Outracing the Flames RPG

[piosenniel]

Tevildo's post

"Sythric!" After the ceremony in front of the bier, Leod walked over to the injured man and tapped him gently on the shoulder, adding in a soft voice, "I don't like that look on your face. I wish there was some other way we could manage. By rights, you should be spending today in your bedroll and doing nothing more strenuous than lifting a spoon to your mouth to feed yourself. Still, we must be off. And staying here in the woods isn't a good idea when there are roving bands of Orcs and Easterlings about. Take this before you mount up." The healer handed his patient a small packet of herbs. "Just add it to a hot beverage. It will cut down on the pain in your side. But truthfully you're still going to feel something. If I give you too large a dose, the pain will be gone but you'll be falling asleep in the saddle and risk plunging down to the forest floor."

"One other thing," Leod added. "If your side starts bleeding heavily, you must tell me. I've tightened and readjusted the bandages. I only hope it's enough."

In the next hour, Leod quietly made the rounds of camp to give each of his patients a final check. He found Vaenosa's wounds especially troubling. Like Sythric, she should probably be spending the day in bed. Even Brand could stand with some more rest. But it would be utterly useless to ask the young man to delay their departure any longer. Though quiet and modest, Brand could also be amazingly stubborn. The blunt fact was that the trip had taken longer than expected. One way or another, they needed to get going and make a forced march to Edoras, even if it was hard on those who had been injured.

Leod cast one last look at the pyre which now lay silent, its red-gold flames reduced to no more than smouldering embers. It was a symbol to him of defeat: a good man gone who should have lived. Curse these crazy times! When would men learn to live in peace? It was a question to which he had no answer. And seeing that he could not control the behavior of Orcs or men from the east, the next best thing was surely to get on the road and offer a word of warning, both to benefit the good folk of Edoras and those who would be fleeing from the outer villages seeking the safety of strong walls. Impatiently, he stalked up and down the camp, eager to be on his way.

[Arry]

Brand had listened carefully to Leod’s concerns. And had nearly made up his mind that the group should push on despite the injuries its members had sustained. He could not see the value in leaving the badly wounded, barely mended, behind just to get a messenger or two to the Golden Hall. There were simply not enough of the able left to make a good defense if some were sent off.

Now Osmod had offered a compromise – several of the more able riders would scout ahead for any sign of trouble and in an effort to get a good, defensible campsite set up for the injured.

‘I’ll take the horn you’ve offered, Osmod,’ he said, reaching out his hand. ‘It’s a good idea, I think. Go ahead and let the others who you want to ride with you know of the plan. I would like you to leave soon. Leod and I will bring the others along at a slower pace after you’ve gone.’ He paused for a moment, considering the group as a whole. ‘Why don’t you see if Athwen wants to go, also. She might like that.’

Brand nodded to Osmod and took his leave. Leod, he thought, with a wry smile, would most likely support the plan. The old fellow could keep an eye on him, as he knew he wanted to do. Brand took a deep breath and flexed his shoulders a little to ease the stiffness. The wound in his left shoulder gave him a definite and painful reminder he was still not at his best.

[Folwren]

Athwen let Parith pick his way carefully down the muddy slope of the hill. She avoided that place where the battle was fought the evening before, passing it some distance to the right. She came to a stop where the ground became level and while Parith showed his eagerness to run by turning himself in a wide circle, she studied the land to see where would be the best way to run. Then she brought Parith to a stand still. He lifted his head , scenting the air with widened nostrils. And then he pawed the ground and his head bobbed down and then back up again. Athwen smiled.

‘Go,’ she whispered. ‘Run. Run until the wind whistles in our ears.’

The horse needed no other bidding. With a fierce neigh he plunged forward, leaping immediately into a wild gallop. Athwen bent forward towards his neck until the flying black mane swept her face. The wind made her eyes water, but she kept them open and fixed between his ears.

She wanted to run on and on, allowing Parith to gallop until his feet led them back to their home, the way every horse would. But she didn’t let him run for quite a quarter of a mile. She stopped him abruptly and he slid to a halt. They stood there, then, as still as a statue. Their eyes turned towards where home once was, Parith with his head up, his neck arched, and nostril’s quivering, Athwen sitting upright, the wind gently stirring the damp curls about her face.

With a imperceptible sigh, Athwen lowered and turned her head. Her hands moved slowly as she pulled the reins over Parith’s neck. She felt the reluctance in her steed as he moved his shoulders but lingered with his face towards the East. Finally, he too turned his head away.

They only walked back towards the hill on which the company awaited. Not once did Athwen turn to look back. Her face was set forward and she had made up her mind never to look back. A single tear escaped. One tear to represent the untouchable, unregainable past.

~ ~ ~

Athwen reached the crest of the hill where the others were still waiting in little over ten minutes. At the outskirts of the camp, she slipped silently off of her horse and drooped his reins over a hanging branch. She left him standing and went towards the others, wondering if they had decided if it was time to continue yet, and if not, how long until they were ready.

[Farael]

Osmod gathered the able-bodied riders around the fire and spoke to them. He explained the necessity of balancing their need for haste as well as trying to make sure they did not loose any of the wounded to exhaustion. Athwen, Dorran and Leod, whom at last seemed content about his work with the wounded, were there from one group, as well as Eostre, Fion and Osmod himself from the other. As Osmod said his words, Leod wondered out loud whom would be there to look after the wounded. With a nod, Osmod agreed that he would need to stay and suggested Meghan did so too. He was about to add Athwen’s name to the list of those who would stay yet remembering Brand’s words he did not.

At last it was decided that Osmod would lead Dorran, Eostre, Fion and Athwen as scouts to search through the road ahead and prepare a good defensible camp for the night, while the wounded, Leod and Meghan followed at a slower pace. The scouts readied their horses and rode off almost at once. As they were leaving the camp behind Osmod asked his companions to group up and spread out. Two would ride further to the left and two would ride to the right. Osmod would keep the middle, always making sure the other scouts were within shouting distance. He knew it would be most efficient to spread out even more yet he did not want to risk the enemy to pick them off one by one.

The groups separated and Osmod smiled at Fion as he headed towards one of the flanks. The young man had stayed back during the fight, engaging only those Easterlings who were threatening the other riders and he had done so well. He was a brave young man. And then there was Athwen. Osmod was not sure she would be able to cope with any more adversity, but it was a chance they would have to take. He figured, as Brand had probably done before, that it would be best for her if she was kept busy, her mind looking ahead rather than brooding on past misfortune.

[Folwren]

Athwen looked after Dorran, shaking her head a little at his shy way of going on. She smiled a small, faint smile and nudged her horse into a faster pace and once more pulled along Dorran. For a while, she rode in silence, thinking on what he had said to her.

