The land, covered in the green of twenty years without the overt presence of sentient beings, was washed with the blood-red glow of it's sunset. Life felt that the day was at its end, and some cried out in farewell to the sun as it slowly made its way down, while others simply plodded their way back to lairs, flapped their wings towards nests, or, in general, decided that being out of the safety of their homes was just not worth the risk, and went in the direction of where they usually spent their night hours. Because, nighttime was a dangerous time to be out. So many beasts, both real and imagined, came out when the world was dark. None of them friendly.
One of these stood on a hilltop, watching the sky become a watercolor portrait of glory, beauty and majesty. But this one wasn't an elf to be awed by such sights. Nor was he a man, to want to replicate it. He was a nomad, an Orc, an outcast among outcasts. He didn't care. He had his family, and they were relying on him, whether they knew it or not.
At his side was a powerfully built canine, with gray-blue eyes, and a shaggy coat of black and grey, speckles of gold touching him here and there. Not a pet, by any means, standing tall at the shoulder, with long fangs, and an almost intelligent gleam to be seen in his eyes. This was a hunter, tracker, and killer, a wolf of the North, slightly larger than the ones to be found this far south, but, then again, the Orc and the wolf were from the far north, from the cold, from the ice and snow. Why were they this far south? The both of them were hunters, and the both of them were on the trail. But not for food, or sustenance. But for revenge, and the hope of rescue of the ones that they hoped were still alive.
The wolf didn't comprehend this, of course, but the determination that he helped his trainer to find the murderous scum that had slaughtered the tribe, as well as his brother, seemed to gleam revenge in the wolf's eyes.
"Smoke rises in the Southeast," He said softly, as it to the hunter beside him, but more to himself in reality," And they coincide with the trail that we have been following," Whoever these beings were, they didn't know of the subtlety of covering their tracks. Which meant that they were stupid, or were in large enough numbers to warrant such stupidity. That thought made Marko's throat dry, and he gulped, fighting off the sudden feeling of fear.
They weren't running from him. He was running to certain death. At their hands. He sure that he could make them pay for his death dearly, but then, he was but a young orc, proud, viciously so, and very secure of himself. But even these odds were starting to tell on his ego. He scowled, forced it back down, and descended the hill, before he was seen by anyone looking back.