Farien nodded at Iavas' words. They had absolutely nothing to use to care for the men. She knelt beside the old man, Garodin, touching his brow. He was warm. Farien bit her lower lip, she was no healer! She thought that warm must be better than cold... she hoped so at least.
The wound on Garodin's head was crusted with blood and his grey hair was matted with it. She couldn't tell how deep it was, and she didn't want to move the man. She cast Iavas a helpless glance, but the woman didn't notice. She was bent over Herlion who was moaning softly and moving around.
Farien cast a quick glance at Eregiath. He was sitting on his heels drawing in the dirt with a stick. Telmir stood beside him watching avidly. Farien smiled, Eregiath knew that Telmir loved tales. Serra and Arrin were close by. Serra was trying to teach Arrin the hand clapping games that the village girls played amongst themselves. Farien shook her head, the children could play here? in this?
Fighting rage, Farien moved to the third injured man. She didn't recognize him, but he was dressed and armoured as a soldier of Minas Tirith. Farien's eyes widened. She searched the man quickly. No weapons. Heaving a sigh she turned to see if she could tell what was wrong with him. His face was pale and his lips were blue. His breath was steady but shallow. Farien could find no wound on him. She tightened her lips.
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The seasons fall like silver swords, the years rush ever onward; and soon I sail, to leave this world, these lands where I have wander'd. O Elbereth! O Queen who dwells beyond the Western Seas, spare me yet a little time 'ere white ships come for me!
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