[onewhitetree]

The lurching shapes in Gurthden's vision slowly blurred to a halt and took the shape of blackened trees, still smoking, as he regained consciousness to a slow, rhythmic rasping sound. As his mind cleared, he realized that the rasping matched the rise and fall of his own chest, and tasted the bitterly stinging taste of smoke in his throat. After a few moments of thought, to absorb and work out his situation, he gingerly sat up and was greeted with a new wave of dizziness, which luckily subsided a bit faster than the last. As it left, images of giant, smoldering flames bearing down on himself, his comrades, and those they fought alike flashed through his mind's eye. He heard a voice --was it Baranthôl?-- shouting to run! Then it all gave way to the raindrops that began to pound into his head, startling him from his reverie. He suddenly wondered how long he had been lying there amongst the battle carnage, for carnage there was all around him, the stink of it horridly apparent even through the smoke. The last time he remembered having the leisure to examine the sky, there had been no sign of rain or storm. It would have been, were it not for the circumstances, a pleasant surprise.

Gurthden suddenly realized the danger of his position when an unmistakable approach broke the silence, a silence such that can follow only great sadness. He espied the hilt of his sword, partially hidden under the nearby body of a Dunlender. There was no time to find shelter, and indeed no shelter to be found, so Gurthden quickly freed his weapon from its unpleasant resting place and lurched to a standing position, wincing, but surprised at the comparative small hurt he had received. He brandished his sword high, hoping to give the intruder a second thought, in the event that his intentions were less than honorable. As the sounds grew nearer, he made out a rasping breath louder than his own, each one seemingly slower and more deliberate than the last. As the figure came into the open, staggering, almost dragging himself along, Gurthden let his guard drop and ran to catch Leoden as he collapsed, apparently not for the first time. The Rider's garments were almost completely charred away, and burns seemed to cover every inch of his body. As he looked into Gurthden's face with recognition, he scraped in breath to speak.

"Silence, brother," bade Gurthden. "Save your strength for living, for as I see you now, you will need all the breath you can yet draw."

Leoden continued, however. "Brother--," he coughed, "I have been running like a crazed man from a furnace for I know not how long, but know this -- I parted ways with Guthrin and Flandhere after we left your company to set aflame this wretched bane of men and beasts and trees alike. They are in one another's care, and I swear on my father's grave, if I live to see that the coward Guthrin has not shown his courage in protecting my comrade, he shall feel my blade...." Another fit of coughing overtook his body, as both breath and voice became weaker. "I fear, however, that I will not see our brother Flandhere again, whether he lives or no. You must find the others, Gurthden. Help them to avenge this great wrong that is done, and is still being done yet."

As though Leoden's seeping energy had flooded into his body through their mingling blood, Gurthden felt new strength to go on and search for the rest of the party, though they may lie dead miles away, he would not give up until they were all found and reconciled. Nor would he leave Leoden behind, though it was apparent that he was not to be saved, even if the healing skills of Elwood and Aspida both were at hand. He wrapped the ailing man in a cloak plundered from one of the many corpses that now scattered the charred ground, once green with foliage and flowers. Gurthden set off at a slow run, carrying Leoden in his arms and speaking comforting words to the stricken babbling that had taken over his mind. He stopped once, at midday, and partook of some stale bread and foul meat he had plundered with the cloak, and fed Leoden as best he could with the bread and water from a nearby stream, fresh with the morning rain. He decided to stay a while and let the man rest as best he could while he watched sorrowfully, knowing full well that nothing he could do would slow fate.

After about an hour more of tortured visions and imaginary flames, Leoden's spirit left his ragged body as the skies opened and unleashed torrents of wind and rain, smothering what was left of the fire and readying the ground for the new growth of the next season. Gurthden bent his head and sobbed over his countryman's corpse, lying mortally burnt upon the forest floor.

Presently, he raised his head and let the cleansing rain stream down into his face and meld with his tears. He gathered up the limp body and continued on his way, making speed that the Elf would have admired. As evening neared, he saw a giant oak in the distance that seemed to beckon him. He girded up his mournful baggage and and made for the tree.

[ September 13, 2002: Message edited by: onewhitetree ]