Quest for the Ainereg RPG

[Orual]

Anson took a shuddering breath as Elenlith killed the last of the wolves. The beast gave a dying roar and was still, but even so, Anson found himself glancing at it uneasily, as though it would rise again and finish what it had started. He shook his head, chastising himself for letting the attack get to him. Once a wolf was dead, it was dead, just like anything else.

As Andunériel bandaged Marsilion's wounded arm, Anson looked around at the company. Disheartened, shaken, and bruised, they were in no condition to go forward. But forward they would have to go, and the very next morning. He glanced bitterly at the moon, already passed its brightest. Soon it would fade into the cruel morning, and they would have to be off to Dunland.

He threw his sword down on the ground in anger, and it gave a metallic clank as it hit the rocks. Absorbed in examining minor wounds or cleaning weapons, no one turned at the sound. He sat wearily on the dirt, burying his head in his hands. It had been a long night, and the day would be no shorter. They had many miles to go before they reached the Glanduin, and he could not help but feel that time was growing short.

He looked up, and at Peony. The girl seemed all right, but he wanted to make sure. He walked up behind her, and put a hand on her shoulder. She jumped a little bit, and he walked around to face her. "Are you hurt, Peony?" he asked.