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Orual · 08-24-2004, 01:13 PM

The world was a little hazy, his sight a little filmy, when Erundil woke, but inside his head everything was very clear. He knew exactly where he was. He knew what had happened. He was not at all surprised to see the arrow wound on his hand, or a fight going on above him.

Erundil studied the wound on his hand in a manner that resembled mild interest. His head was swimming and his injured hand was throbbing. He felt his breathing become somewhat laboured. He wondered if the poison was, as the red-haired man--Raefindan?--had put it, 'septic'.

(It also bothered him somewhat, in the state of clarity and calm that the poison had put him in, that he did not know the meaning of the word septic. He considered himself a learned man, and it was rare that a word was brought up in any language of Men or Elves that he did not know.)

He sat up slowly, propping himself up against Gond, whose breathing was slow, but more even than Erundil's. Another brief thought: Ravion would be devestated if his horse was to die. Perhaps he ought to be here.

He listened closely to Raefindan and the boy Aeron, although their voices sounded like they were coming to him from a great distance. Finally he realized that their situation was not good at all, and he tried to speak, but it only came out as a somewhat pitiful noise. Both of the fighters turned to him.

"Speaking may be too much effort for you now, Erundil," Raefindan said gently. Aeron simply glared at him.

"I know," Erundil said. "Gond."

A long pause.

"Gond?" Raefindan urged, still in a kind voice but with an underlying anxiety.

"If Gond can...if Gond can walk, send him after Ravion," Erundil said brokenly, interrupted by ragged breaths. "He will find his...master. He...he always does. If Ravion comes back, perhaps he could...could be of some...of some help."

Ravion

It had been hours, but Ravion had not moved from where he had set up camp.

There were two forces pulling on him, and he knew which path he needed to take, but he could not bring himself to take it. His anger and his pride told him that he was not needed in what he now thought of as Raefindan's company. That way led the same life that he used to live, consisting of nothing but vain chases and overnight stays at taverns where he was looked on with intermingled suspicion, respect, and pity.

His common sense and that sixth sense that had developed around Mellonin told him that not only was he needed in Raefindan's company, but that he needed the members of that company; and what was more, that something was not right. He had left in anger; he was being called back in worry. But how could he go back?

It would take more humility than Ravion thought he had in him. He would have to ask permission to re-enter the company. He would return as the lowest, not the leader. And for some insane reason he worried what Aeron would say. Had he grown so weak that he could not take the criticism and sarcasm of a boy? Was that how far Ravion the Ranger had fallen?

He stood up. Perhaps this was still about his pride after all, perhaps it was still about Aeron, but he had to prove it to himself that he was not such a child that he would run from responsibility at the slightest discomfort, the slightest trouble. He would return. He would ask forgiveness. And maybe he could regain their trust. He took a step forward.

Or maybe not. He stopped.

He shook his head and rubbed his face harshly. This was no time for doubts.

He took another step, and started to retrace his path.

08-24-2004, 01:13 PM	#433
Orual Speaker of the Dead Join Date: Oct 2002 Location: Superbia Posts: 901	Erundil The world was a little hazy, his sight a little filmy, when Erundil woke, but inside his head everything was very clear. He knew exactly where he was. He knew what had happened. He was not at all surprised to see the arrow wound on his hand, or a fight going on above him. Erundil studied the wound on his hand in a manner that resembled mild interest. His head was swimming and his injured hand was throbbing. He felt his breathing become somewhat laboured. He wondered if the poison was, as the red-haired man--Raefindan?--had put it, 'septic'. (It also bothered him somewhat, in the state of clarity and calm that the poison had put him in, that he did not know the meaning of the word septic. He considered himself a learned man, and it was rare that a word was brought up in any language of Men or Elves that he did not know.) He sat up slowly, propping himself up against Gond, whose breathing was slow, but more even than Erundil's. Another brief thought: Ravion would be devestated if his horse was to die. Perhaps he ought to be here. He listened closely to Raefindan and the boy Aeron, although their voices sounded like they were coming to him from a great distance. Finally he realized that their situation was not good at all, and he tried to speak, but it only came out as a somewhat pitiful noise. Both of the fighters turned to him. "Speaking may be too much effort for you now, Erundil," Raefindan said gently. Aeron simply glared at him. "I know," Erundil said. "Gond." A long pause. "Gond?" Raefindan urged, still in a kind voice but with an underlying anxiety. "If Gond can...if Gond can walk, send him after Ravion," Erundil said brokenly, interrupted by ragged breaths. "He will find his...master. He...he always does. If Ravion comes back, perhaps he could...could be of some...of some help." Ravion It had been hours, but Ravion had not moved from where he had set up camp. There were two forces pulling on him, and he knew which path he needed to take, but he could not bring himself to take it. His anger and his pride told him that he was not needed in what he now thought of as Raefindan's company. That way led the same life that he used to live, consisting of nothing but vain chases and overnight stays at taverns where he was looked on with intermingled suspicion, respect, and pity. His common sense and that sixth sense that had developed around Mellonin told him that not only was he needed in Raefindan's company, but that he needed the members of that company; and what was more, that something was not right. He had left in anger; he was being called back in worry. But how could he go back? It would take more humility than Ravion thought he had in him. He would have to ask permission to re-enter the company. He would return as the lowest, not the leader. And for some insane reason he worried what Aeron would say. Had he grown so weak that he could not take the criticism and sarcasm of a boy? Was that how far Ravion the Ranger had fallen? He stood up. Perhaps this was still about his pride after all, perhaps it was still about Aeron, but he had to prove it to himself that he was not such a child that he would run from responsibility at the slightest discomfort, the slightest trouble. He would return. He would ask forgiveness. And maybe he could regain their trust. He took a step forward. Or maybe not. He stopped. He shook his head and rubbed his face harshly. This was no time for doubts. He took another step, and started to retrace his path.