Bloody trees! The Master, Saruman, was right to burn them all! To burn all those wretched, green, vile forests in Isengard's fires, and to-
-Hush. Saruman has lied, lied with every word. He has led us to ruin. Now, his power over us is no more. Now, we are Master. Thus were the thoughts of the lone half-orc refugee from the Battle of the Hornburg as he marched through the grey heath.
With the nearest forest several miles behind him and growing more distant with every second, partially of said foliage's own combined volition, his ill-fellings for the large flora might have proven a mystery. Unless one considered the dozens of his spawn-mates and allies who had been literally shredded by the 'trees' -by the huorns- but hours ago. The majority not butchered with the coming of the rohirrim and the lifting of the siege had fled, with all intent to return to Orthanc and the pits they knew- and then the bulk of those were caught by the walking woods, snagged and slain by twitching tree limbs and restless roots before they could make it to the far side and... Freedom?
In a mob behind a particularly large cluster of orcs, including several Berserkers whose broad blades had alarmed even the mighty ents to caution, Ugluk had broken free with the rest- only to be grabbed by one last thick tendril. His own sword, wielded with desperate rage now that it seemed his life would end after so nearly reaching salvation- discouraged it; he had been hurled bodily into the distance rather than dismembered on the spot. His helmet had saved him then, that and a skull thick enough to rival a dwarf.
When he had awakened, head aching, head-gear useless, sword lost, and bruised and cut like he had fallen asleep in a warg den, there was no sign of anothert thinking being.
Except the wizard... He had certainly been a dream, though as to why he should have dreamt it, who knew? That fiend had been at the battle, on his great white horse, handling his steed -or was it the other way around?- with ability even beyond that of the Horsemen, despite riding bear-back. And striking down Uruks left and right. Ugluk wasn't about to forget that. Still, whatever the dream-man had said, his fresh course seemed obvious to him: He was going back to Isengard, to find Saruman and to make him pay for his lies. And then, after that... He would know in time.
But for now, he trudged through a mercifully clean land of rocks and grassy gnolls, on soil to poor to support any tree, even a walking one. As if specifically to counteract the relief of this, the sun was poking directly into his sensitive eyes, threatening to revive his headache. A lengthy stop by a cold mountain stream to rest and drink had put paid to it earlier, or so he had thought; having never encountered such clean water in such quantities before, Ugluk had enjoyed he novelty of the first swim of his life.
And some hours after that still, he had gotten lucky and managed to break a rabbit's leg with his sling. It had nonetheless made a good attempt to get away before he broke it's neck- that had also been a pleasure; the sensation of bones snapping under his fingers. It would make a nice dinner when he stopped tonight. Of course, there were probably horse-folk swarming all over the hills, and a cooking-fire would be suicidal at best... Well, rabbit was a poor substitute for man-flesh, but it would serve.
Another factor made it's concern known as he hauled himself atop the next rise. A smear of black, bearing an odd, coincidental resemblance to old congealed blood writhing with maggots, was oozing amorphously across the land to his right. It was travelling not quite parallel to his own chosen route; given a few hours, there paths would cross. He quickly knew it was a group of other orcs; the occasional flashes of light in the dark splotch could only be the last of the sunlight rebounding off blackened armour and weapons, such as only his fellow Uruks carried. While the descending darkness was assisting his vision greatly, if eh could see them, than so could any rohirrim in the area.
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