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Old 07-03-2006, 06:36 AM   #22
Durelin
Estelo dagnir, Melo ring
 
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Join Date: Oct 2002
Posts: 3,121
Durelin is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Durelin is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
Khamir

The former slaves began their march a little before dawn, and had continued a slow but steady pace throughout the day, stopping as little as possible, and mainly being forced to pause during the midday heat. They moved slowly, more slowly than Khamir and a number of the others, would have liked. But with about fifty men, women, and children in addition to the one-armed man and his comrades, there was little hope for a quicker pace. Most of the large group carried a small bag or an article of clothing that acted as one, most of the supplies divided up among all of the men and women. Men and women – whoever felt up to it – helped pull along a very small cart pieced together from wood salvaged from boxes and barrels Khamir and his gang had whisked away from different plantations, and from scraps they snatched from any trash piles they could find. There was enough room in it to carry some more supplies and a couple children who needed some time off of their little feet.

There was only one good thing about all the difficult labour the slaves had to endure on the plantations: a long day in the sun, constantly moving, was not as daunting to them as it would be to a person not accustomed to such harsh lifestyle. And now that they had been slightly better fed and hydrated for the past two months, they were able to keep from allowing much of anything from dragging them down. About the only thing that managed to do that was the realization that Gondor had failed them once again; the King’s promises were still empty. Khamir was bitterly unsurprised, and yet he felt a pang in his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger – he had long learned to ignore that feeling, and this one was more persistent.

By early on the second day of their journey, with a destination somewhere in the northern wilderness, Khamir felt himself begrudging the decision to help this group of escapees. Their determination and hope was admirable, and had been refreshing, but there were so many things about them that were both saddening and frustrating. Some of them had been affected by their lives as slaves much more than others, and in ways that Khamir knew could never be healed. And the Southron man often felt at a loss for how to deal with many of them. Slowing his pace a bit, and allowing a few people walk past him, he matched his steps with Shae’s, one of the Mountain gang, one of only fourteen others Khamir trusted with a weapon. He had taught her a bit about throwing daggers, though she had been a quicker learner than he ever expected. She had a sharp eye and quick hands, steady hands…even with the cuts on her palms.

“Do you regret our decision yet?” the one-armed man asked in a low grunt, leaning his head down closer to her ear. He expected she knew what he referred to; all of the gang should. Khamir had never said he regretted throwing his lot in with the fifty slaves they had found huddled among the foothills of the mountains, and he had not yet thought it, except when bitterly cursing the hot sun or the burden of sixty-four other presences, particularly when he was expected to take on any role that resembled leadership. But the kind of ‘joke’ had lasted well over two months now. Khamir and his…thieves, looters, bandits – they had been called many things…enjoyed being able to laugh over the situation. Well, at least Khamir laughed, though often silently.

He only hoped it would all remain in jest.
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