[Arry]

Farael's post

It was a long night for all of them. The wounded needed to be looked after and those who had not been gravely wounded had to help Leod. Osmod sported a bruised arm and a few minor cuts. The pain on his chest had gotten worse after the fight so after the heaviest workload had been done, Leod told Osmod to get some rest.

Yet it would be a restless night. The moans of the wounded in their sleep and the dull ache of his limbs was enough to keep his troubled mind alert. He had given up on them, on those left in the hill, and most of them had been gravely wounded. The questions kept sounding in his throbbing head yet the answers were not there. He felt as if he would never sleep again, so he decided to go stretch his legs.

He walked to the nearby trees as silently as he could. He told himself he didn’t want to rouse the lucky ones who could sleep, but deep inside he knew that he just wanted to be alone. By his bedroll laid one of his drawings, the figures interlaced and crossed so that very few could decipher its meaning. What scared Osmod the most is that he did not recall writing it, but what it depicted was so terrible he did not dare to let those thoughts into his mind. They were there anyway, lurking in the dark unconscious corners.

He thought about deserting them all once again. Taking his sword, bow and arrows and fighting his way to safety or, most likely, death. As he returned to the camp, the grim moods had not subsided and he sneaked towards his mount, who greeted him cheerfully. ”If you only knew my friend, what I am about to do, would you shed a tear for me? Will anyone cry my loss or will I pass, from light to shadow never to be remembered again?”

A cold wind blew from the north, moaning a lamentation for the war. It was then that Osmod heard a voice calling his name. Yet it sounded far, far away and at the same time close, as if inside Osmod’s own mind. He knew the voice and he understood the message even if no more words had been spoken. Walking back to his bedroll, he erased the grim picture and drew a new one with his finger on the dirt. It was simple, composed by just three runes and a name. The meaning comforted Osmod all the same. To Edoras, for Rædwald. Finally, a sudden quietness took over his soul and he slept. He would not wake until the following morning.