World’s Breath
@sgaoileadhcaim
[ S ] ilently he walked through the vast forests of Middle Earth. An enigma, a mystery-- no man knew his face, his name. Others might find this isolating, he found it comforting. Being alone was something he was used to, something familiar. There was no one that had to take care of him nor was there anyone that he had to care for. That is why currently the ranger wandered through the wilderness with only his shadow for company.
To the north he was headed, to reunite with his people-- the Dúnedain. However, the sun was setting, and no matter how much time the man spent living among the elves he still did not have as keen a vision as they. So quickly and without a word, the ranger unloaded is supplies and set up camp for the night.
He had been through these woods many times before. He knew each tree, each branch, each leaf that blew in the breeze. However, as the moon rose and his fire crackled, there was something different. The air felt strange, as if the world was holding its breath.
As soon as the thought flashed across his mind, there was a sound behind him. A rustle of leaves, a twig snapping-- then silence. His calloused hand quickly reached for the hilt of his sword, readying himself. For a few moments he paused, waiting patiently for the stranger to reveal themselves.
“ who goes there ? “ His voice came out stern and demanding, prepared for an attack.