"Are you hurt, lady?"
Erundil stood before the darkhaired lass. She was still brandishing her knife, a little wildeyed. She gazed at him uncertainly.
"Bella," said a voice beside him, and a lanky boy wearing elvish clothes stepped past him. She lowered her knife, and her eyes closed; the boy swept the knife aside, and grasped her shoulders. She opened her eyes again.
"Mellon."
"Bella, " he answered, and then looked up. "Erebemlin! Bella..." There followed a jumble of elvish and eastern speech, and Erundil frowned.
Erebemlin stepped forward, glanced at Bella's ugly but minor wounds, and comforted Nethwador. Her wounds will heal. Others did not fare so well. Take her further and let her rest.
Erebemlin and Liornung were walking towards Argeleafa; Nethwador saw the blood on her pretty face, and began to worry about her too. But he had his orders, and he turned to Bella with a mixture of worry and joy.
Last edited by mark12_30; 10-28-2004 at 06:03 AM.
Reason: didn't like last paragraph, ripped it out.
|