Creide sounded nice. Grown up for her age, no doubt, but that was only in her favor, so long as she wasn’t too grown up. Athwen wondered slightly if she had lost her childhood dreams and feelings. She could not blame her for it if she had. Dorran was a nice brother, too. It was very kind of him to want to buy something for his sister. She smiled again at the thought. She could just imagine him looking at what there was to be bought with wide eyes of wonder. She had heard stories of Edoras from her older brother and sister, a couple years ago, when one of them had gotten to go with their father to the great city. But that was a long time ago, it seemed. Things might have changed now. They probably had, what with wars going on.

Athwen quickly turned her mind away from the thoughts that came with the word ‘war’. Dorran had asked her if she might go with him to pick something out. She had to admit to herself that she would probably be just as useless in a large market place as he. She knew how to buy vegetables and cloth from the small market that Skyfold had had, or to buy them off of traveling pedlars who passed every now and again. But in her mind’s eyes, Athwen was imagining Edoras to be thick with merchants, all selling numerous items, all as beautiful as the next, and she thought she’d never be able to make any choices quickly.

They had to make it to Edoras first, though. Ah, yes. To reach their journey’s end. Athwen sighed heavily and then thanked the noise of the horse’s hooves for not allowing Dorran to hear it. With so many wounded, would they be able to reach it in any short time? And the longer they were out in the open, the more chances they had of being attacked again. Would they ever be able to succeed? Yes, they must succeed. One of them must. To bring word to the king, to prevent more villages to meet the same end as hers, and to save the people. The only way to reach the city quickly was to progress quickly. . .

A thought entered her head which made Athwen smile more broadly than she had in days. She looked at Dorran and then brought Parith closer to his horse’s side.

‘I’ll bet you anything I can beat you in a race,’ she said, breaking the silence between them abruptly. She stood up in the stirrups to stand above the saddle so that she could talk clearly and steadily as she looked at Dorran. She posed quite a mischievous picture just then, an impish smile on her face, her hair loose and fluttering behind her on the wind of Parith’s speed, and her eyes glittering with the thought of another, faster run than earlier. ‘Of course, your horse is carrying more than mine. Can’t we stop and even it out a bit? It won’t take long, and the gallop will make up for it. Please?’

[Nogrod]

“The death of the Easterling does not give me concern, Master Sythric. He was no man that I should upset myself with his death. He was worse than a beast...” Brand’s words echoed in Sythric’s mind. He was not totally aware of everything Brand had said, but catched a piece from here and there. And disagreed with him. “I know most likely he thought the same as I . . . that is, that had he succeeded in killing me there would be no remorse on his part . . .” Why do you want to make yourself to resemble that twisted image you have made of your enemies?We are people and they are people. But if you want to find a difference, how about we being the ones who know remorse, who can feel and understand? And at least some of them can too... I know it. But then he was hit with an unbearably hard pain. Before he passed away, he felt Brand’s strong arms trying to grasp him. Their going had halted. Meghan was there, and Leod too.

There was the face of the young easterling, not much older than Dorran. He had just thrusted his spear through Bletric who had attacked him. And there, in the middle of the frantic battle, Sythric caught his eyes, filled with terror and anguish, just bewildered about what had happened, realizing what he had done. Sythric had killed the youngster just the following moment, almost actually riding over him. The lad’s terror of killing someone the first time had immediately changed to the shock of realizing his own death. So fragile is the life of man...

And there were lots of images, lots of voices in his head. They were about death. There were his companions dying, there were people he had killed: bandits and easterlings as well. There was his grand-uncle and grandfather. But then there was his little sister, Winlan, who died at the age of five. He was then only 9 and his big brother Swithulf was 11. Her screams of pain filled Sythric’s head and he was suddenly back to the night she died.

She had had rising temperatures for some days. She didn’t eat, and all the more frequently she had cried for her pains. The healer had been there and done what she could. On the last evening, she had started to have attacks that bursted her to infernal screaming. And they got worse towards the night. That was the most haunting voice Sythric had ever heard. His dear sister, just a child as he was himself, crying and yelling in anguish and pain. Why she had to be in that kind of pain? What was it? There was such a terror in her voice – and her gaze between the attacks – that even now, just remembering it, Sythric started to shudder physically in his makeshift sledge. Her eyes had been praying for help, and he had just felt so insignificant there, so insufficient, not knowing how to help the little sister who begged them all to end that pain.

The healer had finally arrived at the dead of the night. Sythric remembered, that they had been ordered out from the room Winlan was lying in. Only their mother had been allowed to stay. His father walked around the floor quietly and silently, looking downwards. Sythric and Swithulf sat at the bench by the wall, holding each others hands and sobbing quietly, not daring to look anywhere but their own feet. Winlan was howling in torturous pain and anguish. Suddenly it became silent for a second. Then they heard their mother starting to howl with a different, but as shrilling a voice. From the corner of the hall, their grandmother started to cry too. Their father stopped his slow walking. As he in the end turned his look towards the brothers, the tears were slowly gathering in the corner of his eye and his chin had just started to tremble. He was clearly intending to addres the two big brothers, but they didn’t stay to hear it. Sythric and Swithulf ran out of the house into the darkness of the latesummer night.

They had run wildly down the hill in the stillness of the night, outside the house of the horror, and reached the small stream running beside the fields. From some unspoken agreement, they had both jumped into the water and just dived. The softness of the water surrounded them tenderly, and as they ceased moving, the soothing quietness of the water was all around them. Every once in a while they had to surface to breathe more air to their lungs, but then they went down again into that mellow nothingness of the underwater reality. Sythric nine years old, Swithulf two years older. Two little boys in grief, finding comfort from the cooling waters. Eventually they heard their father calling for them and came out from the water. But they were not going back to that house any more. After sitting by the stream for a while, they heard their father coming down the hill. He had some light provisions for the all of them and something to make a fire with. They didn’t utter a word that night, anyone of the three. But they built a fire, ate a little, and then slept under the starry sky: father and his two sons, all broken down with grief and anguish. It was only after Winlan had been buried, that the two boys came to sleep inside the house again.

A bit larger bump brought Sythric back to reality. Now also his back was hurting, not the least because of that last one. That had to be a rock or something. Good earth this pain!, but this last was in reference to his side. He tried carefully to feel about his side. Clearly he had some ribs broken, but he had also started to bleed again. He was about to call for Leod, but then thought otherwise. I’m slowing them down enough already. We’ll see it tonight as we make camp. I’ll make it to that – I know I will. Carefully Sythric tried to tighten the bandages around him, but had no mentionable success in it, as he could only use his right arm, and was speeding on in a makeshift sledge over some harsh ground.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

The storm had seemed to pass, at least for some. A mental turmoil still settled over Eostre as she had readied her horse to leave. Those of the party who were mostly unharmed were now the scouts, searching a safe place for the next night. Leaving the wounded...

