[Bêthberry]

Ælfritha was thankful for the young elf's presence, for his youthful enthusiasm kept her mind from dwelling too heavily on the yet further losses they had suffered. Then she came upon the torn leather bindings of the saddle bags which Doric had carried and she shook with grief and rage and frustration, mingled.

Doric had not been her horse, but Eomund's, and now she had failed him in protecting his gift. Slowly she dismounted from Nithal, who was still skittish from the attack and who sensed the presence of horse blood. She spoke calming words into his left ear as she held tightly to his reigns and stroked his neck. She remained thankful that her whip had kept the whargs from hurting him; she hope that her one lunge with her spurs had raked one wharg's eye and nose deeply, so that he would never forget the cost of his victory over Doric. She should not have left the ponied tether strap so long; he might still be alive had she been more forethoughtful. She would not again so soon underestimate the presence of danger nor give harm such an easy victory.

Maikadurion's voice called her back to their task. She picked up the bloodied leather straps and followed the drag marks on the frozen ground; soon she came upon two of the saddle bags--the two which held food provisions for man and beast. Lost it appeared were the extra blankets.

"Let us be thankful for what we have," she murmured. Then, to Maikadurion, she called, "Come, we have found most of what we will need; let us return before we have lost any more time and see that the Rider is returned to his rest in full homours."

Climbing back atop Nithal, she led the way back to the glade, where she would introduce Maikadurion to the others.

[ February 05, 2003: Message edited by: Bethberry ]