View Single Post
Old 11-21-2006, 09:10 PM   #271
Messenger of Hope
Folwren's Avatar
Join Date: Jun 2005
Location: In a tiny, insignificant little town in one of the many States.
Posts: 5,228
Folwren is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Folwren is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.

The camp was drawing nearer. Athwen slowed her horse a trifle again, to make sure that the men following her were not discouraged. She looked over her shoulder. Less than half of the whole group followed her. But, still. . .there might be ten men in pursuit. She looked back ahead. There was a place to cross safely, she knew. But this wind and this sand made it almost impossible to see. Would her trusty horse see the trench to jump it? She knew how he moved and how he sensed his footing. He could feel her excitement, her urgency, and she had not the slightest doubt that he would jump – if he saw the trench in time.

Nearer and nearer they came. Athwen gathered herself up for the leap. She tightened the reins, gathered his head, and lifted herself above the saddle. The trench had to be only a few strides ahead and in a moment he would be preparing for the jump. Now was the time! Now!

The horse didn’t jump. A breathless, gasping whiny of protest burst from his mouth. His feet came to a skidding stop, the open trench just before him. A scream mounted in Athwen’s chest, but her throat contracted in panic and it could not escape. Her forward momentum did not stop and she shot forward, over the horse’s head. She felt herself falling and there was nothing to hold onto, nothing to cling to, except the reins in her hands. Her fingers grasped them convulsively and wouldn’t let go. She landed in the trench, her feet beneath her, her side against the dirt wall, and one arm stretched above her head as her hand clutched the reins.

An instant later, nine horses plunged passed her, their riders unable to stop them. They leaped the trench, and she cowered beneath them as their legs and bellies rushed above her. She didn’t see what happened to them, whether the tunnel collapsed, or what happened to the horses that fell in it. She was gasping and panting for breath, trembling with the aftermath that such a burst of pure terror causes.

The trench in which she knelt blocked most of the wind. The air was still around her and she could catch her breath. She let her hand slide down the reins without letting go, and for a moment she just lay there with the side of her face against the cool dirt.

Suddenly, she felt a touch on her shoulder. She jerked violently, her heart leaping again to her throat. She twisted away and this time the scream escaped her open mouth. Her movement was too late. The man had her arm in an iron grip and he dragged her up from the trench, back into the wind. She tried to struggle, but he had some sort of armor on and it hurt her hands to strike. In her attempt to get free, she let go of the reins and her horse turned and trotted away from the struggle.

“Come on, come on, come on,” the man muttered as he tried to keep his hands on his squirming captive. “Don’t cause such trouble, my sweet.” Athwen trembled from head to foot with contemptive horror. Tears of rage and terror filled her eyes and coursed down her face. She didn’t care if it hurt, she fought and struck out all the harder. She had to get loose, she had to! She would rather be killed than be taken at this point. Her hands were cut – she could see blood on them though she felt nothing – and still she fought, although he dragged her farther on, towards his horse, where he wanted her.

Last edited by Folwren; 11-22-2006 at 01:16 PM.
Folwren is offline