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Description
Aedela's cell had not afforded her a great deal of exercise, small and bare as it was. Running was something she had prided herself on, back before her imprisonment, and though she couldn't even dream of beating her old self in a race at this point, just being outside was too sweet a mercy for her to feel any bitterness over how thin she had become.

She'd always been scrawny - that's what happened to people who lived in Dunland these days - but never so frail. Still, the open air, the horizon, and the sun-baked earth under her bare, calloused feet - these were things she'd never take for granted again.

The only reason she and the others could keep up at all was because Roniin had objections to jostling Sath overmuch. Still, he had long legs, and it wasn't long before Aedela began daydreaming about the few mouthfuls of stale water he had afforded her outside Isengard.

Strange, to be broken down so low that she wouldn't think twice about accepting an uruk's waterskin. Not that it didn't matter what he was. After suffering under orcish hands for what must've been a lifetime, what he was would always matter.

The river and the fords were not what she'd normally call 'tempting.' The water was murky and foul, and Aedela imagined it would stink all the way to sea. Still, she had been desperate enough to consider drinking anyway. And now, so far out on the open plains that she couldn't even see the fords anymore, she felt desperate enough to regret passing it up. Maybe - just maybe - becoming violently sick wouldn't be as bad as this thirst.

Thinking of escape would be so much harder with such a dry mouth, and she was near the point of bracing her hands against her thighs - which felt like they were packed with heavy stone, they was so stiff and sore - just to keep from dropping behind. Bodies could be so distracting...

Getting away from the orcs was only one small part of the problem. The old man and the hunched girl had tried to flee shortly after crossing the fords, but the old orc, Ashon, was hellbent on herding and threatening them back into line. Ashon's face was particularly fearsome, grimacing against the daylight. The loud crack of her whip in the air was almost as explosive as her temper, and the only time she seemed to relax at all was after taking a swig or two from a flask of grog. Though they set a grueling pace, these orcs weren't even pushing themselves. Even if someone did manage to slip away, Aedela doubted it would take long for them to be hunted down.

Escaping on one's own would be hard enough, but for Sath, it was hopeless. At her best, Aedela would've been able to carry her for miles - so long as she walked. With that in mind, progress through Rohan would be slow enough without necessities like hunting, foraging, seeking water, and finding suitable places to camp and hide from the orcs that would surely be following. But all of that would be difficult no matter how many of them managed to escape, and Aedela refused to consider leaving without Sath, or even the strawhead pair. Cerowyn had insisted on carrying Holdred, herself. Daulakul had merely shrugged at that and told her to keep up or he'd take the boy for a turn. Cerowyn never lagged behind.

Had she the energy, Aedela would've laughed at the notion of attacking these orcs. Perhaps she would've stood a chance against one of them when she was at her best, but even then... a slingshot and a chert knife against whips, forged swords, fangs, and claws? She'd crush what remaining hope the other prisoners still clung to, and she didn't even have her knife or her sling anyway.

A sling was possible... She preferred working with leather, but the tall, dry grass could be woven into the shape she needed. Her first sling had been made of grass, under the guidance of her Uncle Marroc, back when she was a small girl.

A figure appeared over the next rise, running toward them. Daulakul held up a fist and stopped as the runner - an uruk with one ear - approached. Aedela sank gratefully to her knees, trying to catch her breath and listen as the uruks spoke. This wasn't so easy, as her Orcish was sketchy, her breathing ragged, and she could practically see her pulse pounding through her eye.

Daulakul's bewildered expression as he turned and stared at the prisoners could've meant anything. Aedela tensed. Her muscles were lead, but if this was it, she planned to take at least one orc with her into oblivion.

"We won," Daulakul said, dazed. "Better than won... We..." He turned to Cerowyn, who was in the midst of letting Holdred off her back. "We pick up our pace, you'll see your kin again before sundown."

Cerowyn's pretty face twisted up and she glared at him, keeping Holdred close.

Daulakul hissed under his breath. "Isengard's army is defeated," he clarified. "They didn't even break the wall. Your people are alive."

