Beneath the eaves of the forest, fierce battle raged. The trees
rang with cries as each flying missile found its mark.
Rallying his troops for one final attack, Thranduil gazed at the
determined faces around him. “We will not yield,” he vowed.
There was a cry at his side, and Thranduil saw a dark wetness spreading
across the young elf’s cloak. The enemy was getting closer, and
more daring. Surveying his dwindling supply of weapons, Thranduil
nodded determinedly. He had just two options.
He surged forward, leading the attack on the other elflings with his
last remaining snowballs.