Screams. There had been screams. Whether it be from the aggressor or not he could not say. The sounds hinted at a struggle, a battle of sorts. Immediately, the once called ranger knew what was happening, or at least so he thought. Instinctively, he reached for the hilt of his sword, grasping it tightly and removing it from its sheath. As quickly as he dared, the man weaved his way around the many trees, searching for the source of the noise.
He had separated from his group to scout ahead, now looking back he felt this may have not been well thought out. Worry overwhelmed him as he neared where he thought the sounds had came from. Orcs. Their lifeless forms littering the forest floor. Stepping over them, his eyes darted about the area. There was no one standing except for himself. No trace of life. Aragorn lowered his sword, his face falling.
That is, until bright crystal hues noticed something in the corner of his eye. He whirled around, making his way swiftly over to the figure that lay on the ground.
“Mellonamin… ” He lowered himself, now kneeling beside the elf. His eyes scanned over the sight before him— bruises tainted the usual fair skin of the male, fresh and dried blood mixing with cloth and blonde locks.
“What happened here?…”