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Old 09-18-2006, 08:09 AM   #191
Folwren
Messenger of Hope
 
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Join Date: Jun 2005
Location: In a tiny, insignificant little town in one of the many States.
Posts: 5,228
Folwren is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Folwren is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
Athwen walked quietly from one horse to the next as the long silence continued, only broken by the distant noises of the slavers’ disrupted camp. No new excitement had startled them and they remained calm and quiet. Athwen felt grateful for that.

After a while, she went and checked her stores of herbs and bandages and other such things for the hundredth time, it seemed. Would they never come? Her hands flitted aimlessly over the contents of the two bags while in her mind she named everything there.

Her mental list was interrupted by the sound of approaching feet. She stood up quickly and ran forward a few steps before stopping. Out of the darkness, three figures could be seen drawing closer. The old, bent figure of Aiwendil with a girl beside him, and several yards back, Rôg followed. Before they reached her, Rôg hurried forward and caught up with the first two and said something quietly in the girl’s ear. She stopped and turned towards him. Aiwendil turned his head, but after a moment, he left them and came forward to Athwen.

“There was only one child?” Athwen asked. Her face showed concern as she looked up at Aiwendil. He shook his head, to her relief and turned to lead her to Rôg and the girl.

“No. There is a boy, but he stayed back with Lindir and the others. This girl is not well, that is why we brought her back. Her name is Azhar,” he added, quietly. Athwen nodded as they stopped near Rôg and Azhar.

Athwen reached out her hand and took Azhar’s hand gently. The girl turned to look at her. Athwen flashed her a very brief smile, while at the same time, her face became far more serious with concern.

“Azhar,” she said, as her second hand lifted to feel her forehead and cheek, “I’m Athwen. You’ve probably been told, but we’ve come to help you.” The hand slipped down to her throat below the jaw and she quietly felt Azhar’s pulse for a moment. “Can you walk a little way farther?” she asked, looking Azhar directly in the eye again. The girl nodded and Athwen smiled once more. She straightened and passed a protective and supporting arm around Azhar’s shoulders and began to lead her towards the horses and the packs and stores.

“Aiwendil,” she said, turning to her left where the old man walked by her side. “She’s got a bad fever. How long until the others get back? Can we leave quickly? I can give her very little now, but once we stop, if we can, we should make a fire to prepare tea and some sort of soup, if we possibly can.

“I hope that they are not too long in coming, but it depends on what the slavers do.”

Athwen nodded her head and turned back to Azhar. “Sit down here.” Azhar obeyed without question and sank wearily to the ground. Athwen undid the clasp of her cloak and she pulled it off and put it around Azhar’s shoulders. Then she quickly reached over for one of the flasks of water and handed it to the girl. “Drink as much as you can,” she ordered gently. With one hand holding the cloak and the other holding the flask up to her mouth, Azhar complied.

As Azhar took small sips of the water, Athwen saw from the corner of her eye a rider come into camp, leading two horses behind him. She glanced up briefly and as Aiwendil walked forward to meet him, recognized Dorran. She smiled to herself with a new sense relief and turned her attention back to Azhar.

The girl had finished and when Athwen looked back to her, she held out the water, having drunk as much as she could. Athwen took it, and noticed the girl’s hand trembling as she relieved it of its burden.

“Lie down, now Azhar, and try to sleep,” Athwen said in a soft, low voice.

“Aren’t we going to be leaving?” Azhar asked, in a whisper, as she began to lie down slowly. Athwen nodded as she tried to make Azhar comfortable.

“Yes, but not yet. When we go, we’ll take you with us. You need to rest as much as possible.” She smiled as encouragingly as she could as she brushed the black hair away from Azhar’s face before she stood up and turned away. “Now, you, Rôg,” she said, walking forward to the man who stood waiting her attention. “You were hurt?”

Rôg told Athwen what had happened and how the arrow had hit him. Athwen laid her hand on the materiel of his tunic. She could see where the blood had seeped through and feeling the half hardness of it, could guess what had happened. She looked up at Rôg. “I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to pull this away and it’s going to hurt.” He nodded and Athwen saw his jaw clench tightly before she looked back down. “We’ll get some water on it, first, and perhaps soften it back up,” she said, changing her mind suddenly.

Quietly, then, she worked with Rôg’s wound. She softened it, and pulled the tunic away. Rôg removed the entire tunic for her and she cleaned and dressed the cut. She left it unbandaged while she looked at his shoulder. Having verified that nothing was broken there, she told him that it was badly bruised, but would heal on its own, and advised him not to use it.

Last edited by Folwren; 09-19-2006 at 11:20 AM.
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