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Old 02-21-2011, 08:13 PM   #37
Mithalwen
Pilgrim Soul
 
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Join Date: May 2004
Location: watching the wonga-wonga birds circle...
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Mithalwen is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Mithalwen is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Mithalwen is lost in the dark paths of Moria.Mithalwen is lost in the dark paths of Moria.
At Woodseaves Farm

Erling Woodseaves woke and yawned. The house was quiet, only the sound of the fire in the range and the faint murmuring of the women in the parlour next door. He half grinned to himself as he remembered none of his brood was in - there was seldom silence where his youngest child was. He smiled at the thought of her, the long awaited daughter had been expected to be her mother's pet lamb but she had turned out to be his, determined to help around the farm even when she was scarce bigger than the buckets she was trying to carry. And then she was the one who really resembled him, at least in looks. She was a living reminder of the kin he had lost in the Fell Winter, and enough time had passed for that to be a joyful remembrance. He attributed the child’s stubbornness, however, entirely to her mother.

A cold draught caught him and rising from his chair with a stretch and a sigh, feeling his years catch up with him as stiffened joints protested at fresh use after so long a day. He crossed to the window and pulled the shutter ajar. It was snowing - the hedges and outbuildings already had alight coating and it had even begun to settle in the yard. It was too early in the year for this he thought. He looked for a glimmer of waggon lamps guiding his children safely home and hoped they would not be long. Erling was no less happy than Sukebind to have them under their roof - no matter how noisy they were. He found a bit of rag to stop the draught and closed the shutter; he’d make a proper repair in the morning.

Erling went through to the parlour where he was informed his announcement that it was snowing wasn’t news to those of them who hadn’t been asleep for the past hour. But he continued beginning to fret though he knew it wasn’t really so late yet.

“They should be back… not a night to be out unless you have to … you and Silas better stay here tonight Fern…. Jessie will be frozen – did she even take a cloak this morning? “

“She won’t be frozen at the Boffin’s - that smial of theirs is cozier than any house ..”
Erling noticed Fern flinch - “What ails you lass? The child…?”

“No, I’m fine..” Fern could keep her secret no longer .. “It is Jessamy..she's not at the Boffins'” .
Within five minutes Erling was on his way into Bree-town.

On the Downs

Jessamy was frozen. She had given her cloak to cover Edwin - not that it was doing him much good and though the old sweater she wore had felted when it shrank in the wash, it wasn't enough to keep the out the snow's damp. She could scarcely feel her feet or fingers and there was a dull ache behind her forehead - the only part of her that had any heat in it.

Jessamy stumbled on, still beside Karl. The mounds and menhirs seemed even more sinister under their snowcovering and she was beginning to think they had passed them more than once. The fading light and fast falling snow were so swiftly obscuring their tracks. It was so hard to keep one's head here..even if it weren't swimming. It also seemed to be getting a bit foggy.

Neither she nor Karl had the inclination to talk. It would waste energy and since their predicament, specially Edwin's were the only likely subjects it wasn't going to be cheering. All she could hear was her own footsteps, Karl's heavier tread and the softer, quicker sound of Duke's paws dipping into the snow. But after a while she fancied she heard something else. Distant but definitely there. A rhythmic thud accompanied by random creaks and rattles. She was beyond reminding herself that twice today she had been scared by sounds that had turned out to be nothing more sinister than a skunk and a dog.

All she could remember was Seth's bedtime story, still vivid three years after it was first told with its clanking chains and pale swords and evil spirits, thralls of an undead king, who would come to find her if she weren't good and would trap her in his barrow. And she hadn't been good. Now she could hear what her mind, all reason fled, told her was a barrow wight plodding relentlessly towards her, rattling his sword and dragging chains to bind her. She had turned to face the sounds and now backing away from them, she bumped against a standing stone. Its touch might as well have been a wraith's embrace for the effect it had on her. Terrified out of her wits and with no strength and nowhere to run she screamed as if her soul were being torn from her body, and struggled to get away from the monstrous stone. For the third time that day she fell. But this time there was pain. And darkness.

Last edited by Mithalwen; 02-22-2011 at 07:11 PM.
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