Dôranna shot a scowl back at the camp as she left to collect firewood. Why was Rhunnaro helping them? It made no sense. No sense at all. And why, in the name of all that was holy, why was Fionel trusting him? Well, yes, he had helped them dispose of Ranchard, but it could all be a front. It could all have been planned. Being overly trusting was a good thing, if you felt like dying.
She swatted a branch away from her face, and cursed under her breath as it tangled in her hair. Her legs ached, her nose was still stinging from the day's fresh sunburn, and she was in a sullen temper. Still, she felt more alive than she had in ages. She had a purpose now, a mission. Something to live for, maybe.
She shook her head to clear it of those foolish thoughts. There was no time for idle dreaming, not while Rhunnaro was in the camp, and the other Hunters Valar-only-knew how close. She had firewood to collect, and it wouldn't collect itself while her head was up in the clouds.
Suddenly she heard a great cracking sound from overhead, and she whipped out her dagger, breathing hard. A crash came after it, and she ran over, her knife still in her hand, to where the sound came from.
She pushed the brush aside and peered cautiously out from behind a near-dead tree, and gasped when she saw Lanbriel, sprawled out on the ground. She quickly approached, knelt down, and checked the girl's pulse. She was alive, but unconscious. Dôranna heaved a sigh of relief, and began feeling for broken bones. She had only gotten up to Lanbriel's left forearm when she heard something in the distance. Not far enough away for comfort, though, and the Elf froze, her dagger ready. She narrowed her ice-blue eyes, and stood in front of Lanbriel, preparing herself to do something she had not done in a long time, something that she dearly hoped that she remembered how to do: fight.
[ May 21, 2003: Message edited by: Orual ]
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"Oh, my god! I care so little, I almost passed out!" --Dr. Cox, "Scrubs"
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