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. . . We drive 'em back with fire and sword . . .For noble Coppertop!
Endamir sang the last of the ditty along with the fey voices. There was naught that he could see, save the plain, grey stones that were still standing of the southern wall. Those were simpler days; goals were clear; no shading into greys what should be done and what not.
These were good men who died here.
‘Orëmir,’ he said quietly to his brother. Orëmir’s face had hardened at the accusations of Malris. It was not difficult to read what his brother thought. ‘I want to see the rest of the fortress . . . I need to see it . . . I’m sure of this . . . make some small gesture of penance.’ He took his brother’s arm. ‘It may not be enough. Too little, too late some might say. But I must make a start.’
He pulled his brother a little ways away from the group. ‘You must do this for me. Stay and be with me this last while.’ Endamir looked to where Malris stood. ‘Don’t let his words sting you . . .’
Last edited by piosenniel; 10-04-2005 at 10:56 PM.
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