[onewhitetree]

Gurthden arrived in the clearing almost completely spent, emotionally and physically. He laid Leoden's body at the foot of the majestic oak and collapsed on the other side, the heavy fog of his tears almost as exhausting as his grievous burden had been.

Sleep came in waves over the next few hours, and when Gurthden's head cleared, it was night, and a beautiful night it was. The moon was rising and bright, shining through the foliage of the tree to light the ground in a speckled pattern of silver and shade, magical to behold. Gurthden felt the power of the earth and the tree seeping into his body as he lay against the oak, unable to move. The moon then rose into full view, clearing the tree and releasing him from his reverie.

He arose, not completely rejuvenated but filled with a sense of purpose, and decided to examine his surroundings. Upon further scrutiny, he discovered the traces of recent encampment. Whether this belonged to his friends or his foes was impossible to know, but Gurthden seemed to feel the goodness of this place, and he decided that men such as the Dunlendings would not inhabit it, at least not without somehow defiling it. All traces of habitation had been respectful to the terrain and wildlife, so Gurthden assumed that he was on the right path, and took heart.

He turned back to the tree, knowing that he still had duties with Leoden and could not shirk them any longer. He dug a shallow and makeshift grave at the foot of the tree, between the roots so that they surrounded the final bed as strong, protective arms. He laid Leoden in it with his sword upon his chest and his arms crossed over his heart. He covered him with soil and a small cairn of rocks and pebbles from the nearby stream. A silent prayer and a last tear for his comrade were given, and Gurthden then gathered up his gear and continued on his path, grateful for the dreamlike interlude but not wishing to linger when his companions seemed so close.

He trekked through the brush swiftly and quietly, now and then seeing signs of travel and following them as close as he could discern. After many hours of this, he thought he heard voices, and went on more cautiously, remembering that he still did not know exactly who it was he tracked. As he drew nearer, he recognized the voices of his friends and his heart leapt with joy. "Ho, Master Dwarf!" he shouted in a few minutes, unable to contain himself when he saw the troupe a short distance away through the woods. "Will you not slow your caravan for a friend weary of travel and sorrowful times?"

[ October 14, 2002: Message edited by: onewhitetree ]