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Old 11-23-2006, 07:35 AM   #276
Hilde Bracegirdle
Relic of Wandering Days
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Join Date: Dec 2002
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Hilde Bracegirdle has just left Hobbiton.

The sand crackled between his teeth as Carl clenched them, tensely shifting his jaw from side to side as he waited. Lowering his bow, he caught the green kerchief covering his nose and mouth and pulled it down, spitting into the sand at his side to gauge the wind. All of those who clutched bows were now poised, alert and frozen as they waited for the attackers to come into view. And with this changing wind they had to be doubly sure of their mark, there were too few arrows to waste, and as Lindir had told them, both Athwen and Dorran might be among those to reach the trench.

All thought of showering rocks upon the enemy as they climbed out of the tunnel, had quickly been put aside. And Lindir had impressed upon them all the importance of not only indentifying just who they were targeting, but also those surrounding them. It made a good deal of sense with this wind whipping about. Shooting long distance was simply too dangerous. But still having to wait while two-dozen armed horsemen came barreling toward them was not easy. Carl could only shoot so fast, and once his arrows were done, he might be done for as well. With no time to even find a hole to hide in.

The hobbit raised his bow again as he faintly heard the rumble of approaching horses in the wind. Aye, he couldn’t think like that. He had to keep an eye out and a few spare arrows for Hamin, the fellow who he had struggled with in the pit. In truth, he was quite anxious that he find the slaver before Hamin could discover where Kwell and Azhar were hidden. He held himself quite responsible for Hamin’s ill temper toward the two children, and even if that where not the case, just knowing what sort he was, made the hobbit that much more eager to confound the slaver's revenge.

Through squinted eyes and stinging wind, Carl looked over at Lindir. The elf was stationed with the other half of the bowmen to the right of Beloan’s men. Lindir’s body turned, as he looked down the length of an arrow, piercing the veil of dust with his keen eyes, searching for the riders in the storm. “There are too few of them here,” he shouted over the roaring wind. “Only a portion has taken our bait.” And Carl watched as Lindir’s group stood down, the elf running easily behind the lines to were the hobbit and a scant handful of other bowmen were positioned to the left of Beloan’s men.

“Carl,” he said in the hearing of all, as he drew up. “As an archer of the Shire I trust you to direct the bowmen around you, while I gather the rear guard quickly. Once the group of riders that is descending on us has gotten past the trench, and its numbers have been sufficiently depleted, let Beloan’s men finish dealing with them. You and your fellows are to fall back, for I believe you will be sorely needed elsewhere in the camp.”

Carl nodded his understanding, as Lindir glanced quickly across the murky plain before departing. The hobbit looked up just in time to see the first wave of horses that jumped the trench, coming into view. Just as their hooves found the earth, it gave way beneath them, and the riders were hurled, slamming against the exposed side of the collapsing tunnel. Carl winced as he saw the first horse somersault into the deep gouge, that was rapidly lengthening. But giving a loud shout he and his men loosed their arrows on the slavers that had fallen in the left side of the tunnel, and were struggling to climb out of the pit. They looked fierce, with eyes smoldering and sand clinging to great scratches and welts, and the hobbit wondered what else had befallen them on their way. Two of his group ran closer to the edge, shooting the at the rider’s below them.

Looking along the length of the tunnel, Carl saw some of Beloan’s group rush forward to jump into it, and fight the young slavers there. None of those he saw resembled Hamin’s bulk and he could recognize neither Athwen nor Dorran in the brown haze that enveloped everyone. But worrying that Hamin might enter the camp elsewhere or that Athwen had ridden off to the side at the last moment, perhaps still under pursuit, Carl shouted loudly over the din. Garnering no response from his archers, he put his fingers to his mouth emitting an ear-piercing whistle at which the archers fell back, and the small group quickly disappeared into the camp.

Last edited by Hilde Bracegirdle; 11-24-2006 at 09:21 PM.
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