The lesser tribe?
Beating the thick foliage back he pressed on deeper in to the forest. The orc cries, although distant, were easily audible despite the noise from the torrential rain. The darkness did not help and his arm now ached from holding aloft the lit staff that he may not constantly trip over the undergrowth. Yet his face had many fresh scratches from thorny brambles and needle sharp twigs.
Just as the rays of dawn began piercing through the forest canopy and the rain began to ease, so too the noises of battle subsided. The trees became sparser and eventually he came upon a clearing. From behind a tree he took in the scene, a good sized party of orcs had been destroyed by the looks, amongst them silently walked, short, pot bellied folk making sure that any who survived would not do so for long.
It was the silent manner in which they continued to finish off the orcs which nudged his memory, rather than their strange and unlovely appearance. A not unpleasant grin slowly formed on his face, eventually becoming silent laughter with slight shaking of the shoulders. Reaching for a pipe under his robe he continued to laugh mildly, thinking how an old fool forgets much even while trying to remember all he has ever known.
It seemed the forest dwellers were capable of looking after themselves and his rush in the direction of the orc cries was unnecessary after all. With his wonderment at the strange but pleasant things of middle earth renewed, he turned away from the scene to continue his journey. Still, over the next millennia he would return a dozen or more times and become known to the folk of the forest, for that was his wisdom, to see the worth of a folk where others did not.
It's a bottomless pit Sir!
Aren't all pits bottomless lad?