. . . see the fun . . . in something like this . . .
Skald had gone coldly quiet as Bror prattled on. ‘In something like this – what “something like this” are you talking about?’ Skald asked, trying to keep his tone even. ‘We’re not back under the mountain. Our lives aren’t going on as they normally do.’ He put his hands to his face and rubbed at his eyes, hoping, he thought, that perhaps he could wake himself and find this all a dream.
‘This isn’t “fun”. There’s no place for “fun” here. We’re going into battle against the Dark Lord’s army. He has ten times ten times more warriors to launch against us than we have to hold him back.’ He gestured about in the dark. ‘Many of these Elves will be killed in this battle. Many in the city will already be dead by the time we arrive. And our little number . . . we will be lucky to lose less than half our companions.’
‘Did it occur to you that we may have seen Riv for the last time? Either by his death . . . yes, who can say if he and the others will get back safely. Or, by our own deaths . . .’
A sudden wave of weariness assailed him, both in body and spirit. ‘It will be a short night, Bror. We should try to get what rest we can. Put aside what resentment my words might conjure in you. There’s no room for it when we wake tomorrow. We’ll stand with our fellows, axes at the ready . . . and Aulë willing, live to see another day.’
He rubbed his beard, forgetting the presence of the sticky berry juice. Muttering a few choice imprecations, he stood up and took a few steps away from his bedroll. ‘Hand me the water skin, won’t you Bror?’ he asked, gesturing toward where it lay. ‘I’ve no wish to stick to my blankets tonight . . .’
Last edited by Arry; 10-21-2005 at 03:00 AM.
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