No, though they were the most hurt, the ones behind, they were still ablebodied, she reminded herself.

They had to make it to Edoras. They had to finish their mission before more people died. The plains seemed so much darker, now that they had claimed the life of one she knew. Trees with malice-filled grins. Straw colored grass with blades hidden in their midst... and ice.

The scouts carried on throughout this. They had to reach Edoras before things got too chaotic. Before more people got killed. Would there even be a Bregoware left to return to after all of this, or would it be another burnt village? Eostre glanced over briefly at her fellow riders. What were they thinking now?

[Tevildo]

Tevildo's post - Dorran

Athwen looked so lovely standing upright in her stirrups with her long hair floating behind her in the wind. Dorran flashed her an impish grin and added, "A race, is it? What a good idea! " The path was flat and open at this point, and he could see a good ways down. "Last one to reach the rock that's beside the stream straight ahead of us has to make dinner for the group. No need to even our weight out. I'll take you on here and now." Dorran had neglected mentioning to Athwen that his job at the manor had been caring for the horses and getting them in shape. He had raced Lord Aldwulf's mounts across the countryside, leaping over fences and hedges, almost every morning.

Dorran kicked Nelly in the flanks and, urging his mount forward, sent her flying down the path. The young man bent low over the horse's neck using every trick that he had learned while serving as a stable boy. From what he could tell, Athwen was coming on very fast, but was still a pace or two behind. When they were within a short distance of the stream, and Athwen was so close that Dorran could see her slender figure out of the corner of his eye and hear the pounding of her horse's hooves, Nelly set her hoof down in a rutted place on the path so that her balance was sightly thrown off. Dorran shifted his weight back in the saddle and let Nelly slow down to make sure that she did not get hurt. At that moment, Athwen, who had been steadily gaining ground, leapt ahead and came to the finishing point.

It was impossible to say whether Dorran or Athwen would have reached the rock first if Nelly had not pulled back. Dorran had been in front but only by a nose, and Athwen was still picking up the pace. Directing Nelly over to the rock, Dorran smiled at Athwen, his eyes bright and welcoming. He spoke with real grace, "I default to you, my lady. You are a fine rider, and, in truth, I believe your mount would have passed mine whatever else happened at the end. I owe you a meal and will make good on my promise the best that I can. Let's walk the horses for a while to give them a breather and let the others catch up."

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Folwren's post

The wind from the speed brought a blush of red to Athwen’s pale cheeks, and she was blowing and grinning as she took Parith for an extra turn before facing Dorran again.

‘I default to you, my lady,’ he said. ‘You are a fine rider, and, in truth, I believe your mount would have passed mine whatever else happened at the end. I owe you a meal and will make good on my promise the best that I can. Let's walk the horses for a while to give them a breather and let the others catch up.’

‘Nay, to be sure,’ Athwen replied brightly. ‘You ran your horse well. I honestly think if she hadn’t faltered at the end and had we had equal weights, I wouldn’t have won. I’ll help you, as usual. It’s not good having empty hands anyway.’

Dorran insisted, however. He had lost, and there was no ‘ifs’ in racing. Athwen wholly disagreed and she insisted, too. He subsided with a look that may have meant ‘we’ll see about it later’ and she grinned in response.

When the others came back withing hailing distance, Dorran called to them, and the five of them gathered together. During a short rest wherein they ate some of the previously prepared food that they still carried, they discussed the morning’s ride. Nothing alarming or out of place had been spotted and things seemed safe enough to continue as before. In ten minutes they were back in the saddle and on their way.

[Farael]

The forward group rode all day at a steady pace, stopping only once for rest and a quick lunch. Osmod was silent most of the way, thinking ahead of the road they still had to cover and constantly looking around for signs of danger. It was rather surprising then, when the other scouts came back and asked him if he was thinking about stopping for the night. Surely there was still plenty of time before sunset.

That was not the case. Lost in his thoughts and with the sun at times being covered by trees, Osmod had not realized as the day had slipped by. They looked for a good place to stop and found a small hill just a few minutes ride ahead. It was not too high, so the wounded would be able to climb it easily, yet a thick clump of trees grew close to the top, which would provide wood for fire and protection from the wind. It was also easily defensible, which Osmod considered should be taken into account whether they liked the idea or not.

There were many things to do and not enough time if the camp was to be set before the wounded rode in. Wood needed to be gathered and larger logs would probably need some cutting, the horses needed to be tended, a fire started and food prepared. Osmod asked Fion to walk with him to the woods while Athwen and Eostre looked after the horses. He had heard Dorran had some skill with food so he asked the young man if he needed anything to prepare a meal. The young man seemed to hesitate for a moment and then quietly asked Osmod if no-one would ride back to meet with the wounded. They would not make it to the camp before nightfall and they may get lost, he argued. Dorran was right, Osmod realized, and so he let the young man ride back to meet with the others.

Walking into the woods, Osmod started picking up fallen branches. He had kept himself busy during the day but now the thoughts of their fallen friend crept back into his mind. He wondered if the men of Rohan would fall too, littering the battle grounds as the branches littered the forests’ floor. For the first time, he realized that he may become one of those branches, whether fighting in battle or after all was lost. He felt then that maybe he would not be riding back to Bregoware after reaching the Golden Halls. Maybe he would stay and fight for those that could not. Glancing towards the camp he saw Athwen looking after her horse. She had lost it all without a chance to fight back, as had many others he did not know. It was not only for Ræwald he would fight for.

[Tevildo]

For the remainder of the afternoon, Leod fussed and fretted as he watched Sythric bump up and down on the sledge. Once when Brand dropped back to ask an innocent question, Leod had lashed out that he had never been on this pathway before, and it certainly wasn't his fault they were out here in the middle of nowhere with a convoy of sick people. If it had been up to him, the injured would have stayed in camp at least another day or two.

The path they were following was not making things any easier. The trail twisted and wound and turned back on itself. Rocks were scattered everywhere. It was quite late in the afternoon when Leod began worrying that they would not make it into camp until nightfall. The last thing he wanted was to be travelling so late. Those who had been wounded at least needed a full night of rest, to say nothing of the dangers of trying to find their way in the darkness!

Leod glanced down at Sythric, and saw the man trying to fumble with his bandages; a slight red stain gave the telltale hint that the wound was bleeding again. Leod shook his head with a sigh. Perhaps the cut was deeper than he had first realized and would now require some stitching. He had a needle and the precious silk thread along with turpentine wax and clarified hog's grease inside his healer's bag. Leod promised himself that they would stop in about an hour so he could stitch up Sythric's wound.

