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Old 12-04-2006, 08:18 PM   #300
Folwren
Messenger of Hope
 
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Join Date: Jun 2005
Location: In a tiny, insignificant little town in one of the many States.
Posts: 5,228
Folwren is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Folwren is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
Athwen regained her senses and her dignity quickly as Rôg struggled to say a few kindly words. He gently disentangled his sleeve from her clutching hand and she stepped back, suddenly self-conscious. “The wounded.....I don’t know what to say about that. Except that I know you will do the best you can until the circumstances change.”

“Yes,” she gasped quietly, taking the scarf he so kindly offered. “Yes, of course I will. Thank you.”

Aiwendil must have heard the exchange of words, and tears, for he suddenly appeared at her side. His touch and old, kind voice brought new courage to her as he led her quickly away. “If you have time before the wounded are brought in, you might talk with the mothers and have a look at a few of their children. From what I have seen some have suffered greatly at Nurn and could use the gentle hand of a healer. That may help them as much as potions or herbs.” She was introduced to one of these mothers and before she could turn back to Aiwendil to explain that there already was a man who there who needed her help with a wound, he had left. She turned back to the woman.

“Gwyn?” she said, repeating the name that Aiwendil had told her. The woman nodded. “I have a wounded man with me…I think his name is Hadith. Can you show me where the buckets of water have been kept? I have a horse with Hadith on him, can we get the horse there?”

“Yes, I think we can. Go and get him. I’ll wait for you.”

Athwen hurried away to fetch the horse and lead him back. As she went, she folded Rôg’s scarf into a triangle and tied it around her nose and mouth. When her hands were empty again, she had reached the horse, and she reached up to take the reins near the bit. He tossed his head a little at first but, after a reluctant first step, he followed her meekly as she led him towards Gwyn.

“Wait a moment,” Athwen said as she reached her. “I need to get my pack. Hold him.” She handed the horse to Gwyn and then ran lightly away to where she had stored away her things earlier. She came back with the pack of healing herbs and other necessary things.

Gwyn waited for her and when Athwen reached her, she silently handed back the reins and turned to show the way. The women, with their little children pressed close about their skirts, made as much way as possible as Athwen and the horse passed through them. At the very back of the gathering of women and children they came to the rocks that formed the shelter. Gwyn led Athwen directly to a large stone that was slightly hollowed out towards the bottom, forming a slightly convex shape beneath which the air was still. Four buckets of water sat there. Clothes covered them to keep out any stray sand or dirt that might happen to reach them.

Athwen’s eyes lighted up a little when she saw such a place, blocked from the wind and calm on account of it. She brought the horse forward as far as he would come and then she ran about to his side. “Here, Gwyn, help me lift him down, please.”

Gwyn came about and together, the two women pulled Hadith down from his place and to the best of their ability, slowed his downward movement to set him gently on the ground beneath the curved rock. A quite groan forced its way through Hadith’s mouth, proving that he wasn’t quite senseless. An exclamation of surprise broke from Gwyn’s lips when she saw the blood that soaked Hadith’s whole left side and the wound in his arm. She shivered and shrank back.

Athwen, without looking up from her patient, laid her hand gently on Gwyn’s arm. “Easy, Gwyn. Unless you think you can stay and help me, take the horse back out from here.” She paused for a moment. Her mind was not only thinking about what to do with the horse, but also trying to make up its mind if she should be happy about Hadith being almost half conscious or unhappy. If he were still partially awake, that meant that he hadn’t lost as much blood as it had first appeared. On the other hand, if he were out cold, he wouldn’t make anything difficult by struggling against the pain. She blinked and made up her mind about the horse.

“Ask Rôg where you can put him…or, no, Rôg is busy.” She looked up at the horse and then at Gwyn. “Take him out from among you. I don’t know how steady he will be with the winds and when the fighting comes. Tie him someplace to a bush.”

“I will,” Gwyn said, hurriedly getting to her feet and backing away towards the horse. She stopped as she bumped lightly into his shoulder. “Will he – will he be alright?”

“I don’t know,” Athwen said honestly, looking up to meet Gwyn’s eyes. She nodded towards the horse. “Take him along now, before he does something.” Gwyn nodded, her eyes very large and round in her face, and she turned swiftly and taking the reins, led the horse quickly away and through the women and children again.

