‘Bird!’ came the urgent voice of Volondil. ‘Fly swiftly to Gandalf. Bring him here. The Ranger bent over the fallen form, the point of his blade pricking at the side of the intruder’s cheek. There was no response as the tip drew a small line of welling blood.
‘Stay still for a moment, Hinura.’ The Ranger grabbed the figure by one arm and rolled him off the bard, and to his back. It was a man, he now saw. And he lay deathly still, as Volondil crouched down near him and placed his hand on the his chest. ‘He still draws breath.’
The man twitched at the pressure of Volondil’s hand, and moaned low. Turning to his side he drew up into a ball and thrust his arm out as if to ward off some present terror. His lips moved, and his eyes, now opened wide, stared unseeing toward some horror. Volondil bent low over him, seeking to understand the words he repeated in an endless litany.
‘Please . . . no . . .’ he rasped out, his throat raw from the endless chanting of the plea as he ran. He gasped, shuddering. ‘Please . . . no . . .’ He threw his arm up before his face as if to fend off the sight of something. ‘She comes . . . she comes . . .’
[ January 17, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]
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Eldest, that’s what I am . . . I knew the dark under the stars when it was fearless - before the Dark Lord came from Outside.
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