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With the destruction of the sword, Tasa had fallen into a state of deepest calm. Her words came slowly still but not now because of of the effort that they took. Rather was she lost in thoughts and very little could shake her from them.
Why had the voice of the sword felt so fatally cruel? The chains that called to her... they were silent now that she stood before them. At the lake and before, she had felt within her mind the touch of a will cold and uncaring, angry and destructive. Malris had identified the sword and chains as those of Curufin, yet why would they attack her while leaving him alone? Why had the sword given Malris the ability to save them even while seeming to drive its point deep within her heart with a frigid disinterest?
Was it a weakness of her mind, brought on by her battle with Giledhel, that left Tasa so open to the baser whims of any others? Could she no longer strain any one thought from another? Could she no longer protect herself from assault?
She stood now beside Malris, before the others, and she was suddenly conscious of those rips in her garb where scraped flesh shone through in the deceptive light, seeing spots of blood, noting one black feather that had escaped Malris's prior notice.
She felt a growing horror from Endamir, a stubborn defiance from Lindir... from Lómwë a sense of deception directed toward someone not her.
Could they read her as easily? Why now, and never before, was her fëa so open to such things... she pondered as she stood tall. She never saw nor heard the Smith and it was only later that she learned of him. Rather did she stand now alone amongst companions, unable to concentrate upon one thing only; lost, trying to sift through the vast amounts of information pelting her senses.
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