Isengard's defeated. We won. Aedela wondered if Daulakul was sick or dying. He seemed to be keeping his feet just fine, even if he looked like someone had brained him. Perhaps losing Isengard had taken such a toll on him that he couldn't handle the defeat at Helm's Deep, either? "That doesn't make sense," she said.

"We are spies," Roniin said casually, preoccupied with resting Sath on the ground and thumbing the cap off another waterskin. "Or we were. Now that our secret is out in the open, so are we."

"Who were you spying for, if not Isengard?" Cerowyn demanded, suspicious. "And don't you dare tell me you're really working for my folk."

Ashon doubled over, coughing and laughing, and even taciturn Roniin chuckled.

Daulakul snorted as if finding the idea too preposterous to laugh at. "No," he said flatly. "We're working for ourselves." He nodded to Ashon. "Go tell Ruznaahk and Karnroth to double-time it. The rest of you, move out!"

+++++

Ruznaahk liked the tall grass. Rohan was not exactly covered in it, but it made for excellent cover whenever it was available. Lying still, he could watch through the blades and listen to everything for miles in every direction. Not like in a forest, or underground. He thought he'd hate working in a counter-raid band, out where the sun would punish him all day with no hope of shade. But there was a freedom in the open landscape that had grown on him, and in time, he was confident that he'd learn its secrets and how to move through and survive it with ease.

The sun was still a pain, though. Somehow, it seemed even brighter when Karnroth coughed him up. He remembered feeling absolutely blind from emerging so suddenly after spending so much time in near-total darkness. Hissing and cursing, he'd actually struggled to climb back down the giant's throat, where he could finish his nap in relative peace. Karnroth didn't have much patience for that, what with his need to breathe and all, but Ruznaahk noticed a new kind of swagger in his gait. Karnroth had been flattered, but he didn't want to ruin his image. Whatever he thought that was, these days.

However, the open horse-lord country made the giant nervous. He'd been quick to hand Ruznaahk his bow, quiver, and other gear, all the while sneaking tentative glances from behind the outcrop he'd chosen to hide them behind. He had covered a lot of ground, but they still had a long way to reach Helm's Deep, and the rest of the band could be anywhere in between. To make matters worse, Karnroth disliked the idea of just running the whole way, on account of him being terribly easy to spot, but he was prepared to bee-line to various hiding spots as soon as he spotted them. But after he spat Ruznaahk back out, some of his fatigue and headache returned.

At least he made plenty of shade. The trouble was hiding him. The giant could lay as still as possible in the tall grass, and if he was lucky, he'd look like an armored boulder. The gash on his forehead looked much better, but the adventure with the flood had left him exhausted and sneaking naps whenever he thought he could get away with them.

Ruznaahk squinted at a dark shape that caught his notice, moving slick and quiet through the grass. He reached for his quiver, but stopped with mixed relief and agitation as soon as he recognized the figure. Ashon came hurrying up the hill, ducking low to minimize the chance of being spotted from a distance, and she didn't even have to pause to find them. Ruznaahk heard her curse under her breath, and she straightened up, scowling as she approached. "Why?" she growled as she came to a stop in front of them. "Why did they recruit you when you can't hide worth shit?"

Ruznaahk waved a claw at the newcomer. "Could ask you the same question, now get down before somebody sees you!"

Ashon snorted. "Ain' no one gonna see me before they see his bloated carcass. What, did you call him over for shade?"

"Where else do we got to take cover?" Ruznaahk snapped back. "Nobody's seen us anyway. We're perfectly at home here in the grass. Like snakes."

"A fat snake," Ashon growled, eyeing Karnroth's bulk.

The giant chuckled. "Damn straight," he mumbled sleepily.

Ashon rolled her eyes hard enough to give Ruznaahk a headache. "Right, while you two were buggering each other, the rest of us got a report from Helm's Deep. The gambit worked, and the higher-ups are talking about alliance with the Horse-King."

"Alliance?" Karnroth propped himself up on an elbow, blinking and squinting as if it would help him see the truth better. "You're shitting me."

"They either like what we got to offer, or they're more desperate than we thought," Ashon grumbled, walking away. "Come on. All the Riders went to the battle, so the plains are clear for now. If we hurry, we can catch up Daulakul and your pet humans, and reach the fortress before dark."

