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Endamir found himself in a curious mood. The foggy thoughts, the rush of battle energy had now gone from him. He felt hollow, as if what were left had shrunk somehow and now rattled about in this shell of a body. The courtyard had an unreal feel to it, and despite his brother’s words to the contrary he felt no safer upon its paving stones than he had upon the rough ground outside the fortress.
As if from some far place, he could hear the sound of Lómwë’s voice. He focused his thoughts, trying to catch what he asked. ‘Well, Malris, you’ve brought us this far, and we’ve seen what manner of thing dwells here. Just what exactly do you intend to do next?’ He looked toward Malris, waiting his response. He laughed grimly as his eyes went to the crumbling gate arch. It hung together precariously, one hard push against it and it, too, would come crashing down among its brother stones.
Endamir pulled his cloak about him, shivering and feeling suddenly quite weary. His knees felt like jelly. With a tired sigh, he leaned heavily on the hilt of his sword.
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