Word Count: 100
“Where’s Frodo?” asked Merry, stepping back into the small camp by the shore.
Aragorn turned, scanning the circle of the firelight, unbelieving. He was gone. Close by the rocky face of the cliff, another pack lay abandoned. Panic gripped him.
Even as Aragorn turned toward the forest, he heard a soft cry, the snap of twigs and the sound of running feet pounding toward them. Breathless, Faramir burst into the clearing, Frodo clinging tightly to his neck.
“Orcs!” Frodo gasped. “The forest is swarming with them.”
Aragorn urged them up, quickly putting out the fire. “We make for the Eastern Shore.”