Seeing her stranger-patient attempt to rise and then fall back again, Naaramare reluctantly turned from the battle she'd been watching, painfully aware that the brief memory that had brought her spiritual strength had not reminded her how to use a weapon that, come to think of it, she didn't have.
Kneeling beside the stranger, who was breathing quickly, she put the poultice back into place. "Don't try to stand," she admonished. "You have a head wound, if you have not noticed. If you move, you'll be ill. We must wait . . ." she laughed self-consciously, fear making the laugh a little shrill. "I'm not much more use, for all I'm unhurt."
Her eyes returned to Gandalf, Elenna and the spectre, and she clung to hope.
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