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Imladris · 03-06-2004, 08:26 PM

Her bow ready, Lira glided swiftly to the edge of the copse where she had seen Esgallugwen lingering in the shadows. “Mellon, are you standing guard?” she asked as she pressed herself against a tree. Glancing towards the other elf, she noticed that shafts of wood protruded from her shoulder and her thigh and that the feathered portions of the broken arrows were scattered about the ground, as if the elf had thrown them carelessly aside. “You must have your wounds treated before they become infected,” she whispered softly in the elvish tongue. “I am sure you do not wish to die a painful death if the infection spreads, or at the very least loose a limb.” She smiled gently at Esgallhugwen and said, “Please, Eswen, leave me hear to guard in your stead.”

The other elf shook her head and said, “Soon -- but not now. Look at them,” she whispered, gesturing towards the drifting shadows that circled the copse, “they mean to keep us here, penned like sheep to slaughter.” She laughed softly: they both knew that any man who entered the copse would die. “Within these trees we can live for a very long time, and eventually they will leave us, impatient to wait for us any longer. The only way they can route us out is if they set fire to the trees, but their minds are not sharp enough for that. They have lived and learned only to kill; I doubt that any one of these men know how to think.”

Lira stroked the dry, creviced bark of the tree and looked sadly at the brown shriveled leaves that clung to its wasted twigs. “It is not fire I fear, Esgallhugwen,” she whispered, her eyes wide. “We have hardly any food left as most of it was on the hobbits’ ponies which are both gone. We will starve long before they tire waiting for us.”

Death. She had not been able to escape its presence. Death was the hand that caressed a slumbering child’s cheek, that stole a baby from the cradle, that clothed a lover‘s heart in sable; the one that rescued the aged from disease and pain, the companion of the armies of Middle-earth. With a little sigh, she said, “We are going to die.”

03-06-2004, 08:26 PM	#170
Imladris Tears of the Phoenix Join Date: Jun 2003 Location: Putting dimes in the jukebox baby. Posts: 1,453	Lira Her bow ready, Lira glided swiftly to the edge of the copse where she had seen Esgallugwen lingering in the shadows. “Mellon, are you standing guard?” she asked as she pressed herself against a tree. Glancing towards the other elf, she noticed that shafts of wood protruded from her shoulder and her thigh and that the feathered portions of the broken arrows were scattered about the ground, as if the elf had thrown them carelessly aside. “You must have your wounds treated before they become infected,” she whispered softly in the elvish tongue. “I am sure you do not wish to die a painful death if the infection spreads, or at the very least loose a limb.” She smiled gently at Esgallhugwen and said, “Please, Eswen, leave me hear to guard in your stead.” The other elf shook her head and said, “Soon -- but not now. Look at them,” she whispered, gesturing towards the drifting shadows that circled the copse, “they mean to keep us here, penned like sheep to slaughter.” She laughed softly: they both knew that any man who entered the copse would die. “Within these trees we can live for a very long time, and eventually they will leave us, impatient to wait for us any longer. The only way they can route us out is if they set fire to the trees, but their minds are not sharp enough for that. They have lived and learned only to kill; I doubt that any one of these men know how to think.” Lira stroked the dry, creviced bark of the tree and looked sadly at the brown shriveled leaves that clung to its wasted twigs. “It is not fire I fear, Esgallhugwen,” she whispered, her eyes wide. “We have hardly any food left as most of it was on the hobbits’ ponies which are both gone. We will starve long before they tire waiting for us.” Death. She had not been able to escape its presence. Death was the hand that caressed a slumbering child’s cheek, that stole a baby from the cradle, that clothed a lover‘s heart in sable; the one that rescued the aged from disease and pain, the companion of the armies of Middle-earth. With a little sigh, she said, “We are going to die.”