They were being attacked! Corn flew wildly into the sky, giving warning. Falowik stood, as did Finëwen. She drew a sword that caught the gleam of the fire, and held it at the ready. Falowik fumbled with his belt and pulled out his dagger. He knew himself for a fool to have nothing better than a dagger, but it was too late now. He must survive, somehow. As Finëwen moved forward to join the fray, Falowik crouched and looked around. Under the moonlight and by the fire, he could see that they were being surrounded. The moment they attacked, arrows flew from some riders behind them. One arrow flew right by Falowik. He fell to the ground as if he had been hit, scrabbled under a fallen log, and stayed flat there. And waited. The soldiers on foot passed within a swipe of the sword, but they did nothing to him. He could make out a few mounted soldiers nearby; they were coming closer. Two near him were hit by arrows, apparently from one of the Elven fighters; a good sign, that. In another minute, he was outside the melee. He crawled away, making toward the relative protection of the ruins of Fornost.
Falowik made his way to a wall of ruined stone undetected. From his vantage point he could see that not nearly as many soldiers were standing as had been at the start. Maybe I could have stayed with them and hung on. He looked at the dagger in his hand, disgusted at himself. Who had he thought himself to be, getting all these people involved in what seemed certain death, especially Uien?
Uien! She had not been with them. She was somewhere in Fornost, lost, or maybe they had already found and killed her! Or worse. His felt his stomach wrench as if he had been kicked there. He could not bear to think of her suffering, and because of him! He heard yells from the direction of the camp, and a scream. He feared what that meant. Falowik crouched low and slunk further into the ruins, listening carefully for any sound of footsteps or the scrape of steel against leather or stone or cloth. He kept himself hidden in the shadows, waiting for the battle to be done, and for the enemy to have picked over the corpses of the fallen, and to have left; and it would again turn to him to see who had died, and to report the failure of their task less than a week out. He buried his face in his hands and waited in his dark corner.
"Ai, Laurëatan!" Falowik's head rose. Uien! She was alive! And in danger, and too far away, he feared, for his aid. No, he could hear her quick breathing, and the heavy steps of boots, giving chase; they were nearing him. Falowik raised his dagger. You may yet serve, he said to it, and held it before him, waiting, listening. He hoped against hope that she would lead her hunter nearby; it did not occur to him to venture out and seek the villain, and so rescue her. He waited.
No. They were moving away again. Please survive, Uien, he whispered.
<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:39 PM December 07, 2003: Message edited by: littlemanpoet ]
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