[Feanor of the Peredhil]

Inzillomì had stared frozen in horror at the body of her only child, laying motionless in a pool of her own blood. She could not look away, watching the color drain from Kâthaanî's face as the seconds ticked slowly by. She screamed at herself silently, trying to force her leaden limbs to action. Though Inzi had fought many times, impressively and subtley, she had never before heard the painful scream of her own blood. Though Kâthaanî had gone on missions before, it had always been with Abârpânarú, and they had always been safer than Cervith had realized. Now she had been exposed to the true horror that was battle and had come out wanting... now she was wounded, perhaps fatally, and her life streamed from her body as her mother was frozen to inaction.

Izri found her at that moment. As Inzillomì looked on, surprisingly unscathed though her attention had so completely wandered from the battle, she saw her daughter's fingers tighten over the reins of her beloved Izri. A sigh of relief escaped as her own mount moved forward and slightly away from the girl. Inzi panicked, snapping back to the moment. She reeled slightly and slipped from her saddle, being caught rather undelicately by the unsoft ground. Kali turned, worried about the lack of weight now present on her back. She nudged Inzillomi off the ground. The woman stood, slightly dazed, and bent to pick up her long knife. She thrust it through her sash, swiftly moving to the aid of Abârpânarú and Tiru, now hoisting the motionless Kâthaanî to Izri's back. As the girl found the strength to hold tight to the beast's neck, the men turned from her, allowing Kali to remove her mistress from harm's way. Tiru mounted Mani again as Abârpânarú spotted his wife, stricken, it seemed. He moved to her quickly, taking her swiftly in his arms.

"Is she--" she began, tense and afraid. He interrupted her, eying Moizandú's speech with thanks.

"No... though she may be soon. We must ride now. Need you aid? Are you hurt?"

Inzillomì looked into his eyes, her own blank and haunted. "No... no..." She turned from him, mounting Kali once more. Abârpânarú looked at her with worry before climbing again upon the back of Lômi. He cried one last order and the seven faithful rode hard, Tiru holding the reins of Izri, out of the city.

Buried once more in the act of riding, Inzillomì body cooperated with her. She could not stop her gaze from falling often upon her daughter's unmoving form. If only she had been faster... She rode hard as the hail bruised her skin, thinking furiously, blaming herself.