The fell creature swept up on the wind, blocking out what light peeked through to shine feebly on the mountain. The whistling and howling on the wind was joined, in that instant, by the black worm’s cries, terrible and sickening.
Ithilótë, whose name was in the old-tongue and whose heart still echoed with the old songs, stared into the thing’s eyes. Thasiel, his sister of the line Men call Silverfox, cracked the very earth with her shining staff, and the earth reached out a power to her.
They had kept company of the good animals and travelled in the company of a great snow-white cat, whom they had taken to know as Clara; this beast matched the worm for ferocity and drew first blood.
Terrible and awesome though the black worm’s powers were, and even situated within the evil realm of Angmar, it was no match for the Silverfoxes and Clara, who suffered great injuries but was nursed quickly back to health in the Elven ways.
Never again did the black worm belch its venomous fire over the land. The Enemy’s power was on that day gravely wounded by the forces of light.
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