teeth. The knuckles on the hand clutching his bow turned white as he
himself against the trunk of the tree because of another strong gust of
shaking the branches and wreaking havoc to the last remaining leaves.
Movement on the branch below him caught his eye. Peering into the gloom, Legolas' sharp eyes could just make out the figure of Raniean, one of his close friends and second-in-command.
"The storm is
getting worse, my lord," Raniean called over the sound of the wind.
Legolas scowled. The patrol had been tracking a pack of Orcs throughout the forest until the storm had struck, forcing the elves to abandon the search and see shelter in the trees.
"We can pick up their trail once the storm dies down." Raniean placed a comforting hand on his prince's shoulder, sensing the disappointment and anger. "Your orders, my lord?"
would never risk the safety and lives of his warriors by doing
rash as pursuing the Orcs in the wildness of the storm, but he was
letting the vile creatures slip through his fingers. "We wait. We move
either when the wind reduces its force or at dawn."
As he sat there with his back against the tree and his face grim, he listened to the sound of the wind as it whipped around him. It sounded almost mournful, full of sadness and sorrow as it howled through the forest. Legolas shivered despite being an elf and therefore resistant to the cold. If he listened closely enough, the wind sounded almost like a lost child, wandering aimlessly and crying.
Legolas shook his head, ridding himself of the image. The wind could create strange images in one's mind. But in the end it was just wind, nothing more.