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#26 |
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Shade of Carn Dűm
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The scream that had erupted from Snaveling tore through Galadel's body. She could feel flames all around her, yet she knew that she was not burning, it was the man, and she was feeling what he was feeling at the exact same moment. Smoke burned her eyes as she hurried towards the fallen figure. Forcing herself to push the feelings aside, the elf knelt besides Roa, who had just turned the man onto his back. The pain on the poor man's face was terrible to see, yet she forced herself to endure it. "There is only one way to cure him," thought Galadel, "But he must take care of that later himself. For now, I must try to do what I can for him."
And then Galadel began to sing. The song sung by the sweet voice softly filled the air. All who heard it stopped to listen, and turned towards it. Yet, Galadel did not notice anyone else; to her the only people that existed at the moment were Snaveling and her, and her only purpose in life a the moment was to stop his pain. So, she sang an elvish song in Sindarin, one that her mother had taught her as a child. It seemed to have no words in it at all, and those who heard it all interpreted it differently. Yet, here is what Snaveling heard. Who shall see a white ship leave the last shore, the pale phantoms in her cold bosom like gulls wailing? Who shall heed a white ship, vague as a butterfly, in the flowing sea on wings like stars, the sea surging, the foam blowing, the wings shining, the light fading? Who shall hear the wind roaring like leaves of forests; the white rocks snarling in the moon gleaming, in the moon waning, in the moon falling a corpse-candle; the storm mumbling, the abyss moving? Who shall see the clouds gather, the heavens bending upon crumbling hills, the sea heaving, the abyss yawning, the old darkness beyond the stars falling upon fallen towers? Who shall heed a broken ship on the black rocks under broken skies, a bleared sun blinking on bones gleaming in the last morning? Who shall see the last evening? The sweet echoed through the gardens and rubble of the Green Dragon Inn. Snaveling muttered, and sighed, his nightmare slowly fading away, until peace and calmness filled his soul, and then he knew no more.
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“Words can never convey the incredible impact of our attitude toward life. The longer I live the more convinced I become that life is 10 percent what happens to us and 90 percent how we respond to it." -Charles R. Swindoll |
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