Thranduil gazed down with no expression at the spider he had just slaughtered. He simply sneered in disgust, before turning to one of his guards.

Thranduil: “What do you hold in your hands.” He demanded, his icy eyes narrowing at a small, squirming thing in the soldier’s arms.

Guard: “It is an infant, my lord!”

Thranduil glared down at it.

Thranduil: “Of what race?” He said firmly.