Gaernath drooped, bending to pluck his goose-feathered shaft from the rusty bracken. "No venison tonight."
"Let me see," Dírmaen said, holding out his hand.
Blood stained the pale wood four fingers from the head; the broad barbed point was clotted thickly with gore.
He handed it back. "A fair shot, within the four quarters. If the blood were clear and bright, or there was some whiff of bowel, the chase might be long." There on the stony crest the noble hart fled, head of sixteen at full still high. "He may run, but he will not run long. After him!"
This is a work of fan fiction, written because the author has an abiding love for the works of J R R Tolkien. The characters, settings, places, and languages used in this work are the property of the Tolkien Estate, Tolkien Enterprises, and possibly New Line Cinema, except for certain original characters who belong to the author of the said work. The author will not receive any money or other remuneration for presenting the work on this archive site. The work is the intellectual property of the author, is available solely for the enjoyment of Henneth Annûn Story Archive readers, and may not be copied or redistributed by any means without the explicit written consent of the author.