[Bêthberry]

The blade never reached the hand of Darash, for, ironically, the orcs had destroyed any chance she had to use it again. In fighting with her bare hands, her arms had once again been broken. Her hands hung uselessly at the ends of her forearms, which were covered with bloody gashes where the orcs had slashed her flesh. Through immense effort, with salt biting her brow, and hot pain roiling through her body, she could tighten her muscles and try to will her hands to grasp and hold off assailants, but the sharp edges of her broken bones tormented her flesh as much as did he external cuts to her arms. And the smoke of the sulverah smote her nostrils, burning them, and spread through her head, confusing her senses. She thought she saw the orcs retreating, but her rational mind told her that was impossible. Suddenly, she sensed more around her, not orcs, but men nonetheless reaching out to her body, catching her in her fall. She would have fought them off; she tried to, but she swooned under the combined effects of blood loss, fatigue, pain, the drugged smoke which she herself had used on the spider's spawn.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

How long she had slept she did not know. She knew only that when she awoke, it was with a headache and thirst she had never known before. And then a surging fear as she saw a tall Man standing over her, clad in green and brown, placing his hands on her shoulders to keep her down. She would have struggled had she not hear his calming voice.

"It is not an orcs' hovel we have brought you to. You are safe here. The Rangers of Gondor do not harm the weak or the disabled. And Ithilien is not Mordor."

Darash lay back, remembering the pain in her arms and feeling them now spread with cooling ointments and held in place by splints and swaddled with clean cloths. The excruciating pain was gone, replaced by a numbed soreness which felt strangely like sleep. The Man reached over her once again and gently lifted her by the shoulders, holding a cup of mildly sweet liquid to her lips. At first, her cracked lips could not manage the lip of the cup and the fluid spilt down her chin, but as it flowed over her parched mouth she found she could drink more ably. The Man let her lay back to recover some strength and then lifted her again to allow her to drink. Her eyes thanked him and courtesy and respect in his shone back at her.

"Others,?" she panted. "Safe too? Where?"

"We count seven of your companions, although a stranger group of comrades I have not set my eyes upon."

She nodded, and sleep, precious balm, overcame her again.

~ ~ ~ ~
Yet when next she woke, she was able to rise and even, tentatively with arms still wrapped in splints and bandages, take advantage of the basin of warm water near her bed, and the fragrant soap embedded with herbs. Clean new clothes lay on her bed. She struggled to pull on the leggings and lift the tunic over her head but the softness of the garments seemed to fall over her easily. At her door, she was met by the Man again, who beckoned to her to follow him. He brought her to Grash, who lay still but breathing regularly on a pallet of straw. When he awoke, she comforted him with the news of help and listened while the Ranger explained to both of them how his bird had spied them in their need. Darash chuckled to herself, thinking of the old Amizgh story of the trapped animal who changed into a bird to escape. Stories have a way of coming true, she thought to herself.

Then the ground trembled and a great shudder went through the world. She swayed, and held onto the pallet for support. She might even have touched Grash's shoulder. The wind wrapped around them and the oppressive weight she had felt when she had been brought to this Northern land suddenly and at last lifted. She breathed deeply and freely for the first time since she had been kidnapped.

Grash looked at her. "Darash,?" he began. "We are free."

She lifted awkwardly her bandaged arm to stop him.

"Kashtia Ma'at-Ka-Re," she said, her throat muscles relaxing in saying her true name aloud for the first time in his presence. As she pointed to herself, he nodded and repeated her name and lay back upon his bed, his face showing a mixture of light and apprehension and joy he had never known before. What is freedom? he wondered aloud. She smiled. "See now," she said, briefly, with a hint of discipline and sternness in her voice.

One of the Rangers spoke up. "He needs his rest, the wound in his side is deep, and I promised to teach you how to read our sky. Will you come now, Kashtia Ma'at-Ka-Re?" She nodded and followed the Ranger out, full of curiosity to know what this man who read the earth and sky as she did would show her. "Show me Lyshka too," she asked.