[Theodred21]

Taradan was having horrible aches again. Fully concscious he was, but in his paralysis, he was unable to join the battle. So there he lay, in his makeshift tent listening to the sounds of fighting growing dimmer. And when he could hear the sound of Wargs no more, he mustered all his strength and sat up. Pain shot through his skull, but he was becoming used to it, there always seemed to be pain.
He slowly sat up and limped outside. Thenamir was organizing the burning of the hideous corpses, he was a good replacement leader. Taradan hated his helplessness, but at least he was in his right mind. Often times he had seen those who survived bad head wounds go mad.
Suddenly, the sounds of crying reached his ears. Turning his head slowly to avoid more pain, he saw the horses all dead. Nimroch, he thought, his beloved white mare. He quickly staggered over to find Baranthol, already weeping over his horse. But his voice did not seem like that of a man, the sobs sounded like a woman crying. But Taradan's thoughts were not focused on that now, as he stroked his brave steeds mane. First Aspida, the lady who had saved his life had died, now his beautiful horse. Like many of the others there that night, his veins coursed with burning hate, and his heart yearned for revenge.