It wasn't too long before things got a bit more interesting. Aragorn, running in front now, gave a cry and stooped to the ground.

"Stay! Do not follow me yet!" He ran lightly to the side and looked to the ground. "There are hobbit footprints here! Very obvious now!"

He stooped to the ground and picked something up before running back to the three others. He held out his hand and showed them what he'd found.

"The brooch of an elven cloak," Miril gasped.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lorien fall,' said Aragorn. 'This did not drop by chance: it was cast away as a token to any that might follow."

Miril, who had stooped low to the ground to examine the prints, stood up and nodded. "Pippin's, I'd guess, based on the foot size. He must've had his wits about him to contrive this plan."

"Come! Let us run! The thought of those merry young folk being driven like cattle burns my heart," Legolas insisted.

Aragorn nodded, pocketing the Lorien brooch for safe keeping. He sped off along the main trail and the others followed him swiftly. The sun climbed high in the sky; it was now one day since Boromir's fall.

Night was falling soon, and the four hunters came to a halt. They'd stopped only twice since the beginning of the day's march and now they had to make a choice.

"An evil choice now lies before us, my friends. Do we pause, rest for the night? Or continue on our way." Aragorn looked troubled. "We must decide soon."

"Let us continue!" Legolas insisted quickly. "We must catch the orcs!"

"Yet we might lose the trail in the night," Gimli argued. "Surely we must consider this."

Aragorn nodded. "This is true, but they seem to be holding a straight course. I should be able to follow it."

"Orcs must rest at some point," Gimli pointed out.

"Most orcs do not face the light of day, yet these do." Legolas sighed. "They certainly will not rest by night."

Miril had wandered away from the group. She stared off into the distance and sighed. Until now she had refused to think about the kind of torture Merry and Pippin were undergoing; it was too painful. But now, it was sinking in. Her friends, those precious little hobbits, were captives of servants of the enemy. Why would the orcs have captured them alive but left Boromir dead unless they had some knowledge of the Ring?

"Miril, what do you think?" Aragorn beckoned her back over. "Do we stay, or continue on?"

Miril looked to where the sky was darkening as the sun disappeared. She wanted with all her heart to continue on, to rescue her friends.

"We should rest."

She chose the hard answer, because she knew the company would need to be at their best to fight an entire company of orcs if they caught up to them. The four hunters would be no help fatigued.

Aragorn sighed and looked away over the plains. He nodded.

"I agree. Let us rest, and begin anew tomorrow," he agreed.

They all immediately lied down upon the springy grass and instantly were asleep. They had run for nearly twenty four hours straight across rough terrain and were exhausted. Miril's dreams were strange that night. Filled with the images of horses and a golden hall, she woke in a daze, utterly confused.

Aragorn was standing next to Legolas and Gimli was just getting up. The sun was barely peeping over the horizon.

"My dreams were filled with the sounds of hooves," Miril said aloud, drawing the attention of the others.

"Indeed?" Aragorn asked in surprise. "As were mine."

He lay down on the ground and listened for any signs of the Enemy. He lay so still for so long that had Miril not known what he was doing, she might've thought he'd fallen asleep.

"The sound of the orcs is indeed far away," he said sadly. "But closer and clearer are the sounds of horses. Hooves on the earth, just as in my dreams."

"What could it mean," Gimli asked.

Aragorn shook his head. "I do not know."

"Let us be off," Legolas insisted. "The orcs have passed beyond even my sight. We must hurry, for they did not halt last night, this I am certain of."

Again the going was all but silent. Even Miril was feeling the effects of a day and a half of hard travel. If it wasn't for her elvish blood and the elvish lembas, she wasn't sure she'd have been able to keep going at the pace being set for more than a few more days. Again, Aragorn amazed her with his prowess and will power. He was such an amazing ranger.

No other attempts to leave the company of orcs were found. Evidently the had increased their vigilance and the hobbits must be incredibly fatigued by now. Miril's heart ached for her little friends. Merry and Pippin, Pippin especially, had a special place in her heart. He was so young and innocent and yet he had an iron will.

The first time she'd ever met a hobbit had been in Breeland, Archet to be exact. Calla Mistyfoot, a young hobbit who lived on Mayweather Creek Farm, had been her first contact with the little folk. Miril had just returned from her time in Rivendell when Halbarad had taken her on one of his patrols.
The scream tore through the air like a hot knife through butter. Miril and Halbarad instantly perked up and turned in the direction the scream had come from. Miril tore off at a run and Halbarad followed, both with their swords out. It had sounded like a young girl.

Another scream came, this one more desperate but they could make out words now.

"Help! Somebody help!"

They broke through a thicket of trees to find three wolves circling a tree. In the tree was a young hobbit girl, no older than in her teens which for a hobbit was quite young. Her short legs dangled precariously close to the wolves' snouts when they jumped towards her.

Halbarad struck first. He plunged his sword into the first of the wolves, killing it instantly. Miril did the same to the second, and they ended up finishing off the third together. The girl had been stunned silent, staring as these two strangely clad forest people that had saved her life. She smiled shyly.

"Thank you," she squeaked. "Who are you?"

"I'm Miril," she said with a smile, helping the girl down from the tree.

"Halbarad," said her father. "What's your name?"

"Calla. Calla Mistyfoot." Her blonde curls bounced as she stared up at the big people.

"Where's your house, Calla?" Halbarad asked her, crouching down in front of her. "We need to get you home."

"It's just up the creek," she pointed west.

Miril nodded and took her hand. "Let's get you home."

The hours passed and soon the four hunters found themselves in darkness again. Miril wished not for the first nor last time that times were simpler and happier like her time up north with the Rangers and her father. Or when she would hunt the goblins with the Twins. But alas, that was not her lot in life.