Athwen sighed and turned back towards Hadith. She wasted no time at all to roll her sleeves up to her elbows and carefully pull one of the buckets of water towards herself. Then she gently set to work clearing away the torn and ragged cloth of his shirt from the bloody mess of his shoulder. A sort of shudder passed through Hadith’s body as she worked and whenever her hand touched the bleeding limb. She pursed her lips at the mangled and savagely wounded arm. As she finished pulling the last, rough bit of material from the wound, she shook her head in wonder.

“My dear fellow,” she muttered between her teeth, “you were one lucky man today.” She reached out for her pack and set to work staunching the blood and examining what sort of damage was actually done.

The sword of the slaver had cut just beneath the collar bone. It sliced deep within the flesh there, cut beneath the bone of the shoulder and Athwen, as she sponged away the blood, could see the white bone of his arm. She knew she did not have long to work before fighting in the grove would break her short time of piece, or before more wounded people were brought in. She grasped for her pack again and drew out a long, sharp needle and thread.

The work was quick and precise. Hadith tried to move and he often uttered a weak moan. Athwen kept on, knowing she could do nothing for the pain at present. She had the wound stitched and bandaged quickly, though, and when it was over, he could rest much more comfortably.

When she had finished, she quietly rearranged her bag and moved it back towards the water. She replaced the bucket and then walked back out towards the open and the wind.

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Tevildo's post

Tom had fallen asleep in Rôg's arms, his head nestled securely within the shapechanger's cloak. The girl trotted alongside her rescuer as the little party of three hurried back towards the grove where the women and children were waiting. Azhar's heart pulsed with a strange excitement. So much had happened since the morning that she barely knew how to make sense of it all. Even now, she was having trouble getting her bearings. In all the tumult and shock, she'd forgotten about the war, her fear of losing Tom, her inability to hold her shape, and even her repulsion at seeing the slavers' bodies lying dead and mangled on the ground. Her head was filled with jumbled images of great bears and flashing dragons, creatures of incredible might who could lash out and in a single instant command the attention of all around them.

The girl's entire life had been mired in fear. She had feared the whips of the orc overlords and the sneering grins of the Easterlings. For the first time since leaving the plantation, Azhar sensed the enticing possibility of leaving that experience behind her. If she could learn to control these abilities, if she could take on the bear form whenever it suited her, then she would be as strong as any Orc chieftain....even stronger. Part of her wished that she had come into her powers many years ago. She imagined swooping down on a band of slaveholders and taking them out with a single blow. The other part wanted to change into bear form and clamber up onto a pile of rocks so everyone could see and admire her mighty muscles and claws.

A brief smile slipped over Azhar's face. Kwell had said that women couldn't fight. She would have loved to see his face when she casually changed her form and slipped up behind him with a loud and menacing growl.

Azhar glanced nervously over at Rôg and wondered. The man was enormously kind; he seemed so mild mannered and unassuming. He meekly acceded to the requests of Lindir and even the elderly Aiwendil, yet he was clearly a better fighter than either of them! If Azhar had been Rôg, she would have slipped into dragon form and glided out over the open plain in full daylight, attacking and decimating the band of slavers before they ever even reached the camp. Why, she wondered, didn't he do that? Then they wouldn't have had to go through this terrible battle. At the very least, she would have made sure that all her companions knew and understood exactly who she was. But it seemed as if Rôg was very quiet about these things, keeping everything to himself.

Azhar would have loved to ply Rôg with a whole string of questions. At the same time, she wondered whether she would have the chance to see the dragon again should the slavers attack their little grove. Unfortunately, this did not seem to be the right time or place to be asking Rôg such hard questions. And she had better keep her own mind on what was going on around her or she would end up dead before she ever had the time to learn how to hold and manage her other shape.

With a sigh, Azhar said her hasty goodbyes to Rôg, thanking him for all his help and promising to look out after the children. She and Tom went back to where the women were waiting, only this time two of the mothers whisked the little boy and his sisters away and reassured her that they could manage to care for the three children. Too nervous to stay hidden in one place, Azhar wandered back to where the older children were waiting. She looked around for Kwell but he still was not back. Then she stared out and saw where Athwen was caring for the sick and wounded. The woman seemed to be having quite a time of it. Darting from boulder to boulder, she came up to the healer and asked, "Do you need any help?"

Last edited by Folwren; 12-12-2006 at 12:34 PM.
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