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Old 02-14-2007, 08:51 AM   #344
Folwren
Messenger of Hope
 
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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.
Athwen let Azhar slip quietly to the ground with her back against a rock as soon as they came to the place where the wounded were gathered. As she straightened slowly, Athwen passed a quick hand over Azhar’s forehead, checking once more to see if any remnant of a fever had returned with the girl’s recent excursion. Besides the heat of movement, there was no unnatural, feverishness there. Azhar winced and drew her leg back so that she could wrap her hand around it. Athwen nodded in approval. Pressure would help the pain.

“Azhar,” she said. “You stay here and wait for me. I must see to the more pressing wounds over here. You can wait, can’t you?”

Azhar looked beyond Athwen at the figures of wounded men, some sitting in a hunched position, other lying flat on their backs, and still others lying in twisted forms in their attempts to relieve pain of wounds. She nodded, understanding, and Athwen turned away.

She walked forward to resume her work once more, but her footsteps halted suddenly as she saw Lindir walking slowly into sight, encumbered with the body of Dorran held tightly and carefully in his arms. She dashed forward with beating heart and reached them just as Lindir was lowering Dorran to the ground.

“What’s wrong? What happened? Is he killed?”

It was really her job to find out, but she had forgotten that for an instant. But as Lindir spoke as assuringly as he could that Dorran was not killed and that he thought Dorran was only knocked out, Athwen’s wits came back to her at once. Quick observation told her more than Lindir could - Dorran was still breathing quite steadily and his blood still pumped.

“Silly man,” she murmured, as her fingers gently explored the new bash on his head. “You would go and bump your head again.” She skipped up to her feet, took a few steps away to reach her bag and came back immediately. She drew a strip of bandage from it and quickly and gently bound it about Dorran’s bleeding head. Lindir was still standing nearby when she had finished. Athwen stood and turned to him. “Lindir, what else needs to be done? Is the fighting over?”

“I believe it is,” Lindir replied, turning and looking out. “The last of them have been repulsed and have ridden away. We must gather the scattered women and children and then decide what is next to be done.”

“If there are still some of us who are not wounded and not scattered, can they not help me?” Athwen asked. “I have run out of water. And if there are any more wounded out there, they need to be brought back.” Her eyes strayed passed Lindir to watch Khamir as he was helped, limping, back to the grove. “If there is anyone who knows a single thing about such work as this, or anyone who is smart enough to learn, I’d want them, too,” she said, looking back at Lindir.

“Well,” the elf began doubtfully, “I’ll see what can be done.”

“Thank you,” Athwen replied, smiling slightly, and then she turned back to work and Lindir went out. Athwen walked forward, checking on each of the people there, taking stock of what she had done and what she had yet to do.

Beside Adnan, who had lost consciousness (Athwen was more likely to believe it was from loss of blood than from faintness of heart) while she had not yet finished tending to him, Khamir now sat, leaning heavily against the wall of rock. His eyes were shut and his face seemed almost relaxed. Athwen knew that his leg was hurt - he had limped badly as he came - but she did not know to what extent it was wounded.

Near those two, Vrôr lay. He had not moved at all since he had been first brought on. Last Athwen had checked, his breathing had evened out. She thought he would soon be coming to himself.

Then there was Hadith, the first one she had dealt with. He, too, had not really come back to a real waking. Her eyes continued to sweep the small enclosement. Two she did not know were sitting in miserable silence, enduring as mutely as they could their wounds. One had had an arrow through his calf, rendering him almost useless in any attempt to chase anyone and fight. He had made it back to the grove slowly and painfully, helped part of the way by a companion who he said had been killed. The other had been knocked down by a horse and then trampled upon by another one. Athwen suspected at least one broken rib as well has a broken collar bone and arm. She shook her head and her eyes passed on as she thought, ‘You are actually rather lucky...’

There were three who had died of their wounds - the blades that had cut them or the arrows that had pierced them had either caused so much blood to flow before she could stop it that they died slowly, or had struck upon those important portals of blood that carried the human life and they had died quickly and surely. Her eyes lingered on one of those. He lay with a look of peace on his face now. It had been a long struggle that had ended only a few minutes earlier. She had tried to fight for him, to help him, but to no avail. He had died with her hands still struggling to preserve his life.

There were still others that she had not yet fully tended to. Their wounds were painful, but once she had seen to it that the bleeding would stop, they were not so dangerous as to be rushed to immediately. Now she had time, but no water.

Her eye suddenly caught a movement. She looked across the short space sharply and saw Dorran moving. His hand lifted to his head and he touched the new bandage. He lay there a moment, seemingly trying to see about him. Then, to Athwen’s astonishment and disapproval, he sat up. One hand was pressed against his head, but his eyes were open and he was calling.

Athwen thread her way carefully through the bodies between her and Dorran and then ran forward and knelt before him on one knee. Her hands pressed against his shoulders, urging him to lay back down.

“What do you think you’re doing, dearest?” she asked, with only the slightest sound reproval in her voice. “Stay down. You’re trembling like a leaf already with the attempt of sitting up.” It was only a slight tremor, true, but enough for her to make an excuse to keep him down. “Dorran, it’s not good that you got hit again.”

“I can’t say it was my idea,” Dorran answered with a grimace.

“Sure it was not. But it was yours to try to sit up. Now, will you promise to lie still until I’ve had a chance to assess the damage done to your skull?”....

Last edited by Folwren; 02-14-2007 at 11:16 AM.
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