[Thenamir]

When Thenamir came to, he wished he hadn’t.

His head could not decide whether to spin off his spine before or after it exploded from the pounding pain. His left arm was being probed by red-hot irons. He could not lift his head from the ground. Garbled voices seemed to be shouting his name from a distance. His throat seemed coated with sand, his eyelids sealed with a mild glue. When he did manage to get them open, it was only to see inky blackness, with odd shapes moving in an orange haze.

Someone lifted him roughly, sat him up on the ground, setting off another wave of spinning nausea. A bottle of water was placed at his lips which he seized in fumbling hands and gulped greedily. In a few moments the spinning slowed and finally stopped, the shapes became people and trees, and the glow became a hastily-kindled fire. Thenamir with a measure of relief recognized Ulfwine supporting him. Three of the new Rohirrim arrivals tending to Gurthden, Baranthôl and Taradan, but he could not see the person behind him tending to his arm and head. Ulfwine gave him the water-skin again and said, “We must move from here as quickly as possible – Borleg may return at any moment with more men. Can you stand?” Thenamir nodded weakly, and his two aides lifted him gently but firmly to stand, just a bit wobbly at first.

It was then with a start that he recognized the one who had been tending him – the youth from the battle! Thenamir held the young man’s eye for a moment, then placed a hand to the shoulder of the lad with a bit of effort. “Would that I had had your skill and bravery when I was your age. You and your companions have saved the lives of myself, my friends, and our beloved horses. I owe you a debt that will be hard to repay. What is your name?”

“Kalohern, sir,” said the lad, who looked as if he were about to stammer some humble reply, but was interrupted by one of the attending newcomers. He was dressed richly, strangely unsullied by the battle, urging a hasty departure.

The wounded horses who had now returned to their masters were tended as well, and could be pressed to bear their masters for a short time until the near danger had passed. Gurthden and Baranthôl were more severely wounded, but would live until they could be properly tended by the healers. Taradan was conscious, but still a bit dazed from the head injury when Thenamir saw him. “They tell me you quitted yourself well, Thenamir,” said Taradan in a near-whisper from the litter attached to his own horse. “I had doubted you before…can you forgive me?”

“Only if you live to be forgiven, and that means you must save your strength for healing and not words,” said Thenamir with a rueful smile. “We will see these men again before many days are passed, I fear, and will need your sword and your command to best them once more.” The well-dressed newcomer again nervously urged them to hasten. Kalohern and another rider helped Thenamir onto Windwight, who winced perceptibly from his arrow wound. It grieved Thenamir to have to so burden his wounded mount, but the loyal horse willing bore the man through the pain as the group now turned and headed away from the battle site…

[ October 04, 2001: Message edited by: Thenamir ]