The intruder continues to approach. It's actually possible that, at the distance Faramir first spotted it, it could've been traveling at an angle that would've missed the camp, but having spotted the fire, it's made the slight course correction to intercept it.
By the time it gets close enough that the campfire can throw any light on the shape, it is apparent that the initial impression of hugeness was entirely accurate. Walking up on two cloven hooves, firelight and shadow play across bright, deep red skin with a texture like a cross between leather and stone. Solid orange eyes glow faintly beneath a formidable brow topped by the stumps of what would otherwise be a majestic pair of horns.
The earlier glints of light turn out to be from reflections off of a mighty sword held in a four-fingered right hand that looks like it should be attached to a statue twice the creature's own size. The slight stains still evident on the sword suggest that whatever the golden metal is that the sword is made of, it's not actually gold, which would not stand up to such treatment. (Also, if Faramir has any sense for such things, it's strongly magical.) A filthy rag is clutched in the more normal sized left hand. Covering its sloping shoulders and back and dangling down its body are the tattered remains of what may once have been some sort of coat.
The creature stands slackly at the edge of the fire for a few moments, as though catching up with the fact that it had stopped walking. It then drapes the rag over its shoulder to free up the hand to stroke its chin.
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By the time it gets close enough that the campfire can throw any light on the shape, it is apparent that the initial impression of hugeness was entirely accurate. Walking up on two cloven hooves, firelight and shadow play across bright, deep red skin with a texture like a cross between leather and stone. Solid orange eyes glow faintly beneath a formidable brow topped by the stumps of what would otherwise be a majestic pair of horns.
The earlier glints of light turn out to be from reflections off of a mighty sword held in a four-fingered right hand that looks like it should be attached to a statue twice the creature's own size. The slight stains still evident on the sword suggest that whatever the golden metal is that the sword is made of, it's not actually gold, which would not stand up to such treatment. (Also, if Faramir has any sense for such things, it's strongly magical.) A filthy rag is clutched in the more normal sized left hand. Covering its sloping shoulders and back and dangling down its body are the tattered remains of what may once have been some sort of coat.
The creature stands slackly at the edge of the fire for a few moments, as though catching up with the fact that it had stopped walking. It then drapes the rag over its shoulder to free up the hand to stroke its chin.