Aspida wandered off to treat the others, and left Taradan to himself. His head stung from the poultice, but the throbbing had somewhat reduced.
By now he had calmed down from his eerie dream. The dream had seemed to reawaken an old wound, not a physical one like that on his head, but one inside him. For the first time in many years, his father had strayed into his mind. He constantly pushed thoughts of him away, so hed would not be tormented by thinking of him. For it was his fault why his father was dead, and why he was a soldier in Rohan, and not Gondor. But he was not willing to reveal his stiry with anyone, he hadn't yet, and he didn't intend to...
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Rohan
All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not whither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken:
The crownless again shall be king.
-The Riddle of Strider
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