That stop, however, came sooner than expected. The first riders had pulled up and were staring down at a large log that had been thrown crosswise over the path. Immediately on the other side there was a large expanse of ankle deep water, filled with slippery mud. Leod might not describe it as a small bog, but it was definitely larger than a puddle. It would not be difficult for those on horseback to veer off the trail and thread their horses through the trees to go around, but there was no chance for a sledge to get through. Ironically, they could see the trail straighten out ahead, looking broad and flat and open. If they could just get beyond this particular point, they would likely have an easy ride to finish up the day.

Leod hurried his horse up to the front of the line, staring down at the stubborn obstacle, clucking in exasperation, "This is just wonderful! The perfect ending to a perfect day. I absolutely forbid Sythric to sit a horse. Don't even think about it!" At this point, Leod glared menacingly over at Brand. "This poor man is already bleeding. So, unless we put wings on this sledge, he is going nowhere. Ideas, anyone?"

At that instant, there was a clatter of hooves, as a rider came pounding up the trail from the opposite direction. As the distant figure became clearer, they could see it was good news. Splashing his horse through the puddle, Dorran waved a welcoming hand and bellowed out a "haloo" to his comrades. His face registered mild surprise as he saw Sythric lying prone on the sledge, but he was quick to add, "We've found a good campsite for the night. It's not more than two miles from here. If we can just get across this little bog, we'll be fine." Then he echoed Leod's question, "Ideas anyone?"

[Folwren]

Athwen approached Osmod slowly from behind. He sat beside his rolled bedding, bending over the neatly bandaged hand. She felt sorry for him, but at the same time, couldn’t help feeling some impulse to laugh. How on earth had he managed to do it?

‘How does it feel?’ she asked in an undertone. He looked up quickly and moved a little bit to face her. She stepped back so that he didn’t have to crane his neck up so far to talk.

‘Fine. Just a bit hot. Why don’t you sit down?’ He motioned with his unburnt hand, but she shook her head.

‘I won’t sit. Thanks, though.’ She paused a moment. ‘I don’t quite believe you on that fine part. Leod’s sent you to bed, hasn’t he?’ There was a short pause, then Osmod nodded slowly. ‘I was thinking. . .actually, could I take first watch?’ The young man looked hesitant. ‘Please?’ Athwen pressed eagerly. ‘I’ve not done anything to help in ages, really. No, cooking dinner hardly counts. Let me stay up and watch. It’s a fine night and everyone else is tired. You’ve just burned your hand and gotten explicit orders to go to bed. I’ll be sure to wake you or Dorran or Fion if anything happens. Please let me stay up.’

[Farael]

Osmod’s hand ached and throbbed. In spite of what the healer had said, he felt as if he had sunk his hand on a nest of wasps and then shaken it for good measure.

Athwen had asked to be given the first watch, to which Osmod had reluctantly agreed. He knew the girl needed to be busy to keep her mind away from the sad memories and yet Osmod did not feel comfortable putting that much responsibility on Athwen’s shoulders. She had proven herself and there was no doubt she would do her job as good as anyone else. Yet it was impossible to tell when the next trouble would arise and Osmod could only hope it would not be during Athwen’s watch. He walked to the trees near the camp to relieve himself and on the way back he kneeled just outside the circle of light projected by the fire and drew another of his signs. He prayed that it would keep them safe for the night and out of trouble. Then, he went back to his bedroll, after exchanging a few words with Athwen. He asked her to wake him up first should anything happen and not to hesitate. He doubted he would be sleeping much that night anyway.

But he was wrong. It seemed that he had just laid down when a sudden darkness took over his mind and he drifted into uncomfortable dreams. He would remember none of them, but the sad feeling would not go away, even after the sunrise.

[Undómë]

She only allowed herself a short space of time to rest. And she dared not close her eyes lest the entire night pass away. Leod had asked her to watch over his charges while he was away . . . and that she would do.

Meghan drew back her blankets and sat up. She hadn’t bothered to take off her boots and now she swung her legs out from under the covers and leveraged herself up to a standing position. Her back bone ached and she cricked her neck and flexed her spine, grimacing as the bones creaked reluctantly back to a more suitable position.

Reaching up to where her hair was fastened at the nape of her neck with a leather tie, she unbound it, and let it hang loose. It was dirty and tangled and she could barely comb her fingers through it. With an effort she managed to corral it all back from her face and to separate it into three thick strands. Her fingers flew quickly along their lengths, knitting them together into a braid.

‘’Twill have to do,’ she sighed, shrugging her shoulders. She would give anything for a long hot soak in the tub and buckets and buckets of hot water to wash her hair. Oh for some of her mother’s rose-oil soap and a thick bristled brush to scrub the layers of grime from limb and head.

Meghan shook off these indulgent thoughts, chiding herself for dawdling away her time with such selfish concerns. ‘Grab the bucket, girl!’ she told herself. ‘And get some fresh, cool water for your charges.

She nodded at Athwen, at the perimeter of the camp, as she passed by. Meghan held up her empty bucket, giving the indication that she would fill it and return directly . . .

[Tevildo]

Leod had intended to go no more than a quarter mile away from the encampment. He had the benefit of a full moon as well as the lighted torch he carried. He expected to find his supplies quickly and return to camp within the hour. Yet, after meticulously searching the surrounding forest floor, he had reluctantly concluded that the herbs and lichens he required were nowhere in sight.

The healer wanted and needed to return to his companions. What if Sythric or Brand took a turn for the worse? Leod would never forgive himself if anything should happen to them while he was away. At the same time, he remained acutely aware that he was nearly out of certain potions and herbs, remedies that were essential for treating wounds that had festered. Since he had used up the remainder of his honey paste, Leod felt he had no choice but to continue searching.

Earlier that day, just before they had turned from the trail to reach camp, Leod had noticed a winding spring that veered off the pathway and spilled down towards the south. Its damp banks would surely be a place where moss and lichen would thrive, and he would find his needed supplies. Even better, with the spring to guide him, he could not possibly get lost. The healer promised himself that, whatever happened, he would not go more than a few miles away and would hurry back within the space of two hours. Meghan was a responsible lass and would surely forgive him for her loss of sleep and would continue to keep watch over their injured companions.

