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Old 01-26-2007, 11:21 AM   #335
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 knew at once when the slavers burst in upon the women. The shouts and screams of anger and fear alerted her. She quickly finished up bandaging the wound on which she was currently working. Then she stood, glanced about her at the forms lying stretched out on the ground or huddled in a sitting position, and went to her personal pack. Beside it lay a slender belt with a dagger and sheath attached to it. She picked it up and strapped it around her waist. What good it would do her, she didn’t know, but she did not want to be without something to use as a weapon and the dagger was all she had.

The wind had dropping dramatically between the time she had first started working on the wounded and now. But by this time, it was difficult to see not because of the blowing sand, but because of the darkness of night. It was not altogether black. Athwen could make out the forms of people running hither and thither and she also spotted the few men on horseback that still rode confidently among the women and children.

Where were the men? And where were her friends – the members of the fellowship? Where was Dorran? In the dimness, she could not see anything that could answer any of these questions, unless the people she wanted to find were those bodies crumpled on the ground.

But one of those bodies was moving. It rose slowly, grasping a scraggly plant for support. Athwen, walking forward, recognized Azhar. The girl seemed dazed and hurt as she looked about her. When she tried to walk, Athwen noted a severe limp.

Before Azhar saw Athwen and before the woman could catch the girl’s attention, a tall rider seemed to materialize out from the darkness. He leaped down just beside Azhar and Athwen was forced to witness the mostly one-sided struggle. She ran forward, threading her way through rocks and bushes as best she could. In the darkness, she could see no path and no way through, and it took her too much time to reach the slaver and Azhar.

As she ran, doing her best to reach them, she watched with frantic eyes Azhar’s hands were bound. The man remounted his horse, leaving the girl on the ground, and turned the animal’s head, starting away. Azhar stumbled behind him, limping painfully on a week or hurt foot.

Athwen cleared the last bushes. She ran forward, unsure of what she would do when she reached them. Stop the horse first, she imagined. The horse was only walking quickly, he wasn’t even trotting yet. Athwen quickened her speed. She darted about the rider’s knees before he realized she was there, and she grabbed the nearest rein and brought his head about.

“What?” the slaver cried, looking down at her. He swore violently and his hand reached for his curved sword at his belt. He drew it in a flash and swung towards Athwen. She dodged beneath the horse’s neck and onto the other side. As she went, her hand reached for her own blade. The dagger flashed out and as she passed the rider’s other leg, she slashed out with it. He turned half way about, swinging his sword up again, regardless of her blow.

Athwen dodged away again, but the slaver had his horse’s head again and he was turning him about. Athwen cried aloud for fear of Azhar, still bound to the animal.

But before she could think of anything to do or where to go, another figure on horseback dashed up. She looked up and a great throb burst in her chest. She recognized the proud and handsome profile of her husband as he raised his sword and met the slaver’s blade.

Athwen turned and ran towards Azhar. The girl was sitting on the ground, her head down and her hands held gently against her ankle. Speaking gently to her, Athwen made quick work of cutting the ropes around the girl’s wrists, but the iron bracelets made her stop. She looked down at the trailing chain and picked it up. The slaver must have dropped the end while he drew his sword. She was glad of that. Azhar was at least free to go.

She turned towards the girl and knelt beside her. “Azhar, are you alright?” she asked. Azhar shook her head and lifted her face towards Athwen. Tears shown on her face and her voice sounded a little choked as she answered.

“My ankle hurts! I can hardly walk.”

“Let me help you then. Come on.” Trying hard not to sound as worried and shaken as she felt, Athwen continued, “We’ve got to get away from those two before we’re trampled on.” She helped Azhar up, slipped an arm under Azhar’s arms to give her support, and then slowly led her away.

Last edited by Folwren; 01-28-2007 at 12:56 PM.
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