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The dwarf nodded at the prince's words. That many orcs shouldnt have been too bad, but they were Mordor orcs, and so could not be underestimated. He wished to stay and fight but as he had been asked, he would not be the rude dwarf some people liked to tell stories about. After the scouts returned, the dwarf had lapsed into an entirely confused state - he sat on a stump of a tree, his sword across his legs, and stared at the map, sometimes poking at it and muttering curses in Khuzdul. Certainly, this was not underground, but anyone has a sense of direction, and a hundred miles off mark is too far even for a drunken tale! Was there some sorcery at work? Blain pulled at his beard in frustration, barely looking up when a newcomer showed. "Some cousins of mine know the speech of Ravens but... I must admit my ignorance in that regard." The dwarf folded the map with a sigh and hid it. He would just have to find his way by the stars when they stopped to make camp.