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Khamir
Since the scouts had left early that morning, Khamir had been up and about, limping around the little camp they had thrown together, and resuming many of the same duties he had when they were still in the cave. They were not as great in number, but he thought they were stronger. At least they were more together now than ever, and all of the former slaves had welcomed in the new additions, even though they were outsiders.
At the moment, all were especially quite taken with Athwen and her skills, her hard work, and her simple kindness. The idea of someone taking care of them, particularly when that someone had no obligation to, was not something most of the former slaves had experienced in a long time. They had cared for each other in bits and pieces as necessary, and some of the older had taken the younger under their wing, but…it had been all about them depending on each other for survival. If only they had realized sooner that they all were dependent as part of the whole.
Khamir did his best to round up some more people to help Athwen, and gathered up those capable to help pack up their small camp so that they’d be ready to move when the scouting party came back or other word came. As they were not sure what they might find in camp, perhaps they might need extra hands to carry it all back? Many were excited about the prospect of fresh food or water, though some were convinced that anything those Easterlings ate could not be edible to any normal person. And all in the back of their minds liked the idea of what things of value might be found. Of course, only the young actually shared those hopes aloud.
Doing his best to ignore the sharp pains in his leg, Khamir helped gather things up onto the small cart that had survived their travels thus far largely intact, with limited repairs. The number of those who could actually do any sort of manual labor was depressingly few to the one-armed man, and so even what he could do was of help. But more than that, he hated being left behind. He knew very well that no one thought him worthless, and that with his injury he would have been a burden, but that did not mean he did not feel worthless.
After a time, though, even he had to admit that he could do no more until he had rested a bit, and so he limped his way back to where Vrór and Adnan were still recovering. Both had been sleeping all morning so far, thankfully. It was all they could really do to help their recovery along. Khamir had been so glad to see so many alive he had feared for, particularly Hadith. The last time until well after the battle he had seen the young man was at the battle’s start. Why was what it he suddenly worried about so many people? It was rather…annoying.
When Khamir sat down a little more roughly than he meant to in between the Dwarf and Adnan, Vrór turned his head to look up at the one-armed man.
“Good morning, Vrór,” Khamir said in a voice little above a whisper. The Dwarf smiled slightly in response. “Did you manage to sleep alright?” the Southron asked.
Vrór’s smiled disappeared, and he wrinkled his brow in thoughtful confusion. It took several moments before he answered with a hesitant, “I don’t quite know…it sounds funny, but, I really don’t think I remember…”
Khamir frowned with worry. “Do you remember when you woke up?”
There were another few moments of silence, and then Vrór barked a small laugh. Khamir thought there might have been a twinge of bitterness to it. Then the Dwarf spoke, “Khamir, I think I may have a…problem.”
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