Once he'd reached the stream, Leod was able to move quickly along its banks. A little more than two miles south, he discovered several large and rotting trees fallen to the ground that had moss and lichen growing on the exterior of their trunks as well as on the rocky ground beneath. The healer bent over to scoop up several handfuls and stuffed these securely inside his satchel. By now, his torch had completely extinguished, and he tossed it aside after dowsing the last sparks in the stream. Happy to have found the needed medications, and confident that he could find his way back by simply following the waterway, Leod stood up and began walking again, anxious to get back to camp to check on Sythric and Brand. He took no more than a few steps when a loop of rope came gently curling through the air and encircled his head and shoulders, tugging him towards the ground. Leod struggled to find a firm footing on the muddy bank but with no success. He toppled to the ground, hitting his head against the tree trunk and immediately fell unconscious. The sack he carried was immediately wrenched from his grasp, slipped into the water, and, carried along by the gentle current, was soon swept out of sight.

[Child of the 7th Age]

"What think you? Who is he? Is he friend or foe?" The leader of the group queried, as he paced nervously from one side of the camp to the other. Haekánoion had finally agreed to stop for a few hours. They had eaten a quick meal and spent most of their time questioning the prisoner to find out why he was slinking around on his own in the middle of the night. The unnamed man had finally collapsed and was now sleeping in a huddled ball not far from where they were talking.


"I can not tell," Airerogion responded, with a confused look written across his face. "We grilled him for two hours until he was too tired to stand upright any longer. You heard what he said. He claims to be alone, making his way to Edoras where he has kinfolk and friends. He says he is a healer and that he was out looking for herbs to replenish his supplies. But I see no bag or herbs such as a healer might carry. Perhaps he is telling the truth, but he could just as easily be a spy, someone sent out to inspect the lay of the countryside and report on poor travellers who would make a good target for a band of brigands."

"I fear you are right. It makes no sense for anyone to be slinking through the woods in the middle of the night."

The eldest in the party, a woman with soft grey eyes and long black hair streaked with silver that was tied back from her face, smiled gently, "You mean the way we were slinking about ourselves in the dark? Hard times make choices difficult and some folk act in ways they normally do not."

There was an uncomfortable silence around the circle as each Elf took in the meaning of Nevtaliel's words. This description came perilously close to their own situation. It was not their custom to lasso strangers with a rope, to press them with a hundred different questions, or to raise up their swords in a threatening gesture. Elves may prefer to tread their own path but they normally do no harm to strangers.

Nihil shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. "But what could we do? We must reach Rivendell and tell Elrond what we have seen before we depart these shores. Yet every step of the path, we are confronted by robbers or, even worse, by troops of Orcs and men from the East."

"Of one thing we can be sure," Nihil added, "this is no man from the East and no Orc." Several of the others nervously tittered, remembering with some embarassment that, in the dark, they had initially mistaken the stranger for an Easterling lord. His simple words and homespun garb had quickly proved them wrong.

Haekánoion glanced over at the silver haired woman who sat quietly by herself. "You have more to say, Nevtaliel. I can see it in your eyes."

"That I do," she affirmed. "What band of brigands sends out a member to spy who bears only a stave and a knive? Surely even brigands have the sense to arm their spy with a sword or an axe or a bow. And what spy is so inept that he stumbles into our path in the middle of a clearing, making no attempt to hide in the bushes? No, this man was deeply engrossed in something, either what he was doing or thinking. That doesn't sound like a spy."

"One other thing," she added. "I think you are right....that he is lying about something. But he is telling the truth about one important thing. This man is a healer. I questioned him about a number of herbs and simple remedies, and he knew his craft inside out. Indeed, I would say that he is not only a healer, but one of the better ones I have spoken to among the younger sons."

"Are you sure?" pressed Haekánoion. "That he is a healer."

"How could I not be sure? I have spent two ages learning my craft. I can certainly tell when I am speaking with another healer."

"That settles it then. I can not murder a healer armed with only a stave, even if he belongs to a band of brigands. We will take him with us, bound on horseback for a day or two, and then let him loose when we are far north and west from here..... That way he can do no damage."

[Arry]

In the first of day's light . . .

Brand’s mind slipped farther and farther away from the pain, to a place of rest. A cool place . . . a place in fact where he could move about freely. He slipped out from beneath his blankets and stood up. It was quiet, the fire had burned down to a few embers. Someone moved about the outskirts of the camp. Incana he thought, by her cloak and height.

Ah, good, they keep a watch . . .

Meghan was asleep, curled on her right side. In the moonlight he could see her eyelids flutter as dreams played behind them. And there was Sythric, the old war-horse a little ways beyond her. Behind where Brand stood, lay Osmod, and his face seemed set with sadness. There were others, too, sleeping in the near dawn.

His attention, though, was called away from all of them. From across the camp, someone was up and waving at him to follow. In the first fingers of light that crept westward the tall slender figure turned and moved toward the east. A fleeting, almost phantom shape slipping away beneath the bare-limbed trees.

The person turned briefly as if to see if he followed, and noting that he did hurried on. In the momentary glimpse, Brand saw it was Vaenosa. And for a moment he paused, his breath quickly drawn in at the sight of her.

How can this be? he wondered as his steps quickened to close the distance between them.

There she was . . . he could see her long, hay colored hair catch the light. Strands of it escaped the hood of her cape and floated behind her in the early morning’s breeze.

And yet, who was this who lay so still near his feet. Her delicate face was slack in repose and limp gold curls lay about the edges of it. Blue eyes stared up into the pale waking blue of the day . . . dull and sightless now, they offered him no reflection as he looked into them.

Wait! Wait! he called aloud to the disappearing woman. Wait! Where are you going?

Brand felt pulled after Vaenosa. He hurried toward her.

In the growing distance behind him he heard someone call his name . . . an indistinct sound that tickled at the edges of his consciousness and was easily shrugged away . . .

‘Brand!’ the voice called louder and now it seemed a hand was laid on him tugging at him, slowing his steps.

Wait! he called again to the lengthening shadows beneath the trees. He could no longer see her. I want to come with you! Wait!

Brand struggled to free himself from the hands and voices that held him back . . .

[Undómë]

She was sleeping only lightly, much as she would do when in the summer pastures with her flock. And it was not a noise that woke her but rather the absence of such . . . the heavy quiet.

For most of the night she had heard Brand’s breathing and the ragged gasps as he tried to turn one way or another beneath his blankets. The sounds, too, of his blankets as he pushed them up or down, or as he scrunched the small cloth bag stuffed with a few shirts beneath his head, a lumpy pillow at best.

But now there were no little movements . . . and unless she strained her ears she could barely hear his breathing.

Meghan jumped to her feet, closing the short distance between herself and Brand in a few quick steps. She knelt down beside him, watching the shallow rise and fall of his chest. And often between breaths was a long silent space.

His hair and pillow were drenched. Most likely from another fever that had come upon him. But as she touched his face, pale beneath his tan, the fever had fled and a grim chilliness remained. She brushed back some damp curls from his cheeks.

