[Imladris]

Lira

The elf’s blue eyes, glazed now from pain and loss of blood, slowly fluttered open as she looked around her. Esgallhugwen, a bloody Lumiel, Falco, and Anson were huddled with her. Corn was nowhere to be seen. Half rising, her head throbbing as she did so, Lira peeked above at the men that still encompassed them, circling like vultures, with the patience of wolves around them and their boulder of refuge. Where was Uien and Falowik? What if they had died?

Somebody held a leather flask to her lips, and golden liquid coursed through her, bringing new strength to her. It was Miruvor, and Esgallhugwen smiled sadly at her. Anson dropped the bloodstained cloth and said, “I tried to get the blood to stop, Miss,” he said.

Lira brought her fingertips to her head, tracing the cut. It was no longer flowing freely and had abated to a mere oozing. She rubbed it into her skin, and saw Gorby shoot at one of the shadows, missing. “Do not shoot unless the aim is true,” she whispered into his ear.

Taking the silver knife that Esgallhugwen had given to her, she cleaned the dried blood and dirt from the blade and handle. Crouching beside Gorby, she waited, struggling to resist the urge to lie down in blissful peacefulness.