[Bêthberry]

Aldor was the least of Darash's worries at the moment. With horror, she watched Lyshka grabbed by one of the stinking beasts, Lyshka, one of the few here with whom she felt some connection! She tried to move towards the woman without drawing attention to herself, but the pull of the new orc line dragged her farther away. Then, suddenly, Darash saw the orc roar and drop the woman, his arms flailing. Two orcs seemed interested in him; they moved towards him, but knocked into other orcs, who turned and sneered at them. A general pellmell of pushing and shoving broke out, and Darash feared that the Easterling would be trampled, but she was lost to Darash's sight.

Yet this diversion gave safety and security to the amazon warrior of the tribe of Amazigh. Continuing to lumber alongside the new dispatch of orcs, Darash was able to grunt her way over towards the disruption, pointing towards it with her hand, her hood nodding also. The orcs around her leered as they figured she was simply anxious to join the brawl and they actually moved to make way for her to join, one of them gurglling in his throat, stopping her, and handing her another knife, his tongue hanging out his mouth in voyeurish display. Darash made some gutteral sounds and grabbed the blade, jesturing with it in the air crudely and waddling over towards the disturbance with what she hoped was some semblance of orcish lust for the brawl.

But the melee was not her real destination. Crouching low, she scanned the ground, hoping to find Lyshka. When she could not, she almost dispaired and began to falter. Why go more? Why go more? she whispered to herself. The words jolted her. They were not the words of her people. They were the words of the language of Grash. She shook her head and choaked slightly on the dust the orcs' feet was raising The newness of the language seemed to give her hope and washed away her despair.

She began to watch the ground as she made way towards where she hope Lyshka would be. She saw no clear tracks, just the stamp of the confused tread of the orcs. Then she saw a buckle, a buckle she recognised as one from the orc's tunic Lyshka had worn. It must have been ripped off when she was grabbed. Moved towards it, caught it, and caught the scent of Lyshka from it. With her head down even more, she caught the scent of the woman's trail. There was hope!

~ ~ ~

Following the scent had brought Darash up to the path, ignored by the orcs who were still struggling over the one Lyshka had wounded. She ran up and saw the woman who had made it somehow out of the beastial mob. With a burst of energy which joy gave her, she reached out and hugged the Easterling, her head resting on the woman's shoulder and cuddled against her neck. Lushka put out her arms around Darash and the two would have remained rooted there had not the noises around them reminded them of the urgency yet of their escape. The two ran further up the path and, turning, came upon Grash wrestling with Jerdo. More joy at victory surged through Darash's veins and she gazed triumpantly at the slave who had so far succeeded in bringing them out of emprisonment. She ran faster towards him, recalling how she wished to tell him of Aldor's treachery.