‘Brand!’ she called aloud to him, shaking his arm. When there was no response she took his limp hand and chafed it between her two, trying to drive some warmth back into him. ‘Brand! Wake up!’

There was no response to her plea. She grew more alarmed.

‘Leod, Come quickly!’ she called out loudly.

[Folwren]

The sound of a voice woke Athwen before dawn had completed itself. She squinted up at the swiftly brightening and sky and wondered if she really did have to get up quite yet. She had watched for the first hour last night and when she thought she could not possibly keep her eyes open any longer she had gone and woken Osmod. After a shamefaced admittance that she had only watched for an hour but felt too tired to stay awake any longer, she’d gone to bed. Now as she woke to the morning she felt as though for once, since her village was burned, that she could sleep longer. But that wasn’t to be. The ground was lumpy and the birds were calling, and they should be on their way as soon as possible anyhow.

With a prodigious great yawn, she sat up and stretched. Then she looked about, ready to greet anybody available with a merry good morning. But there was no one available. Incana was on watch - she could see her out in the woods - Meghann was bent over Brand, looking worried and distraught, and the others still slept. It must have been Meaghan’s voice that had woken Athwen, and she felt herself go cold suddenly and without explanation. The good humour she had awoken in retreated and hid and a strange fear slowly filled her, like a small, trickling stream slowly fills a pool of rock. She pushed the blankets off of herself and stood up.

She started across the camp to go to Meghan and see if something was wrong, and if there was, if she could help. Her steps led her beside the sleeping forms of the other two wounded companions - Vaenosa and Sythric. She looked at them as she passed. Sythric seemed to still sleep as well as anyone might except but Vaenosa. . .

One glance at the young woman’s face showed Athwen that something was wrong. She quickly turned and knelt beside her and reached out her hand to touch her face.

‘She’s cold!’ The words leaped out in a startled, high voice, and her hand jerked back. A tremor ran through her body and then she touched her again. She reached for Vaenosa’s hand and felt for a pulse. There was nothing. ‘Is she dead?’ she whispered. She could certainly feel her own heart pumping hard against her ribs, but the body beside hers was still. Still and so cold. Tears came to her eyes. ‘Dead?’

A movement to her right caused her to raise her head. Meghan had gotten up to her feet and she looked scared. Athwen stared up at her.

‘She’s dead?’ Meghan asked, indicating Vaenosa with a swift, downward glance of her eyes. Athwen nodded mutely, unable to speak immediately. ‘Brand is not well, either. I think. . .’she stopped and changed her course. ‘Where is Leod?’

Athwen turned her head the other way and her eyes swept the place where he should have slept. ‘I don’t know,’ her voice said, trembling. ‘I don’t know where he is, or if he ever returned from last night. He left at the very beginning of the night - he didn’t tell me where, but I thought he’d be back. He probably had to find some more plants to help him. . .but he’s not - he’s not back.’ Her voice failed her altogether then and even if she had wanted to say anything further, she couldn’t have. Vaenosa was dead, Brand was seemed to be leaving, and Leod was gone. Would they loose all of the ones who had been wounded?

[Tevildo]

Leod lay unmoving on the ground not more than eight feet away from where the Elves were still talking. He was careful to remain motionless and tuck his head under the blanket they had given him. Underneath that cover, he could hear every word they were saying.

Last night, he had not known how to explain why he was wandering alone in the woods in the middle of the night. Looking back, he could not help but feel that it was very foolish of him to go out so far on his own, even if his need for the herbs was great. Now all he wanted to do was to protect his friends from these strange and regale creatures who were so well armed and seemingly filled with anger and suspicion. Leod had admitted to one of the Elves, a woman who had questioned him closely, that he was a healer and had gone out at night to search for the lichens that are so good in drawing out ill humors from a wound. He totally denied that he was with anyone else even after she pressed him further. She had given him a strange look and walked away.

Now that he had heard what his fate was to be, Leod did not know whether to be happy or sad. At least they had decided not to skewer him in two. But his spirits sank down to this toes as he heard that he was to be carted off to the north and let go in the middle of nowhere, many miles from his friends and the injured men and women who so desperately needed him. He simply could not accept that.

As he listened to Nevtaliel speak, a desperate plot hatched in his mind. This woman, at least, was not his enemy. Leod did not know much about Elves, had never seen one in his life, but he did know that their healers were said to possess amazing skills, far beyond the reach of mortal men.

Gathering every bit of courage that he had, Leod leapt to his feet and turned to face the Elves. "The woman is right. I am a healer, but I am also a terrible liar. My friends are camped no more than two miles from here. They are no brigands, just common folk from several villages miles north of here. One of those villages, the one that I call my home, was burned down by a pack of roving Orcs, every person in it slain but myself and one other young girl."

"We are trying to get through to Edoras to warn the King that the Orcs have begun a rampage through the countryside, and he and his Riders must stand against them, if any of us are to survive. My own folk are gravely injured. When you found me, I was trying to search for the medicine that might save them. My supplies are gravely low. We had spent the last few days fighting Orcs and Easterlings, and many were afflicted with grievous wounds. To be honest, I was a fool to leave camp. I do not even know if these wounded men and women can survive, but without me they have absolutely no chance. Already, they are burning up with fever and half out of their minds."

"Please, sirs and madame, I am not the like of you but my folk mean much to me. I have heard that Elves have wonderful ways with a healing hand. I can take you to our camp that lies no more than a few miles upstream. Perhaps you can help those who are sick and injured. Meanwhile, as we approach the camp, you may keep your knife trained on my throat. If I have lied about any of these things, slash my throat and let me fall and die. Please, great Elves, if you have any mercy, will you come and help my friends?"

Nevtaliel stooped to pick up her bag of herbs and remedies, and glanced over towards Haekanoion. He said nothing but quickly nodded his head in assent. Within a moment, all had retrieved their horses, and were cantering briskly along the bank of the stream, with Leod sitting behind one of the riders. Despite his offer, there was no knife trained upon his throat.

[Folwren]

Athwen placed Vaenosa’s hand by her side and got up quickly. She looked around the camp once again, taking into mind the people there. She saw Incana walking towards them through the trees, looking half worried, half curious about what was going on. Dorran, too, was waking up. He propped himself up on his elbow, rubbed the sleep from his eyes with one hand and then looked up at Meghan and Athwen.

“What’s going on?” he asked. Athwen took a step towards him. Her hands twisted together and she struggled to keep from crying.

