A low pitched howl rumbled through the forest, shaking Gerithor from his peaceful slumber with a start. The forest around him was eerily silent, a thin veil of mist hanging in the still night air. Through it, Gerithor thought he saw a large shape like that of a wolf standing at the top of the hill. Though it was too dark to see it clearly, he thought he saw the firelight glinting off of two hungry eyes.

Just then another howl, further off and higher pitched, answered. A chill went down Gerithor's spine as he saw the shape at the top of the hill quickly disappear behind a tree. He rushed back to the campsite and poured water on the dying embers of the fire, stomping out the stray flames the remained. Grabbing his bow, he crouched beside Aragorn, who was fast asleep.

"Wake up!" Gerithor whispered hoarsely as he shook his cousin, attempting to wake him. Aragorn's eyes flashed open, and he immediately reached for his sword.

"What is it?" He said, seeing the fear in the younger ranger's eyes. Gerithor didn't have to answer for at that moment another chilling howl pierced the silence, much closer this time.

"Quick, into the trees!" Aragorn murmured urgently. Gerithor immediately ran to a large, sturdy pine tree and sprang lightly up to its lowest branch, helping Aragorn up when he reached it. They had ascended the tree just in time, for a muscle-bound black warg stepped into the clearing at that moment, its dark fur bristling. It raised its powerful muzzle into the misty night air as it sniffed, attempting to find the scent that had brought it there. Another warg came into the clearing from the opposite direction. This one was smaller, and its face was covered with deep, pale scars. It seemed to be blind in one eye, and its head was constantly tilted to one side to compensate. The two wargs met at the campfire, which was still smoldering despite Gerithor's best efforts to put it out. They sniffed at the burnt wood, their nostrils flaring as they attempted to pick up a scent. When they were unsuccessful they began searching the rest of the clearing, looking for any sign of the rangers. The smaller warg poked around in the bushes, slowly getting closer to where the rangers had hidden the dead buck.

"Please don't find it, please don't find it," Gerithor breathed, his heartbeat thumping loudly in his ears.

It took a moment longer, but eventually it came to the deer, snarling and giving two short barks. The jet black warg let out a howl, and the smaller warg joined in the mournful, yet frightening, sound.

Gerithor exchanged a frightened glance with his cousin as three more wargs trotted into the clearing. To the surprise of both rangers, riding upon the back of the largest was a Man, cloaked in black and wearing a helm of iron. Gerithor shivered involuntarily, for a dark energy surrounded the newcomer and filled the clearing. A mask partially covered his face, but despite this Gerithor could see intense, almost inhuman blue eyes scanning the campsite.

"Grishna, Daro!" The man exclaimed as he glared at the smaller warg, who was digging at a mouse hole under a tree. "Man caral?!? Ego!" The smaller warg shrunk in fear and ran away into the forest. The Man's voice was deep and filled with menace, echoing through the trees.

Elvish. The man was speaking Elvish. Gerithor felt a chill go down his spine at the realization; This man was no mere bandit or marauder. He was something far worse, though what exactly, Gerithor did not know.

Suddenly, two more wargs trotted into view at the other side of the clearing. Another Man, clothed in rusty iron armor and wearing a bearskin cloak, sat atop one of them. He had a ragged dark beard and was covered in dirt. White markings covered his body, though whether they were tattoos or warpaint was unclear. Gerithor thought that the man probably smelled terrible. "Le suilon!" The man said in a deep, gravelly voice.

"Na vedui." The man in the dark cloak replied. His pronunciation of the words was refined, but spoken in such a way that they sounded hateful and twisted.

"I came as you said Lord," the bearded man rasped. His Common speech was crude and halting, as if he was unused to speaking it. "I ready to hunt." He ran a finger along his axe's sharp, jagged blade.

Rhudaur. Gerithor remembered hearing tales of the wild men of Rhudaur, sworn enemies of the men of Numenor. They had sided with the Witch-King of Angmar when he destroyed the northern Arnorian realms of Arthedain and Cardolan, hoping to loot and pillage the lands of their enemies. They were a primitive folk, dwelling in hovels and forming into small warrior tribes that fought each other as much as their true foes. They had disappeared into the north as the years passed, fading into legend. But here, it seemed, was one such man standing before them now.

"Good." The man in the black cloak replied as he continued to scan the area. "There were rangers camped here very recently judging by the fire. I want you to track them down and slay them."

The man in the bearskin raised his shaggy head to the night sky, sniffing the air like some sort of feral beast. "I kill them." He growled, his voice almost expressing excitement at the prospect. "I bring their heads to you."

"That will not be necessary Olag." The man in the dark cloak said dismissively, waving a gloved hand in the air. "Now go!"

The man in the bearskin pulled the reins of his beast, forcing the warg to turn around. It howled, and the man let out a barbaric roar as he galloped off into the night. The man in the dark cloak watched until they disappeared, then whistled to the other wargs.

"Tarokk, mellon nin, tolo ar nin!" the massive black warg went to the Man's side. He spun his warg around and prodded it onward, quickly retreating into the forest. The other wargs followed swiftly behind, leaving the clearing in an uneasy silence.

Gerithor peered into the darkness over at Aragorn, who wore a fearful expression that seemed foreign upon a face that was normally calm.

"What was that??" Gerithor asked after a few moments. Aragorn turned to face him, his jaw tense.

"I do not know, but that Man... He was speaking Elvish. And I have never before seen a Man control a warg in that way. Orcs have learned the art, but there are no records of other beings ever taming them. It is an ill omen cousin. We'll leave the deer behind and make for Esteldin with all haste. I must learn more of this." He silently jumped down from the tree.

Gerithor followed, falling into a crouching position at the base of the large pine. He would have normally been disappointed about leaving his trophy behind, but he was too shaken by their encounter to even think about it at the moment.

"We will not rest again until we reach Esteldin. Prepare yourself." Aragorn took off running. Gerithor began to follow, but almost immediately stopped dead in his tracks. Something didn't feel right...

Suddenly he dropped down to the ground and fit an arrow to his bow. He had seen movement. As he looked into the night, he could barely make out the small, scarred warg in the brush to the left of Aragorn, silently stalking him. It did not seem to see Gerithor.

An arrow flew from Gerithor's bowstring, lodging itself into the warg's neck before it had a chance to leap. It howled out in pain but did not go down. Aragorn immediately whirled around and swung with his now-drawn sword. The warg cried out in pain as Aragorn's sword slashed a deep cut in its side. Another arrow whistled by and hit it square in the chest. It lunged at Aragorn, using the last of its strength in a final attempt to finish him off. The older ranger yelled as he thrust his sword full force into the warg's mouth. It let out a long, trailing howl, shuddering as its life force left it and collapsing to the ground. Aragorn was covered in its blood and was breathing deeply, his face covered in a thin sheen of sweat.

"You saved my life!" He exclaimed as he examined the dead beast.

"I suppose that's one step closer to being even, then," Gerithor replied with a wry smile. He pulled both of his arrows from the dead warg's body. One of them was undamaged, but the other had lodged so deeply into the warg that the arrow's head had broken. He placed the intact arrow into his quiver and threw the other one into the bushes.

"We need to hurry, the commotion may have alerted the others," Aragorn said, casting a wary glance toward the direction they had come from. Gerithor gave a curt nod. He couldn't help but notice how tense Aragorn was, and it worried him. He had never seen the older ranger look this concerned before; The situation was clearly bigger than Gerithor knew.

He took a deep breath, steeling his nerves before plunging into the darkness after Aragorn.