stopped too, turning to face the Elf. "What is wrong, Legolas?" he asked, worry playing on his face at the indefinable exasperation he witnessed.

"There is danger near," the Elf answered grimly.

"Of what sort?" Faramir asked, glancing about to seek it out.

"I know not, but I do not think it is wise to continue in this direction."

Faramir frowned, but only briefly, his eyes sparking as he recognized a glimpse of fear in Legolas' eyes. "Change course? To which way?"

"South," Legolas said, directing them on. With forceful steps, they marched on, knowing that this path would lead them ever nearer the soldier's encampment. Legolas felt ashamed for wishing the security of others nearby, but at the moment he felt terribly vulnerable, and somehow outnumbered. If they continued in this direction, hopefully before long the tension Legolas felt might dissipate.

Unforunately, such was not the case. They went on a several hundred yards, but his fears were not relinquished. If anything, they grew stronger. He did not understand, for he knew that they were making a path that should have been away from the danger. And yet

Legolas felt his heart beating wildly in his chest. Something within him was screaming out a wariness that should have been obvious, and still he was clueless as to what it might be or even why it was there. Crying out in a sudden rush, he stopped again, drawing his bow though there was nothing that indicated he should. His breathing came quickly in short pants as he tried to find the means of a target and full-fledged panic waved over him. Faramir's gentle hand touched his shoulder, but Legolas was so taut he nearly struck out at the Man, his hyper-trained reflexes coming forward.

"Peace, Legolas! What ails you?" Faramir asked with great concern.

"This is not right! The direction is still one of danger!" Legolas said, his eyes darting the landscape and his tension obvious. Then shutting his eyes, he raised his shaking hands to his temples in an effort to block the world out. He needed to focus on one element at a time. He felt overwhelmed, and he knew well his body was shrilly beseeching him to get away. But where?

"Let us go back to our camp," Faramir said, turning the Elf around again to redirect their path now eastward. The Prince of Gondor led as the Elf followed. In his tremendous anxiety, Legolas found his eyes constantly on the move; in the trees and off in the distance he peered. His mood did not vary, though neither did it lessen, and Legolas did not know how much more of this he could take before madness would set in. He needed a reprieve, and he measured in his mind how much longer they would need continue on this course before he might feel relief. But relief was not to be had. As they neared the top of a rise, Faramir stopped for a third time, muttering, "No!" Turning to face Legolas, the Elf could see wide-eyed fear on the face of his companion. Taking two more steps forward, he rose high enough to see over the crest. Before them lay the gypsy camp.

"It cannot be," whispered Legolas, incredulous as he looked into the desolate space. No one was present, and the eeriness of that only made his fears all the worse.

"Aye, it should not be," Faramir answered, visibly shaken.

"But we headed west, never north. Their camp was north, I was certain," Legolas continued, shaking his head as if not believing what his eyes told him.

"As was I. They must have moved in the night, and somehow we missed it in the first passing," the Prince said, trying to be rational. "At least we have not been seen. Quickly, let us away from here," Faramir said, turning now downhill and nearly jogging away from the Romany encampment. Bow still in hand, Legolas followed likewise.

The terrain here was varied with slopes of all sizes rippling the landscape. They found themselves now running up and down as they attempted to flee. After only a few hundred yards, they climbed up another hillock, only to stop again with a gasp.

Before them, as had been only minutes earlier, stood the dread camp of the gypsies, only this time their approach was from the other side.

"Witchery," whispered Faramir.

"Aye," Legolas confirmed, and then he began to grasp why his senses were keening out so strongly. "I think we are being manipulated against our will. Come, let us escape before we are discovered," Legolas said, tugging the Man's arm.

Being careful to run only in a straight line, Legolas used the trees to guide them, fixing two points between them as the direction to follow and then so on to the next and next and next. After several minutes of this, the Elf felt fairly confident they had broken past it. They were not using their own senses but landmarks to guide them away. Perhaps that was the trick to their escape from this maze they had been led into. And yet a minute later they found themselves again standing before the camp.

"Why?" Faramir asked, completely frustrated and turning himself about like Legolas had earlier.

"I cannot even venture a guess," Legolas said, pulling the Man away again, breaking into a steady gait.

This time it came faster. Down one hill and up the next, and there they were again. Fear pulled at them both as they fled again, only to have the process repeat. At last, Legolas said flatly, "We are trapped."

Faramir cried out his despair, "No! I will not give in." Then stepping into the camp, Faramir cried out, "What is it you want of us?" His voice echoed and was not answered. That was when Legolas noticed how deathly quiet everything became. Even the trees.

"Faramir, we must not tarry here. Even if this should go on all day and night. Let us not linger here," Legolas said, pulling Faramir away.

The Prince nodded. "Yes, you are right."

Turning back to the slope, and about to flee once more, the two were startled to suddenly see many others climbing over the crest of the hill. Many others! Far more than the Romany hosted. They stood shoulder to shoulder skirting the circumference of the entire camp. "There are hundreds," Legolas shuddered. "But"

He did not have ample time to continue that thought for he found himself caught up in his fear again as they drew nearer. It was their eyes that threw Legolas. They were completely devoid of spirit or feeling. They were the eyes of walking dead.

****

Ah, but he is magnificent, Aragorn thought. Better even than I had recalled. Then counting the points he said to himself, Ha! Six by five, I was correct! Faramir will be disappointed In more ways than one.

It was with these triumphant thoughts running through his mind that Aragorn noiselessly made his way around to the other side of the deer. He kept his distance equal as whence he started, eager to keep out of the sharp line of vision of the animal. Only when he had picked his spot would he make his move forward. He picked up a small branch from the ground and weighed it in his hand. It had size enough that it would give noise if tossed into a thicket. Enough to startle the creature, and mayhap, send it off in the direction of Gimli. Aragorn looked off to seek sight of his companion. Nearly invisible, he finally detected the Dwarf making forward to a clear spot in the distance, crouching and ready for attack. This is it, he said to himself. And then he pulled out his bow and slowly he began to walk forward, silent still. It was testimony to how adeptly he could move in the forest, or else to something else nameless, but the deer did not move. Instead, it raised its head, watching with those deep brown eyes as Aragorn drew nearer, without fright or flightiness. It kept its stance until the Ranger had halved the distance between them. And then something unusual happened.

A rumble of noise shook Aragorn, a combination of both sound and movement. The earth shuddered and Aragorn was rocked on his feet. He glanced away only for a moment, trying to determine how great was the tremor. Earthquake! he thought. It lasted mere seconds at best, and the shake was not much more than a slight stirring of the surface, but the Dúnadan knew the nature of animals and immediately he looked up, prepared for the sprint this buck would charge forth. But to his utter astonishment, the buck was gone. Had the deer bolted, it would have stirred some commotion, some noise, but there had been nothing. In surprise and anger, the Ranger threw down the stick, wishing he had acted quicker to close in. Somehow the deer had escaped him. And he had been so certain of his own skill. Aragorn cursed himself. With chagrin, he frowned then looked over to make a gesture of apology to the Dwarf for his own failure. His heart stopped.

"Gimli?" he called out. Abruptly his call changed from a question to a demand. "Gimli!" he cried, and then he ran.