Description
Aedela's cell had not afforded her a great deal of exercise, small and bare as it was. Running was something she had prided herself on, back before her imprisonment, and though she couldn't even dream of beating her old self in a race at this point, just being outside was too sweet a mercy for her to feel any bitterness over how thin she had become.

She'd always been scrawny - that's what happened to people who lived in Dunland these days - but never so frail. Still, the open air, the horizon, and the sun-baked earth under her bare, calloused feet - these were things she'd never take for granted again.

The only reason she and the others could keep up at all was because Roniin had objections to jostling Sath overmuch. Still, he had long legs, and it wasn't long before Aedela began daydreaming about the few mouthfuls of stale water he had afforded her outside Isengard.

Strange, to be broken down so low that she wouldn't think twice about accepting an uruk's waterskin. Not that it didn't matter what he was. After suffering under orcish hands for what must've been a lifetime, what he was would always matter.

The river and the fords were not what she'd normally call 'tempting.' The water was murky and foul, and Aedela imagined it would stink all the way to sea. Still, she had been desperate enough to consider drinking anyway. And now, so far out on the open plains that she couldn't even see the fords anymore, she felt desperate enough to regret passing it up. Maybe - just maybe - becoming violently sick wouldn't be as bad as this thirst.

Thinking of escape would be so much harder with such a dry mouth, and she was near the point of bracing her hands against her thighs - which felt like they were packed with heavy stone, they was so stiff and sore - just to keep from dropping behind. Bodies could be so distracting...

Getting away from the orcs was only one small part of the problem. The old man and the hunched girl had tried to flee shortly after crossing the fords, but the old orc, Ashon, was hellbent on herding and threatening them back into line. Ashon's face was particularly fearsome, grimacing against the daylight. The loud crack of her whip in the air was almost as explosive as her temper, and the only time she seemed to relax at all was after taking a swig or two from a flask of grog. Though they set a grueling pace, these orcs weren't even pushing themselves. Even if someone did manage to slip away, Aedela doubted it would take long for them to be hunted down.

Escaping on one's own would be hard enough, but for Sath, it was hopeless. At her best, Aedela would've been able to carry her for miles - so long as she walked. With that in mind, progress through Rohan would be slow enough without necessities like hunting, foraging, seeking water, and finding suitable places to camp and hide from the orcs that would surely be following. But all of that would be difficult no matter how many of them managed to escape, and Aedela refused to consider leaving without Sath, or even the strawhead pair. Cerowyn had insisted on carrying Holdred, herself. Daulakul had merely shrugged at that and told her to keep up or he'd take the boy for a turn. Cerowyn never lagged behind.

Had she the energy, Aedela would've laughed at the notion of attacking these orcs. Perhaps she would've stood a chance against one of them when she was at her best, but even then... a slingshot and a chert knife against whips, forged swords, fangs, and claws? She'd crush what remaining hope the other prisoners still clung to, and she didn't even have her knife or her sling anyway.

A sling was possible... She preferred working with leather, but the tall, dry grass could be woven into the shape she needed. Her first sling had been made of grass, under the guidance of her Uncle Marroc, back when she was a small girl.

A figure appeared over the next rise, running toward them. Daulakul held up a fist and stopped as the runner - an uruk with one ear - approached. Aedela sank gratefully to her knees, trying to catch her breath and listen as the uruks spoke. This wasn't so easy, as her Orcish was sketchy, her breathing ragged, and she could practically see her pulse pounding through her eye.

Daulakul's bewildered expression as he turned and stared at the prisoners could've meant anything. Aedela tensed. Her muscles were lead, but if this was it, she planned to take at least one orc with her into oblivion.

"We won," Daulakul said, dazed. "Better than won... We..." He turned to Cerowyn, who was in the midst of letting Holdred off her back. "We pick up our pace, you'll see your kin again before sundown."

Cerowyn's pretty face twisted up and she glared at him, keeping Holdred close.

Daulakul hissed under his breath. "Isengard's army is defeated," he clarified. "They didn't even break the wall. Your people are alive."

