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Raeis
Every ragged breath, though dustfilled and half stifled, was like the first Raeis had ever taken. Zurumor held the limp elf in his strong grip as he staggered away from the fray, and she let her head rest against his chest, her fingers lacing behind his neck, and every inch of his body which pressed against hers was precious and she relished it, trying to dispell the cold, cold sensation around her neck where the Nazgul's hand had gripped so tightly. This warmth...it was different to the warmth of that merciless, burning sun: it was more like the inward strength and light which she had felt when the Valar came to her, but weaker - precious but fragile. She needed it, and clung hungrily to Zurumor. Suddenly a cry came from nearby and he looked around, and stumbled as he did so. Raeis fell but recovered herself surprisingly quickly, rolling lithely and coming up on one knee. But immediately she did so, she winced and her hand came to her throat: a black mark, shaped like a hand, was still seared into her flesh, and burnt with cold fire. As the Nazgul screamed above, she felt it suddenly intensify for a split second and gasped. Zurumor came to her side, concerned. "What is wrong?"
Raeis did not speak, her lips moving in vain to form words that her sore and crushed throat refused to provide. But she felt also the strength inside her, the strength she had felt from those strange beings who she had seen in her mind so very clearly, and felt them buoy her up: how, she knew not, nor why they should come to one so pitiful as her, but the images gave her strength. Pulling the sword long knives from her throat, she rose slowly, her good eye staring steadily at the scene. She nodded slowly, then, with a yell, threw herself into the melee.
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