Scout (Part One)

The biting north wind swept gravel across the withered wasteland, howling as it passed.

On the distant horizon, a troop of cavalry clad in black leather armor raced southward like arrows loosed from a bow.

Their hooves pounded heavily against the cracked earth, kicking up clouds of murky dust. The dust rose continuously with the wind, trailing behind them in a long gray-yellow plume like a muddy dragon suddenly rising from the wasteland. It was especially stark beneath the gloomy sky.

This was a scouting cavalry unit under Sauron's command. There were fifteen men in all, each an elite scout selected from the army.

The knight at the head wore black leather armor inlaid with dark golden patterns. The plume on his helmet whipped in the fierce wind as he gripped the reins tightly, his hawk-sharp eyes fixed on the wasteland ahead.

Their mission was of vital importance: to scout ahead and determine the strength and direction of the Carnford Army's attack, providing the main force with the most accurate intelligence for the assault to come.

The warhorses beneath the cavalrymen had all undergone rigorous training. Their muscles were taut, their four hooves flying, and they showed not the slightest sign of fatigue.

The clash of armor, the pounding of hooves, and the neighing of warhorses blended together, carrying far across the empty wasteland and breaking the silence that had once reigned over it.

They raced onward, constantly scanning their surroundings and remaining alert for possible ambushes. Yet they never spotted a trace of enemy forces, which eased their tension somewhat. They assumed the Carnford Army had yet to notice their movements.

What they did not know was that from the moment they left their camp, every move they made had already fallen under the watch of the Carnford Army.