[Imladris]

Gorby

I wandered disconsolately about the remains of the camp. The fire had long died due to lack of attention, but a faint heat still came from the glimmering embers and somewhat scattered ash. I took out my scanty ink and dimpled paper and curled myself beside the stones that had encircled the fire. With my pen, I scratched a hastily drawn sketch: it was our campsite with the men attacking, a flurry of black that was supposed to be corn, the severed eyes that nestled like eery specters in the ground. I drew Lira and the axe that descended to take her life. I closed my eyes: it had been a dark night. I considered drawing Eswen in her horribly black form (now looking back, it was quite terrifying) but I decided to leave that for another day.

I looked around me: saw Lumiel dragging Lira and heaving her onto Merk, where the elf slumped upon the mare’s back, somehow maintaining a shred of gracefulness about her. I didn’t see Eswen and --

A groan escaped the man, and I turned towards him. His mouth was partially open, his lips cracked and bleeding. Splotches of blood formed upon the ragged cloth that covered the horror of the empty sockets. His hand twitched and I crept to him softly, looking at him.

Cruelty was carved into his features and his mouth, though open in misery, still managed to sneer with arrogant, brutish barbarity. I wondered what his eyes held: what poison filled their cup, what malign hatred leered from them. I glanced at the eyes that still laid neglected upon the wilderness floor: lifeless they were, empty was their cup, blankly they stared at me.

I turned again to the prisoner: he looked thirsty, I thought. My brain told me that I should be kind and bring him some, but I rebelled at the thought. He had tried to kill us. Yet what was the harm in showing a little kindness? But I would be dead if he had his wish. I shook my head. There was nothing forward. I decided to compromise and get some old water that wouldn’t taste too good. Musty and stale, that’s what I needed. I would take some from Anson’s water skin, because it was older than mine, which I had just filled but some time ago.

Pouring it into a small wooden cup, I held it to his lips and said, “Drink.” He wasn’t going to get any sympathy from me.

And apparently he didn’t want it, neither, because he fought the liquid that I forced to trickle inside his mouth. He spat it out and he must have had an uncanny ability to see me because it sprayed right on me. But it didn’t do no harm, really. The vest was already travel stained.

“Hobbit scum!” he snarled.

I ignored the insult and said, “Why? We have done nothing to you.”

I could almost see imaginary eyes roll under the bandage with scorn. “You won’t get any answers from me, little rat.”

And I didn’t feel like talking to him; besides, Falco was calling a meeting and I felt obliged to go over there. He thought that Uien and Falowik had set us up -- and my spirits crashed. What if they had? Where were they? It didn’t make sense. There were so many reasons for them to go off and disappear and who knew how many ruffians were about. Yet, they never should have gone off in the first place, I said to myself resentfully. We could have used them. Yet how could they have known we were to be attacked, unless they had arranged, yet why would they have arranged it since it didn’t really help them really, and why had they gone through all this trouble to gather a ragtag search party that nobody of importance would mind at all if we would meet death in the wild? It stumped me -- pure and simple. But I remembered Uien, elf maiden. You’d think that there’d be a hint of the evil that were so plainly visible in one so fair as her -- even in Falowik. I shook my head.

And then Anson stuck up for them: good for him. I flashed a small smile at him and then turned back to that arrogant, prissy hobbit. He wanted to move back Fornost. I shuddered.

“Or buried,” Lumiel muttered.

Now there was an interesting thought. Uncomfortable, unpleasant, morbid thought. So typical of an elf, I thought.

We were soon on our way to Fornost, however. No shadow haunted our steps, no arrow flew into our midst, and just maybe Falco was right to come here. Maybe, maybe not.

We found Uien wounded and Falowik too. I smiled to myself. So much for them setting us up…

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 6:32 PM December 30, 2003: Message edited by: Imladris ]