Abel's black hair fluttered in the wind, and he shivered from the cold. He was under towering oak trees and stood knee-deep in a small muddy river with a large net in his hand. 

"Ba-ah." Abel's baby goat, "Snow," called. It was a small, white thing with a red ribbon 'round its neck, standing on the grass by the river. 

Abel was the son of the Sheppard, John. For country men, boys his age begin to take on larger chores, like milking the cows, or watching the herd. He was doing something similar; he was trying to find dinner. It didn't have the same ambience, however. 

"I know, Snow. I'm hungry too, but I need to catch a frog or two for Ma's soup." Abel smiled, patting his goat's head. 

Something in his peripheral vision twitched, and with it, a rustle. A large, fat frog! It suddenly hopped out from a bush. 

This was his chance! This might be the catch he's been waiting for all day! Abel slowly waddled back into the river, reading his net, moving cautiously, careful to not make any water splash. Closer... Closer... He was inching closer. And... Swing! 

The frog hastily moved out of the way. No you don't, thought Abel, going for another try. But he misses... Annd the prized amphibian skillfully hops back into the bush it came from, while he fell flat onto the muddy river bed; brown earth smothering on his face, shirt, arms, legs. 

"Ba-ah." The baby goat frustratingly strutted its legs, running quickly to Abel's side. 

Abel grudgingly picked himself up from the mud, wiping his mouth and face with the inside of his shirt. "I know, Snow." 

"I'll get the next one, plus, some extra mud doesn't hurt. I've been here since the morning."

A bush rustled behind him. 

Another bush-hopping frog? Looks like I'll fetch dinner much faster than I think

Abel readied his net once more.

Ok, lets get this one and go home.

But as he turned around, his eyes widened in terror.

Before him stood a heavy, hardened assembly of grotesque creatures of gnarled fir-coloured skin, sloping foreheads, robust lower chins, strong bow-ridges, and scars. Their large bodies, bigger than any man, casted elongated figures that danced eerily on the forest floor.

What are those things?

The strange creatures lumbered closer to the river. Abel held his breath, his movement paralyzed; caught in the grip of fear. They all held silver weapons in their hands, shining in whate sunlight could peek through the thick foliage above. 

The aura of death seemed to sit on their shoulders.

He pressed himself against the cover of the underbrush, hoping against hope that they wouldn't detect his presence. His gut rang with alarm. 

They, much in Abel's favour, seemed oblivious to his concealed position. Their attention was fixated elsewhere, stooping on the edge to drink from the cool, flowing stream. The biggest one of them all, a creature with a crescent axe, was drinking in the middle of the river where the clearest of water ran. This one, had no right eye, and a cut-off ear. 

"Ba-ah." Snow bleated behind Abel. 

Snow?... No, no, no. Don't cry. 

The creatures, with a jerk, stopped drinking and collectively raised their heads in unison towards Abel's direction. Dozens of piercing dark orbs with brown irises stared directly at him. 

"Ba-ah." 

No, Snow. Stay quiet. Stop.

But Abel didn't dare move to motion his precious baby goat. He stood frozen. Even as they closed in, he could only let his eyes shut to shield himself. 

I'm going to die. 

The darkness of his own eyelids was pierced by Snow's startled bleat, a desperate cry that echoed through the stillness of the forest. The struggle was brief and the mewls hauntingly subsided into silence. It was instead followed by the snapping of bones and the wet, visceral sounds of teeth tearing into flesh. The air turned thick with the scent of blood. 

I'm going to die. 

I knew it.

Every heartbeat seemed to reverberate with the memory of the violence. And, as the moments passed, he mustered the courage to cautiously open his eyes, half-expecting to find the shadowy figures looming over him. 

To his astonishment, the moonlight greeted him with an unexpected tableau. The Orcs, receded back to the trees and were retreating. They didn't see him. 

The forest, still and silent, held its breath as if exhaling the tension that had gripped the pond moments ago.

The fear that had clenched his heart slowly gave way to the realization that, unlike... Snow... he had not become the next victim; he was alive. But, his eyes shut again, welling with tears, for he did not dare to look behind.

The moon, a silent witness to the unfolding drama, cast its pale glow on the pond, through a gap in the trees, revealing his trembling form.