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littlemanpoet · 10-21-2004, 03:11 PM

Jorje Jorje smelled blood as he ran. He had not smelled it before. Where was it coming from? It made his stomach growl, and he had not had much to eat for some time. He slowed and sniffed more closely. Oh no. Not good. It was Ædegard.

Ædegard

Brade was running well for Ædegard, which was a good thing. Ædegard was having trouble with the reins. They kept slipping from his left hand, which seemed somewhat achy. They had almost come to the main path again. He picked up the reins again. And they dropped again. What was going on? His left hand felt slippery, and it was throbbing now. Why did it hurt so badly? He picked it up again. It fell away again. Now his wrist burned. Brade came to the main path and Ædegard urged him on in the direction of the others. He picked up the reins again. No. He hadn't picked them up. His wrist burned. He looked at his hand and wrist. He swooned and lost his grip on the reins with his right hand.

He blinked. He was on his back. Jorje was licking his face, and whimpering, sniffing at his left hand. His vision threatened to go black again. His hand. His left hand. It was not there. He remembered the ugly little men and their pointy teeth.

"No!" he moaned. Tears came to his eyes. "My hand!" He forced himself to a sitting position, using only his right hand, and then looked at his left again. He closed his eyes and turned his head away. Ragged and pulpy. He sniffed. He needed to get going again, before the ugly men came again. Brade was standing nearby. Ædegard got to his feet and staggered to Brade, Jorje whimpering at his side. He saw the bloodstain on Brade's side, where he thought he had grabbed hold of the bridle in his effort to climb up. How had he done it? How had he not felt the pain then? He understood that he had been too excited, too eager, too active to feel the pain, as if battle vigor was on him. Well, it was far gone now. He struggled up with his good hand, and managed to climb back into the saddle. The continued, Ædegard clenching his teeth against the pain.

Soon, Ædegard saw a horse standing in the path ahead of him. It was the thief boy, sleeping on the neck of his mount. Oh. There was a dart still stuck in his neck. Ædegard had Brade sidle up to the thief boy's mount, and he shook the boy with his good hand. The boy's head came up blearily.

"Gwyll?" he blinked, looking around.

"Nay, 'tis Ædegard," he said through clenched teeth.

The boy blinked again. "Where is Gwyllion? Sh - she should be on the back of my horse."

"There is no one there."

The boy frowned and blinked some more.

"There is a dart in your neck. Here, let me take it out." The boy nodded and winced as it came out in Ædegard's hand.

"Thank you. Did you find your betrothed?"

"No," Ædegard shook his head wanly.

"Friend, you look pale." Ædegard raised his left arm. The boy blanched. "I see."

"Come, let us go back to the others. I should not have left."

"But what about Gwyllion? And your betrothed?"

"We need the others if we are to get them back." Ædegard started back, the boy watching him from behind. Jorje kept pace with him, looking dolefully at Ædegard.

Raefindan

"He is near death," said Erebemlin. "This body is not strong enough for the king."

Ravion's eyes grew wide. "Body... King." He shook his head, and looked to Raefindan.

Raefindan had watched and listened in silence, feeling very much out of depth. The Elves seemed determined not to deal with this Tharonwe, no matter how many lives it cost. That seemed as foolish as it was heroic to Raefindan. Ravion and Ædegard had wanted to fight. That seemed just as foolish. Worse, in his mind's eye, Raefindan saw Tharonwe and Mellonin joined now by Bellyn, and Argeleafa, and their captors.

It seems that the Elves rule you against your will, humans. Will you let them cost you so many lives? See here that I do not jest. Tharonwe's knife went up, and suddenly there was a red line extending from Mellonin's brow to her lip, just inside her eye. She winced, and her tears blended with the red. The red line thickened and spread, and Tharonwe touched the pooling blood, and let one of the ugly little men smell it. They became more excited yet, fawning on Mellonin's arm. You must overcome these intransigent Elves if your women are to be saved.

Ravion looked to Raefindan. It would not do.

"Take me in exchange for the women," Raefindan said.

Ah, a new type of bargain. And why would I do that, young red man who does not belong to this world?

Raefindan's head jerked from the shock. He did not belong?

Red man, or should I call you Roy Edwards, you are from a time that has not yet come, and will not for thousands of years. You should not be here. How is it that you are here?

"I don't know! Take me! Take me and kill me if you must! Just let the women go!"

