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Lira
Lira’s blue eyes swept the landscape, looking for a suitable place for the hobbit’s to hide. Fear bubbled up inside of her, clutched her, as she didn’t even find anything that could hid someone so small as a hobbit. Taking a hobbit’s hand in each of her own, she sprinted across the plain, the brown grass bending noiselessly under their feet.
Lira did not know how she managed to protect the hobbits from the assailants that swarmed around them…she only knew that her hand was stained with red, her dress was spattered with brown flecks, that the hobbit’s faces were white with fear. She stooped and picked up a sword and a bow and arrows from a fallen man, sheathing her dagger, and they continued on. Gorby stumbled to the ground, and Lira and Anson bent to help him to his feet.
A tremor shivered in the ground, the brown dry grass trembled. Turning, Lira saw ten horsemen galloping towards them, blades drawn, a cruel smile about their lips. She and the hobbits were almost near the copse of trees, only a few more minutes of running and they would be safe…maybe. “Come on,” she whispered, redoubling her pace.
They could hear the pounding of hooves chanting the coming of their death as they entered the shelter of the trees. Lira led the hobbits into the midst of the copse and stopped at the base of a dying oak. Dropping her sword to the ground, she gripped Anson under his arms and heaved him to the top bow, then did the same to Gorby. As she lifted them, she said, “Climb as high as you can and lay perfectly still. I’m going to keep them off our trail,” she said as she disappeared through the trees, bending and snapping twigs as she went, making the trail as noticeable as she dared. Then she circled back, swung herself into a tree near the hobbits, and waited with her bow drawn.
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