[Kruol Gaadish]

Winter. Second Brightening in the Month of Kalendryas. Era XV PF.

South. Southwest. Go to worg raiders' camp.

Simple instructions, Kruol thought, if it was not so ratta-kissing cold.

They've been riding for candlemarks now. But it felt longer. Colder, definately. He was not sweating. But he was tired. Even the flimsey leather armour and cap seemed to be colder than the air around him. Kruol coughed, swore out loud and urged Arrg onward. "Do not stop", he barked at the beast who barked in turn. He was hungry. They were both hungry.

Rations tasted like old meat. It was probably old meat. The water was bitter. Both Hammer and Spear could not wait for the taste of warm blood, the sweet smell of fresh flesh. It was a lust stronger than his desire to rape all the elven women and maybe even their men.

Probably not their men, on second thought.

Where were these damn worg riders? Were they dead?

They urged on in a medium pace. There was no other comfortable pace. Slower and they'd freeze. Faster and they'd tire. His crotch was sore, his thighs burned. This was the life of a warrior. This was the life of an Orc of the Horde.

"You can eat the weaker worgs, Arrg", Kruol assured his mount with a rough, glutteral chuckle. "But you will give me the legs. You know I like the legs."