10-21-2004, 03:11 PM	#526
littlemanpoet Itinerant Songster Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: The Edge of Faerie Posts: 7,066	Jorje Jorje smelled blood as he ran. He had not smelled it before. Where was it coming from? It made his stomach growl, and he had not had much to eat for some time. He slowed and sniffed more closely. Oh no. Not good. It was Ædegard. Ædegard Brade was running well for Ædegard, which was a good thing. Ædegard was having trouble with the reins. They kept slipping from his left hand, which seemed somewhat achy. They had almost come to the main path again. He picked up the reins again. And they dropped again. What was going on? His left hand felt slippery, and it was throbbing now. Why did it hurt so badly? He picked it up again. It fell away again. Now his wrist burned. Brade came to the main path and Ædegard urged him on in the direction of the others. He picked up the reins again. No. He hadn't picked them up. His wrist burned. He looked at his hand and wrist. He swooned and lost his grip on the reins with his right hand. He blinked. He was on his back. Jorje was licking his face, and whimpering, sniffing at his left hand. His vision threatened to go black again. His hand. His left hand. It was not there. He remembered the ugly little men and their pointy teeth. "No!" he moaned. Tears came to his eyes. "My hand!" He forced himself to a sitting position, using only his right hand, and then looked at his left again. He closed his eyes and turned his head away. Ragged and pulpy. He sniffed. He needed to get going again, before the ugly men came again. Brade was standing nearby. Ædegard got to his feet and staggered to Brade, Jorje whimpering at his side. He saw the bloodstain on Brade's side, where he thought he had grabbed hold of the bridle in his effort to climb up. How had he done it? How had he not felt the pain then? He understood that he had been too excited, too eager, too active to feel the pain, as if battle vigor was on him. Well, it was far gone now. He struggled up with his good hand, and managed to climb back into the saddle. The continued, Ædegard clenching his teeth against the pain. Soon, Ædegard saw a horse standing in the path ahead of him. It was the thief boy, sleeping on the neck of his mount. Oh. There was a dart still stuck in his neck. Ædegard had Brade sidle up to the thief boy's mount, and he shook the boy with his good hand. The boy's head came up blearily. "Gwyll?" he blinked, looking around. "Nay, 'tis Ædegard," he said through clenched teeth. The boy blinked again. "Where is Gwyllion? Sh - she should be on the back of my horse." "There is no one there." The boy frowned and blinked some more. "There is a dart in your neck. Here, let me take it out." The boy nodded and winced as it came out in Ædegard's hand. "Thank you. Did you find your betrothed?" "No," Ædegard shook his head wanly. "Friend, you look pale." Ædegard raised his left arm. The boy blanched. "I see." "Come, let us go back to the others. I should not have left." "But what about Gwyllion? And your betrothed?" "We need the others if we are to get them back." Ædegard started back, the boy watching him from behind. Jorje kept pace with him, looking dolefully at Ædegard. Raefindan "He is near death," said Erebemlin. "This body is not strong enough for the king." Ravion's eyes grew wide. "Body... King." He shook his head, and looked to Raefindan. Raefindan had watched and listened in silence, feeling very much out of depth. The Elves seemed determined not to deal with this Tharonwe, no matter how many lives it cost. That seemed as foolish as it was heroic to Raefindan. Ravion and Ædegard had wanted to fight. That seemed just as foolish. Worse, in his mind's eye, Raefindan saw Tharonwe and Mellonin joined now by Bellyn, and Argeleafa, and their captors. It seems that the Elves rule you against your will, humans. Will you let them cost you so many lives? See here that I do not jest. Tharonwe's knife went up, and suddenly there was a red line extending from Mellonin's brow to her lip, just inside her eye. She winced, and her tears blended with the red. The red line thickened and spread, and Tharonwe touched the pooling blood, and let one of the ugly little men smell it. They became more excited yet, fawning on Mellonin's arm. You must overcome these intransigent Elves if your women are to be saved. Ravion looked to Raefindan. It would not do. "Take me in exchange for the women," Raefindan said. Ah, a new type of bargain. And why would I do that, young red man who does not belong to this world? Raefindan's head jerked from the shock. He did not belong? Red man, or should I call you Roy Edwards, you are from a time that has not yet come, and will not for thousands of years. You should not be here. How is it that you are here? "I don't know! Take me! Take me and kill me if you must! Just let the women go!"