“Vaenosa’s dead,” she began. Dorran sat upright. “And Brand, Meghan says, is doing very badly, too.” Dorran shot a sharp, anxious glance in the direction of Brand. Meghan had gone back to him and was kneeling beside him again. “I don’t know how Sythric is,” Athwen continued. “But. . .but Leod. . .” she stopped. Dorran looked around and upon seeing no healer, he got swiftly to his feet.

“Where is Leod?” he asked.

“I-I saw him leaving last night, scarcely after everyone had gone to bed. I was on watch and he went without saying anything.”

“He didn’t come back?” Dorran’s voice sounded sharp as he put the question.

“No. I didn’t even think about it. I kept watch for an hour, and I didn’t even consider that he should be back.” Dorran said nothing. Athwen wondered if she had done something wrong, but at the same time she thought that it wasn’t that sort of silence that Dorran kept. “I thought he was just going out to find more herbs and plants. He’s been using a lot for the wounds and he’ll need more.”

“Something must have gone wrong,” Dorran said after another moment’s pause. “He should’ve been back by now. We’ve got to find him. Without his help, neither Sythric or Brand have any hope of living.” He fastened his cloak and buckled on his sword belt as he spoke.

“Can I go with you?” Athwen asked. “Meghan can stay here and watch them. Please let me go. I know a little bit about where Leod might hope to find some of the plants he needed and I might be able to help.”

Dorran looked skeptical as he glanced down at her. “You don’t have any weapons,” he said.

“Do you think that if Leod ran into any trouble, our entire group put together would be able to get him out of it by force?” Athwen demanded. “We can’t take everyone, and even if we could, it wouldn’t do any good. Our best chance of finding anything out without getting caught or killed ourselves is to go in small numbers and without being burdened with useless weapons.”

Dorran agreed after a moment, and then, after explaining what they were going to do to Osmod, Fion, Incana, and Meghan, the two of them set off in the direction that Athwen had seen Leod leave the previous evening. Neither of them knew anything about tracking, so they could only continue walking in the direction that they guessed he had gone, traveling as quietly and as carefully as they could while straining their eyes and ears for any sight or sound of the healer.

Their search had been fruitless for nearly three quarters of an hour. Athwen was about to despair when Dorran set his hand suddenly on hers in a cautious, silent warning. She looked up at him, and his finger was pressed against his mouth, bidding silence. His eyes were slowly scanning the trees and foliage and she turned to look in the same direction. In a moment, she heard what he had - the sound of horses forging their way through fallen leaves and low or fallen branches. The two looked at each other, and then with a silent nod of the head, Dorran started towards the sound. Athwen followed close behind.

In a little while of walking as quietly as possible and keeping behind as many trees as were available, the two of them soon caught sight of the group of mounted elves. Dorran and Athwen came to a halt. Athwen scarcely dared to breath as she watched them come nearer. Then she felt Dorran tug on her sleeve and she looked down to see him crouching behind a wide tree. She joined him quickly.

The elves came nearer and nearer and soon their faces were visible. Athwen bent towards Dorran and dared a low whisper. “Were they the ones who stopped him, do you think?”

He nodded slowly. “I see him riding behind one now.” She turned to look and sure enough, there was the elderly healer, riding behind the saddle of one of the elves.

“Well, let’s go, then,” she said. Athwen had always been impulsive and this appeared to be no exception. Neglecting even to look at Dorran to see if he shared her point of view, she jumped up directly to her feet and started forward at a hurried trot. “Leod! Hullo!” she called out, waving her hand to catch their attention. “Stop, please! We need help!”

[Undómë]

Meghan barely realized that Dorran and Athwen had left camp. She turned back to Brand and slumped down beside him. Weariness overwhelmed her. Weariness and a great sadness. His hand was very cold as she picked it up and held it against her cheek.

‘You cannot die,’ she began. ‘I’m not done talking to you. There are many more stories you haven’t heard. And I’ve heard very few of yours. You cannot take my stories with you and leave me none of your own.’

She rocked back and forth a little, humming an old tune. Her fingers reached, unthinking, for her pipe, forgetting for a moment that she had thrown it on Rædwald’s pyre. ‘And if you’re bound from this world, you cannot take my songs. I've lost my pipe. I cannot lose my songs altogether. How will I sing my flock to sleep? You cannot take their comfort from them.’

Meghan lay his hand on her knee and knuckled her eyes, not that there were tears to be dealt with; just the feeling beyond all tiredness that hope had fled. The flats of her hands pressed in against her cheeks, trying to rub some warmth into them.

I wish I were on yonder hill
'Tis there I'd sit and I'd cry my fill,
And ev'ry tear would turn a mill,
And a blessing walk with you, my love

She sang softly, leaning in close to him. Her eyes scanned his pale face for any sign that he might hear her.

Shule, shule, shule aroon
Shule go succir agus, shule go kewn;
Shule go dheen durrus oggus aylig lume,
And a blessing walk with you, my love.

His hair shines gold and his eyes are blue
His arms are strong and his words are true
In my heart I’ll always be with you
And a blessing walk with you, my love.

Shule, shule, shule aroon
Shule go succir agus, shule go kewn;
Shule go dheen durrus oggus aylig lume,
And a blessing walk with you, my love.

Come, come, come O love,
Quickly come to me, softly move,
Come to the door and away we'll flee,
And safe forever may my darling be.

Shule, shule, shule aroon
Shule go succir agus, shule go kewn;
Shule go dheen durrus oggus aylig lume,
And a blessing walk with you . . . my love . . .

Meghan’s voiced trailed off . . . he lay so still . . .

‘You cannot go, Brand . . . how will I follow?’

[Nogrod]

Farael's post

Osmod asked Fion to get some water boiling and then run to the river to refill the water-skins. The young lad asked Incana for help and the two hurried off, knowing that Leod would need water to clean the wounds and to prepare his potions. Walking then to Meghan, Osmod kneeled by her side and waited patiently as she spoke softly to Brand’s ear. Her words he could not tell, but the meaning was clear. When she finally seemed to have stopped talking, Osmod gently took Meghan’s hand in his, hoping to comfort her slightly. She turned around, looking upset –or was it his imagination? - Yet even if she was, she had recently lost a life-long friend and now Brand seemed to be loosing his fight as well. She had her reasons. Osmod felt guilty for interrupting yet he knew that if Leod was to come back and save Brand and Sythric, he’d need to have everything ready. Perhaps it would even be good for Meghan to be a busy as well.

“I am sorry Meghan that I need to ask this of you right now, yet you are the one who knows best what our healer will need when he gets here. I have already sent Fion and Incana to bring us as much water as they can; now we only need to prepare Leod’s potions and unguents and pray he gets back here soon enough to use them. You know what he will need better than myself, I will stay here by Brand’s side and look over him if you wish.”

