Last Ride of the Heir RPG

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Hanindur sagged to the ground heavilly. "Thank Eru for daylight," he said hoarsely, knowing that he wouldn't've been able to fight any longer. The sun had came out, and the trolls were stone blocks under the new light. Then he recalled that there were others still alive... but whom? The ranger forced himself to his feet, exhausted, and in pain. His sword lay on the ground, coated in rapidly thickening blood, from the trolls that were now harmless stone.

If only the sun had came earlier. If only... it always came back to that. Then maybe Anga wouldn't've been killed, or Nuwethion, or Arathorn injured. There was so much that could've been changed, but it was always the 'if' there. There was no way to undo what was done.

He stroked his sword against the torn ground, to remove the black blood from the now tarnished blade, and sheathed the blade. Hanindur didn't know what had happened to his dagger, and, at the moment, didn't care either. He cared for his friends, and for their safety, surely they were still alive, surely most still lived. Indeed, he hoped, but hope was always only hope.

Hanindur crossed the torn field, stone-turned trolls littering the way, and uprooted trees still laying on the ground, where the trolls had tossed them. So much destruction... Everything that the new light touched seemed to be destroyed, or blood-stained after the battle. He would've picked up his pace, to cross the land that had once been a great forest-- and could've been-- but the wounds he had received during the fight pained him. Hanindur bit back a cry of pain, as he wove his way through to where the remainder of their party was.