"You are to scout the Trollshaws and report back with anything you find on your way."
Deorgast sat against a huge tree on the edge of the Road. The trees and green bushes were dense there, and here and there he could hear the whiz of a fly and the chilling breeze that came from the East. He looked around with a frown as he shivered with cold, before looking again at the letter Fiontann wrote to him with the above sentence. No more had been said to him, yet Deorgast quickly packed the things he needed for this job and came riding swiftly towards the Trollshaws.
Upon crossing the Last Bridge, his horse and companion, Grimme, suddenly began to gallop with unneasement. He could feel it as well, there was something evil about those lands. Deorgast remembered the description that was given to him about that place, by none other than the Grey Warden, a Dunadan and Ranger of the North: "Elves dwell there at times, for in those lands you can find the city of Imladris. However, it is not a blessed or easy place. It is corrupted by foul beasts, and one can go mad only by hearing them."
Deorgast was not to fond of the place at all. Not only because of the beasts, for he trusted his arrows to fly true and his sword to thrust deep, but also because of the elves. For long had he been taught not to trust them at all times, for dark was their magic, and manipulative were their minds. Not only did he not trust them, but he was deadly afraid of them. He had already seen one or two in Bree, but he always kept himself away from the likes of them queer folk.
Even the trees seemed to have arm like branches that were able to grab him and make him their prey at any moment. He was cold, for he had not lit a fire, since he didn't yet know what kind of beasts dwelt on that accursed territory. Suddenly, he caught the glimpse of something moving on the branches to his right, for keen he is of sight, and also the howl of something (or someone, in that case), that didn't seem to be friendly at all. Quickly he got up, letting Fiontann's letter fall as he picked up his longbow and adjusted the quiver on his back.
It was time for the scout and tracker to keep on moving, apart from the weariness of his and Grimme's limbs. And it was on heavy spirit that the Swiflty mounted on his horse and rode East, deep into the land of the Trolls.
