Buldro's heart fluttered within his uneasy stomach as he pulled out the last stakes of his tent. He knew what would begin in less than an hours time. His mind would not stray from the thought of the Paths of the Dead. His deceased father, Buldron, had told him many stories before he perished.
He heard the voice of Falin, calling from afar "Finish up! We march on within the hour!" The area near the door of the Paths of the Dead where the dwarves and men had slept the previous night was eerily silent. He couldn't bare to look up at the faces of his companions.
Buldro finished packing up his tent and gathered his paraphernalia. As he picked up his two-sided battle axe the feeling in his stomach grew stronger and stronger. He uneasily walked up near Falin, his white beard dangling near the dirty ground. The feeling in the pit of his stomach became so great that his mind could only find one thing to think. "I've got nothing to lose and so much to gain." Buldro said inaudibly to himself. He stood almost heroically near Falin and waited for Falin's words to leave.
__________________
"I grudge you nothing that I have. Yet I desire that none shall dwell beyond my walls who know the way hither; and if I trust you, my sister, others I trust less to keep guard on their tongues." -Turgon to Aredhel
|