Isengard's defeated. We won. Aedela wondered if Daulakul was sick or dying. He seemed to be keeping his feet just fine, even if he looked like someone had brained him. Perhaps losing Isengard had taken such a toll on him that he couldn't handle the defeat at Helm's Deep, either? "That doesn't make sense," she said.

"We are spies," Roniin said casually, preoccupied with resting Sath on the ground and thumbing the cap off another waterskin. "Or we were. Now that our secret is out in the open, so are we."

"Who were you spying for, if not Isengard?" Cerowyn demanded, suspicious. "And don't you dare tell me you're really working for my folk."

Ashon doubled over, coughing and laughing, and even taciturn Roniin chuckled.

Daulakul snorted as if finding the idea too preposterous to laugh at. "No," he said flatly. "We're working for ourselves." He nodded to Ashon. "Go tell Ruznaahk and Karnroth to double-time it. The rest of you, move out!"

+++++

Ruznaahk liked the tall grass. Rohan was not exactly covered in it, but it made for excellent cover whenever it was available. Lying still, he could watch through the blades and listen to everything for miles in every direction. Not like in a forest, or underground. He thought he'd hate working in a counter-raid band, out where the sun would punish him all day with no hope of shade. But there was a freedom in the open landscape that had grown on him, and in time, he was confident that he'd learn its secrets and how to move through and survive it with ease.

The sun was still a pain, though. Somehow, it seemed even brighter when Karnroth coughed him up. He remembered feeling absolutely blind from emerging so suddenly after spending so much time in near-total darkness. Hissing and cursing, he'd actually struggled to climb back down the giant's throat, where he could finish his nap in relative peace. Karnroth didn't have much patience for that, what with his need to breathe and all, but Ruznaahk noticed a new kind of swagger in his gait. Karnroth had been flattered, but he didn't want to ruin his image. Whatever he thought that was, these days.

However, the open horse-lord country made the giant nervous. He'd been quick to hand Ruznaahk his bow, quiver, and other gear, all the while sneaking tentative glances from behind the outcrop he'd chosen to hide them behind. He had covered a lot of ground, but they still had a long way to reach Helm's Deep, and the rest of the band could be anywhere in between. To make matters worse, Karnroth disliked the idea of just running the whole way, on account of him being terribly easy to spot, but he was prepared to bee-line to various hiding spots as soon as he spotted them. But after he spat Ruznaahk back out, some of his fatigue and headache returned.

At least he made plenty of shade. The trouble was hiding him. The giant could lay as still as possible in the tall grass, and if he was lucky, he'd look like an armored boulder. The gash on his forehead looked much better, but the adventure with the flood had left him exhausted and sneaking naps whenever he thought he could get away with them.

Ruznaahk squinted at a dark shape that caught his notice, moving slick and quiet through the grass. He reached for his quiver, but stopped with mixed relief and agitation as soon as he recognized the figure. Ashon came hurrying up the hill, ducking low to minimize the chance of being spotted from a distance, and she didn't even have to pause to find them. Ruznaahk heard her curse under her breath, and she straightened up, scowling as she approached. "Why?" she growled as she came to a stop in front of them. "Why did they recruit you when you can't hide worth shit?"

Ruznaahk waved a claw at the newcomer. "Could ask you the same question, now get down before somebody sees you!"

Ashon snorted. "Ain' no one gonna see me before they see his bloated carcass. What, did you call him over for shade?"

"Where else do we got to take cover?" Ruznaahk snapped back. "Nobody's seen us anyway. We're perfectly at home here in the grass. Like snakes."

"A fat snake," Ashon growled, eyeing Karnroth's bulk.

The giant chuckled. "Damn straight," he mumbled sleepily.

Ashon rolled her eyes hard enough to give Ruznaahk a headache. "Right, while you two were buggering each other, the rest of us got a report from Helm's Deep. The gambit worked, and the higher-ups are talking about alliance with the Horse-King."

"Alliance?" Karnroth propped himself up on an elbow, blinking and squinting as if it would help him see the truth better. "You're shitting me."

"They either like what we got to offer, or they're more desperate than we thought," Ashon grumbled, walking away. "Come on. All the Riders went to the battle, so the plains are clear for now. If we hurry, we can catch up Daulakul and your pet humans, and reach the fortress before dark."