Tarannon watched Sorlas fall to the back of the group. Herevion and Rinoas walked in the trees to either side, copleting an effective rear-guard. They held swords or bows ready, covering the entire company. Tarannon walked behind even them, not caring for the danger. They had not noticed him, for he could be silent when he wanted to, and nearly invisible. He needed to be alone.
Islist’s torture of the captive spy frightened him: not because the cruelty had been rarely found in thir leader, but because he recognized it in himself. He could not say that he would have spared the creature, or even have killed it on sight. To his mind came unbidden the memory of the small house on the Westfold where he was born. He saw the flames grasping at dry timbers, saw the licking greedily at the thatched roof. He heard the screams—
The ranger shook his head, banishing the vivid images. He clenched his fist until the nails drew blood from the palm. Drawing his sword, he imagined dark blood running through the deep gutter, spilling onto the hard earth, staining the grass crimson. Shaking his head again, he moved to sheathe the blade. To his horror, he found that he could not.
Tarannon knew what was wrong. His war-wrath had not risen at the camp attack. Now the death of the spy had evoked the memories that brought a near-insane battle fury rushing through his veins. If he could not contain it, his companions were in danger. For long moments he fought the rage, finally controlling it. He sheathed his sword and with an effort slowed his breath.
“Seregsul,” He muttered. Though surpressed, it would return; and soon.
Tarannon moved, unnoticed, back amidst the marching group. Immediately, he noticed something that he had missed while walking behind. The rangers were silent. They stared mainly at the ground or straight ahead, and avoided meeting eachother’s eyes. Their expressions were tense and reserved. He noticed Durvagor walking in the middle of the company, his head bent, obviously fighting some personal battle. Tarannon avoided speaking, not sure he could handle a stressful conversation. Luckily, with no one else wanting to even think about talk, that was not even challenging.
[ June 17, 2003: Message edited by: Arestevana ]
|