[Folwren]

Bror slipped down from the horse’s high back and nearly fell over backwards as his feet met with solid earth. He sent the animal a rather dark look, not thinking of how unfair it was to blame the horse for his naturally quick trot. Skald had managed to get off his horse much sooner, and Bror wished he had, too.

But now he turned his mind to the search for refugees from the burning city. There were quite a few huts, but they were being searched by the elves already. Bror walked quickly over to where three other Dwarves stood together.

‘They’ve got this place taken care of,’ he said, stopping by them. ‘We ought to go back towards the river and look that way. There could be some wounded who couldn’t have made it so far.’

It seemed like a logical assumption to all four of them and they headed off in the general direction of the city and the river, the four of them walking separate with several yards in between. They soon came to where the trees about them thinned. Bushes bearing flowers grew on the edges of the wood and went out into the field. Bror stood on the outer most edge of the wood and looked down. At the bottom of the incline the river ran like a sparkling ribbon. Up the slope beyond it, the city stood, over a quarter of a mile away. Once so bright, like a star descended to earth, the towers of the city were black and crumbling in ash, and smoke rose up, circling and choking the light of the sun.

Bror turned his eyes away and continued his search for any sign of life. A few more paces on and he stopped abruptly. Ahead of him, under a clump of tall bushes, he thought he caught the glimmer of light on mail. He hurried forward after just a momentary pause and coming closer, he saw that his eyes had not deceived him. It was impossible, however, to make out the form of whoever wore the mail, or if he were alive or dead. Kneeling quickly, Bror forced the branches away and looked down.

The figure of an elf warrior lay stretched out fully on his stomach. Blood stained his clothing, proving that he had looked war in the face, and his face, turned towards Bror, was marred by a long, cruel looking cut across his cheek, and his eyes were shut.

‘Poor chap,’ Bror muttered to himself. ‘Either dead or worn out to that point, almost.’ He reached out to shake the elf. His hand hardly touched the armored shoulder before the figure opened his eyes quickly and started half way up. Bror jumped back half a foot, startled at the elf’s sudden waking. For a moment they stared at each other and Bror felt uncomfortably at a loss of words.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said finally. ‘We’re here to help you, if we can, and get you all out of here before the orcs come back. Can you move, or are you wounded badly?’