[Theodred21]

Taradan could not believe he was alive. Before he had lost conciousness, he remembered the forceful blow to his head, and the sharp pain doubled. He looked to where his once gleaming helm now lay with a great dent in the side. If the club hadn't only glanced him, and the blow had been weakened by his helmet, he knew he would not be here. But was this better than being dead? His wound burned as if on fire, and dried blood covered his face and hair. he kept lapsing into periods of blindness, only seeing through a veiled mist. The pain was horrible, he could not keep his eyes open for long periods, and the throbbing went on incessantly.
He looked over at Thenamir again, and saw that he had received a bad wound too. He had been wrong about, he really was quite valiant. He felt better after telling him so though.
He heard noises around him and saw that the Rohirrim that had arrived were busy getting ready for a hasty departure. Taradan knew that they must get as far away from the Dunlendings as possible, but he was reluctant to do so. He was very tired, and he wanted to lay down and sleep. "They probably won't attack again,"he said to himself sleepily. "I am so, tired, I must rest. Yes...that's what I'll do...just lie down and rest...yes...rest...."

[ October 02, 2001: Message edited by: Theodred21 ]