Trying his most reassuring smile, he placed his hand on Brand’s forehead to see if the man had a fever, which he clearly had. Then he busied himself on arranging the covers so that the man would not be cold. Osmod did not look up to see if Meghan was still by Brand’s side.

---------------------

Nogrod's post

Sythric was once again back at his little stream at Skara. His life seemed to revolve around it in many ways. He had lived in many different buildings at Skara, he had lived in Croacht for 15 years, he had travelled across the Wold, but still that little stream beside the fields of Skara held him deeply tied to it. It had been there before he was born and it would be there after he would die.

He had served the riders for a full year and been granted his first leave. Three weeks it was to be. He had spent a couple of days with his friends at Croacht just to celebrate their first year and then gotten back to Skara. He was sixteen and it was the first night at home. The big party was to be held the next day, so Sythric had been allowed to have some time by himself, at the stream as he wished. All the family knew its meaning to him.

Sythric sat on a rock by the small watermill as she came towards him. Aescwyn was the girl from the neighbouring farmstead. They had known each other from childhood, but it had been only less than two years ago that Sythric had really gotten a crash on her. He had dreamt of her nights and days, imagining what it would be like to hold her in his arms or to kiss her. But she had been promised to a certain lad called Beorthsige, an annoying son of a local trader. Good marriage that was, to be sure, but it made Sythric bitter as a lemon. And she had never answered his feelings.

But now she was there, her light dress shining in the moonlight. She stepped on to the plane beside the wheel of the watermill, and walked towards him. Then she stopped on the planks just a few yards away from him, two feet above the waterline. “Well Rico, what a surprise!” she called him, smiling kiddingly. “Or can I call you that any more now that you are a real rider of Rohan? And you are growing a beard! Well, you must be a man now...”, she added and smiled a conspirational smile. Sythric was totally at loss about what to do or say.

Up to this day Sythric hadn’t conclusively figured it out, whether what followed was actually an accident or a deliberate plan of Aescwyn. Anyhow, she staggered on the planks and fell. Before she had touched the surface of the water, Sythric was on his feet and rushing towards her. He jumped after her to the water and grabbed her into his arms, helping her up. The water was just waist-deep. He surely had known that, but as he had been acting on instinct, he hadn’t come to think about it.

There they stood in each others arms totally soaked. Sythric felt so ashamed that he tried to avoid Aescwyn’s eyes, but he didn’t let go of her either. She held tight to him as well. Then she started laughing and in a moment Sythric was laughing too. While laughing, they both took a bit firmer hold of each other. Sythric remembered how her body felt pressing tightly against his even now.

This should not be, but still this is just how it should be, he thought to himself when the laugher finally died off. They were staring at each others eyes now quite intensively, trying to read the other mind. “This should be...” Aescwyn whispered quietly, leaning carefully against Sythric’s shoulder. “I was thinking about the same thing Aescwyn”, Sythric whispered to her ear with a sad smile, fondling her hair tenderly. Aescwyn raised her head up and met his gaze. Slowly their faces drew nearer each other.

That kiss Sythric had remembered all his life. He remembered her scent, her body pressing onto his, the feeling of her lips against his, the wet fingers running at his back, the chill that run over him from tip to the toe making his feet waver...


“Vaenosa’s dead”, he heard the words through his dreams. Vaenosa’s dead? His mind was struggling to get itself conscious. “Where is Leod?” Dorran? Why are you asking for Leod, where is he, what has happened? His mind was trying to cope with the cryptical real life sentences and the all-embracing world of dreams and memories. “Something must have gone wrong”, he heard Dorran say, and then it was images again. Vaenosa was running uphill with the easterling trailing her, ready to kill her in an instant. Sythric remembered spurring Thydrë to do her best, he remembered lowering Raedwald’s lance to a charging position. Vaenosa’s dead!

“Shule, shule, shule aroon...”

The song entered Sythric’s mind, at last waking him up to full consciousness. He opened his eyes and saw Meghan singing at Brand’s side. Brand looked pale indeed. A dying man... The thought of Brand dying, the beauty of Meghan’s song and the painful expression on her face brought tears to Sythric’s eyes and cold shivers were going through his body.

He noted that Incana was tending the horses and Fion was boiling water at the fireside. Osmod was sitting by the fire too, looking grim, his hand was bandaged with a linen. Now what has happened? But he couldn't see either Dorran or Athwen? Where are they? Where is Leod? Meghan had stopped singing and the only voice loud enough to enter his consciousness were the crackles of the fire. He carefully adjusted himself, raising to sitting position and leaning towards the rock behind him. Meghan noticed him moving and looked at him with concern.

“Meghan!”, he called her. “Be brave my friend. You will accomplish the task we were sent for and save our people. We should not let him die in vain!” His gaze wandered around to meet Vaenosa’s body lying some feet left from him. “Or her...”, he half-whispered.

[Tevildo]

"Whoa! Stop, good master Elf!" cried out Leod. "Tis one of my companions I spoke about, the young lass who came from the same village where I lived."

As the lead Elf drew up his horse and the others came to a halt, the older healer slipped hastily from the saddle and ran forward to embrace the young woman, so excited was he to know that camp was within a few paces. Seeing Dorran run out from the bushes, he gave him another welcoming embrace and gestured to the Elves that they should follow down the pathway, since the camp lay only a short distance away.

To Dorran and Athwen, Leod quickly explained, "I went out to gather herbs, but my foolish blundering in the middle of the night caused these good folk to question who I was. But after the confusion was straightened out, they agreed to bring me back to camp. But tell me now, how is everyone? Do Brand and Sythric still cling to life? And how fares Vaenosa and the others who are ill? I cannot tell you how worried I was to be away."

Athwen and Dorran glanced nervously at each other, and at first said nothing. It was Dorran who finally explained, "Sythric hangs on as before. But with the others...... "

"Go on lad, spit it out!"

"Vaenosa has lost her battle. The wounds took her no more than an hour ago."

"But how can this be?" countered Leod. "For I knew not that she was so ill." A horrible feeling afflicted the healer in the pit of his stomach as he wondered whether the girl might have lived if he had stayed in camp.

Out loud, he said only this: "And Brand, how does he fare? I pray that he still lives."

"Aye, he lives but barely. Leod, is there nothing you can do to help? Perhaps some new remedies to help him fight?"

Hearing that the others still lived and were in desperate need of aid, Leod pushed back his guilt over Vaenosa's death and concentrated on the immediate problem. "Dorran, there is hope, if only a tiny glimmer. For I have brought with me one whose skills as a healer surpass my own paltry efforts by a considerable amount."

Turning about to the Elves he called, "Come now. Hurry! One of my friends lies ill in desperate straits....."