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Old 07-22-2006, 01:08 PM   #104
Ghost Prince of Cardolan
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When Aedhild finally gained consciousness, she found herself lying in the soft, damp grass. Sitting up, her legs curled up to support her body, she rested her head in her hands. "Not now. Not for everyone to see," she muttered under her breath. She knew this feeling, this feeling of weakness and vulnerability; it was within every inch of her body and much to Aedhild's distress, she had come to realise that it would never fully go away. Touching her forehead, she felt the warm stream of blood. Disgusted, she ripped a patch of grass and scrubbed her forehead clean. It wasn't much, but she shuddered all the same.

The hurriedly aging woman didn't know how many times she had fallen to the ground, supposedly without reason, and awakened from unconsciousness to find her body aching from the fall, her head penetrated with intense pain and her memory blurry. Countless of times, she had found herself alone in the dark, shivering, afraid that another fit would seize her without warning, this time more ferociously. Having escaped from slavery, she had wandered in a land, unknown to her and alone in he wilderness, a fit could be the end of her. For six weeks, she had hardly slept a full night, and during day, she had not risked walking for many hours, knowing that exhaustion made the fits occur more regularly. For weeks and weeks, she had only looked for a safe shelter that would protect her from the consequences of a potential fit would have. Though much indicated that Aedhild was hardly present, or at least not very attentive to the things surrounding her, she was very well aware of the fits that occasionally took her by surprise, and the danger of the occurring.

It scared her. More than anything. Even the fight of being punished by the plantation guards didn't scare her as much. Over time, she had become used to it. She wasn't familiar with another reality, a reality of freedom and being your own master, and thus she had learnt to accept it. This illness or plague however that seemed to have taken possession of her so long ago didn't seem to seize, and despite the long period of time of which they had defined much of her life, she could never get used to them. Each time, she stirred, rose and shivered like and old hag, anxiety grasping her so intensely she could barely breathe. The thought of being alone again, entirely on her own was unbearable. She would never make it; during the weeks after her escape, she had been lucky, lucky for the first and last time in her life.

She couldn't count on it again. She couldn't count on the abilities she didn't have. In truth, Aedhild's independency was more dangerous to her than being under someone else's command.

“Is something wrong?”

Aedhild didn’t realise that a cry had escaped her lips, and that silent wailing followed. She would never make it. This was a battle for survival, and she would never win. In due time, the others, the young and healthy slave escapees would leave her, leave her to die alone.

“You’re bleeding!”

Casting a glance at Raegonn, she couldn’t help hating him for being the young and vibrant man he was. He was one of them, who were conspiring against her to leave her rotting in this dark land.

Last edited by Novnarwen; 07-23-2006 at 03:32 AM.
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