[Novnarwen]

"We're almost there!"

His mother's voice drowned in the chaos surrounding them. Cries of pain and despair rung in his ears, penetrating his mind and body. There was something about the terror in his fellow kinsmen's voices, echoing, which he couldn’t' explain. What pain and suffering could possibly make a man scream with such horror? Brander shivered with fear where he sat, clutching his arms around his mother. He could not imagine the scenes evolving in the city, and deep in his heart, he was happy for the lack of his sight. He was in a way grateful for not being able to see what was taking place; men dying by their swords, fighting courageously until the end, women and children slaughtered; he was glad he couldn't see all he had known all his life being put to ruin by the greatness of a power he didn't and couldn't understand. However, even though he wished to be spared for the pain of witnessing this, the pictures which were being formed in his head by horrifying sounds, which seemed to be coming from every corner of the City, were merciless. In truth these images were just as cruel as the ones that were presented to everyone else.

As they rode, the wind rushed roughly against his face. He did not know exactly how far they were from the gate, but he did not dare ask. It was no time for questions, he knew that much. He thought of his brother. Faerim had left them. Bravely he'd done so, to save a poor woman and her child from an evil fate. Although Brander was proud of his brother's immense courage, he knew that this time it might have been the last time they had heard from him. The thought of his brother being somewhere out there, behind them, where orcs were roaming, slaying everyone in their way, made him swallow with anxiety. What was he supposed to do without Faerim, the only person he truly cared for? He frowned, immediately reproaching himself for his self-centeredness. How could he think of himself, what would happen to him if Faerim died, in a situation like this?

The pace of the horse seemed to finally slow down; his mother’s mare was no longer galloping in a ferocious speed, it was trotting hurriedly. Brander listened to the sounds from its hoofs, thumping the ground continually. “Mother, please tell me that we are safe,” said the blind, young boy silently, loosening his grip. He felt petty and unimportant where he sat, and when Brander discovered that his mother hadn’t heard what he had said, he was, in an odd sort of way, glad. Suddenly, the feeling of being weak, which he had felt quite often when being underestimated for being blind, came over him. But the sensation of being of no use, more like a burden, was stronger now than what it had ever been before. Suppressing his other feelings, he felt choked by thinking of his valiant brother. He felt ashamed. Brander was a young man; he should be fighting to protect the city he loved, the only city he knew. He should be one of those who were willing to go back to save women and children from the orc’s slaughtering. He should be one of the soldiers fighting against the terrible enemy who was threatened put everything to ruin. I should've been fighting, side by side with the other young men at my age.., he thought to himself sighing. Yes, he was truly ashamed. Brander knew that Carthor probably was too.

“Brander,”

“Yes, mother?”

“You must stay here. You will be safe for now. We are in the Inner Sanctum. The gates will still hold for a while. I must go and look for Faerim. He might be here, and we must find him.” He heard his mother jumping off the horseback. “If something happens when I am gone, pull the reins and ride. Don’t wait for me. You won’t . . see me . .”

Brander bent down, his mother leaving a dry kiss on his forehead. Tears were in his eyes, and already before she had left, he was praying for her to come back.