The One Hour Fellowship Writing Challenge

While Running the Wargs by pilbara orc

The freezing water splashed all over us as the Wargs played,like overgrown pups,in the shallows of the lake.Their felty blunt snouts covered in glistening drops,tiny eyes rolling with pleasure.

It was a bitter wind blowing that morning,though the sun peeped through the tattered stormy clouds.It would be another bleak day higher in the mountains.
Inspector Orc was commenting on the low quality of Warg being bred these days,his face animated with his favourite subject.My other companion was paying little heed as he proudly watched his romping charges and scratched thoughtfully at his patched forehead.

I thought they looked like pretty splendid animals,myself.

A cloud of dark feathers passed overhead heading back to Isengard with beaks spilling secrets as they flew.

When the scout returned we had barely enough time to scoop Snaag'l from his fishing hole as we bounded out of the valley and onto the edge of a sandy bank. In the distance our keen orc eyes could just make out a pony plodding slowly, mane hanging low, retracing the steps of his companions from the foot of the fog shrouded mountains.

The faint smell of man-flesh,pipeweed,elven cuisine,dwarf sweat and wizardly brimstone drifted in the breeze and a howling of wolves erupted nearby.Inspector orc's eyes became intense as the small loping forms drew closer to their prey.The Wargs,straining to be with their stalking brethren,were barely restrained by the rider's snarls.

Then the pony stopped and looked at the shaggy enemy and it seemed as if a spell had settled like grassland pollen on all around.

I would have sworn it was a mighty Mearas steed and not a homely pony that galloped free.