Starting Anew

A Healer's Touch

OoOoO

The arrow flew short but true; the warg was dead before it landed, even with its claws still out and slavering drool. The deadweight of a paw landed on Legolas's shoulder, but the elf was already moving. Spinning on the spot brought his reloaded bow to bear in the direction of the nearest threat. With a hiss Legolas sent the quarrel burrowing beneath the bony ribs of the warg as it snapped at Strider's heels. Having been otherwise occupied with the furry behemoth's cousin, Strider jerked his chin appreciatively.

"How many wargs do you count, gwador-nin?" Elladan shouted as he buried his sword point behind a snarling jaw.

"Twelve here, six upstream." Came the answering call from Elrohir, who stood perched on a rotten log before leaping over a warg and stabbing it from behind.

The sound of yips and snapping bowstrings came echoing through the damp forest as if in answer. "Not six anymore I should think." Said Elladan, looking around the clearing in satisfaction as Strider's group of rangers finished off the remaining wargs. "It sounds like Beringil and the others found the stragglers."

When Legolas shot the final warg that remained in the clearing, it let out an agonized howl that likely could be heard for leagues around. Everyone winced at the sound, Strider included. None of them enjoyed killing wild animals, but the wargs fell into a category somewhat apart from your average bear.

"Everyone alright?" Strider called out, wiping the blood from his sword with a corner of his cloak.

"We're all here Strider!" One by one the rangers sounded off as they came sliding down from the trees. Those who had fought on the ground likewise confirmed they were intact.

Elladan sidled up to his brother with a grin. "That was three for me. What about your count Elrohir?"

With a raised eyebrow Legolas watched the brothers from Imladris compare their kill-tally. 'What an odd thing to do.', he thought to himself. It was not as if there was a prize to be won, except perhaps in warg pelts. The thought of the rank odor of warg filling the tiny cabin the twins shared made Legolas subconsciously wrinkle his nose.

Straightening up and brushing the mulch from his knees, Strider gave a loud whistle. "Ai, Beringil! Is everyone still in one piece over there?"

"We're alright Captain, just a few scratches here and there." Beringil's voice was already sounding closer; no doubt the other group of rangers had finished with their bloody work and were fast approaching.

Asvard cleared his throat. "Ah, Legolas...?"

Having been about to set to work reclaiming his arrows from the warg carcasses, Legolas paused. "Yes?"

The narrow-faced ranger made an indistinct noise, gesturing at Legolas as if he were trying to suggest there were a rather large insect on the elf's shoulder. Putting a hand to the joint of his arm, Legolas nearly jerked in surprise when he felt something distinctly warm and sticky.

"Aiya! You're hurt mellon-nin!" Elladan exclaimed, his and Elrohir's little competition instantly forgotten.

Oddly enough Legolas felt no pain whatsoever. That either meant the injury was not so very bad...or very serious indeed. Flipping back the ripped edges of cloak he examined the damage as best he could by cranking his neck. The warg he shot earlier must have clipped him with its claws as it fell.

Strider was already at Legolas's side. His shaggy dark hair was tangled with leaves and sweat, but his gaze was deeply concerned.

"May I see it?"