[Thenamir]

Thenamir followed his new guide Volkmar who moved with a speed and stealth which belied an obviously lame and stiff-braced leg. Normally Thenamir would not be hard pressed to keep up, but the battle and the long race against the fire had left him wounded and weakened in body, while the absence of his comrades weakened his spirit.

Finding Volkmar helped to an extent on both conditions. He had adeptly, if roughly, treated his wounds, and the news of Taradan found and in friendly hands gave him hope that others had perhaps escaped the twin enemies of fire and foes. The elf, and perhaps the warg, stood the best chances of safe retreat. The last he had seen of the others was glimpses of pitched battle, and the scattering of Dunlending forces by the arrival of Guthrin, of all people!

The scorched land seemed to stretch endlessly before them, but Thenamir had insisted that they make an effort to find some signs of his companions before heading northward to the ruined city. Volkmar seemed to have heard of it, referring to it alternately as "Tharbad" and "Ost-In-Edhil". It was not too long before they reached the signs of battle...

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Ulfwine heaved a ragged cough as he surveyed the corpses where the rain had put an end to the smoke and smoulder. Not knowing whether his friends were still living he wanted to take whatever might be of value from his dead former-fellows to aid his escape -- and his enemies might still be close.

He moved with a kerchief over his face to help mitigate the double stink of ash and dead flesh, methodically going from body to body scattering the carrion fowl who had begin to gather. At least the bodies had not been dead long, Ulfwine thought. He did not have time to linger over the scene even if it had smelled like a meadow in full flower -- if there was any chance of connecting again with those who saved him from this band of brigands, he had to complete his task and start legging it northward.

He had obtained a small collection of swords with burnt leather grips that could be rehabilitated with some ease, a relatively undamaged pack which now contained several small and useful metal items and a meager sum of gold and silver plundered from the ashes of pockets and packs -- he considered it some small measure of revenge against those who would have betrayed him and his family.

Only twice did Ulfwine cease scavenging. He recognized with a start the charred body of Flandhere, one Ulfwine had grown to respect and even to friendship. He reverently retrieved the sword which had once fought alongside him and wiped it clean as best he could, though a proper cleaning would have to wait. Then with a small shovel which was part of his plunder, he dug a quick and shallow grave. For the brave man of Rohan there should have been a proper mound watered with the wine and tears of his comrades, as was the Rohirrim ceremony for those fallen in battle. There was no time, and he did not know the proper words, but Ulfwine honored him with his own sweat and tears, and such words as the people of Dunland speak over their honored dead.

The other time Ulfwine stopped was when he recognized the ornate scabbard of Storwolos, a gift from Borleg long ago, lying next to his blackened corpse. Ulfwine was momentarily stunned, for the body lay not in the twisted positions of the others who had died writhing in the agony of smoke and flame, but face down as though fallen dead before the flames arrived, and yet there were no visible signs of battle. One of the troop, probably Smrtan, had knifed him in order to take his place. He was not honorable, even for one of Dunland, thought Ulfwine.

Carefully rolling the body over he saw that the corpse had protected a small satchel-pack from the wasting power of the flame. The satchel contained a fair amount of gold, but also written orders...orders describing their destination and instructions on what to look for and where to look.

He quickly added these to the larger pack he carried. Then he used the sword of the honorable Flandhere to cut the heart from Storwolos' body and hack it into four sections. Taking each section in turn, he spat on it before casting the sections away, one to each of the four winds, muttering a gutteral Dunland curse over each one. He then turned to face Storwolos' remains and said, "As you left my family defenseless to be picked over by your friends, so I leave you defenseless to the carrion beasts to become food for their young. As you used me to gain advantage over your enemies, so I use what you have left behind to aid them. Thus my father is revenged."

Once he had completed the ritual desecration, he gathered together his plunder, discarded all but what he considered essential, and began his run to the north, seeking signs of his friends, to rejoin or avenge them.

Now, a half-day into his journey he was tripped by an unseen root and fell forward headlong into a mat of leaves and forest debris. Before he could arise he felt the flat of a swordblade against his neck and a stiff voice barked "Hold! Who are you?" Ulfwine unknowingly looked up into the face of Volkmar Heidenhammer. Before Ulfwine could protest there was a shrill whistle, and Thenamir came bursting from behind a scorched tree trunk ordering, "Stay, Volkmar! This is one of our comrades, the Dunlending who came over to our aid!"

"Glad to see you too," said Ulfwine as Volkmar resheathed his sword.

"Oho," said Volkmar. "I have some questions for you...

[ September 16, 2002: Message edited by: Thenamir ]