Before Telpeheled had time to do more than draw his sword the Easterling had fired off an arrow. It was all Telpeheled could do to avoid becoming another casualty of the fighting. It also gave time for the man to flee.
I suppose I should go after him. thought Telpeheled resignedly. His head had begun to throb again. But he was injured too. It sholud be an interesting conflict!
The injured Easterling could not run very fast and Telpeheled knew he was gaining on him. After a few moments he heard laboured breathing in front of him. Surprisingly he felt a strange tug of sympathy for this man. It's time to decide. I could just go straight back down this accursed steep hill.
He considered for a moment, when unbidden an image of Durelin lying on the floor came into his head. No he thought firmly. Who knows what he might do?
Grimly he ran after him with greater speed. The long grass gave way, and in front he could see his opponent. Apparantly having given in to inevitability, the man had turned, sword drawn.
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“Sylphs of the forest,” I whispered. “Spirits of oak, beech and ash. Dryads of Rowan and hazel, hear us. You who have guided and guarded our every footstep, you who have sheltered our growth, we honour you."
the Forbidden Link
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