Blood, Claw, and Iron (May 3010) - [The Vigilantes]
Apr 12, 2018 13:46:24 GMT -5
Post by Adelais on Apr 12, 2018 13:46:24 GMT -5
The steady thunder of the hooves matched Adelais’ heartbeat as they flew toward the city. Edoras. It was there, ahead upon its hill. There were walls, and guards, and people. She was almost there. Almost to safety. Esma was flying.
Breaths like quakes racked through the horse beneath her. The borrowed mount’s dark, full eyes were rimmed in white halos of terror and pain. Adelais looked much the same; the woman was caked in sweat, ears deaf to the calls the farmers had leant her as she had barreled through their fields in a flurry, tattered, blood-soaked hem flying like a banner. Red liquid was sill oozing from the claw marks on the brown horse’s flank, unable to stem its flow by clot for the fervor the mare was throwing into her strides.
Adelais’ eyes were red with tears, her face wet and pale. She had tried to stop Esma, but no matter the tug on her reins, no matter the way Adelais called her orders, squeezed her legs, or prayed to Bema, the horse did not listen. It was as if the mount could hear the howl of the wargs yet, feel the ribbons being torn by claws into her flesh. The healer could feel the heat and pain in her own leg at the thought.
A scar, certainly.
She escaped, barely. The others, though…
Adelais swallowed hard, biting back the sob that was rising, the panic that was running as wild in her veins as the horse she was riding. She had hoped to hear something other than their screams, something to indicate she was not the only one who had managed to escape.
But nobody had ever fallen in step beside her; nobody else was closing in upon the gates of Edoras. All of them. Six healers, gone. Three Eored men. One baby.
Runa.
Adelais sobbed, stomach dropping and filling with lead. Ceolmund was going to be furious. She was furious! How dare Runa stay behind! How dare she risk herself, and that baby? She had been so excited, Ceolmund, too…
The gate was open. She did not pause to heed the calls and waving hands and spears of the guard at the door. She could not see them. The world was a blur of hot water, shapes whizzing by that had little form. Adelais knew where to go, though.
Cries lifted from the street as her horse huffed, hooves pounding toward the lane that curved behind the Healing Hall, the one that nearly hugged the wall. People were diving, leaping, running to escape the bloody hooves. Curses stringed through the air, though as Adelais passed they morphed to screams of horror.
Even for her pace, nearly all had seen the blood caked upon the silken coat of the brown mare, the smears of dirt, sweat, and red on Adelais as well. “Esma, woah!” Adelais began to try. The city was growing familiar. She was close to the place she wished to be.
“Woah! Woah!” Tugging on the reins was doing little, though the horse was now at least slowing down.
Quaking breath. Pause. Another shudder through Esma’s ribs. Large, dark eyes rolled. Then there was weightlessness.
Esma’s forelegs crumpled first, heart finally giving way to the terror and exertion she had given for the last day and a half in fleeing. Her power and pace, though, was enough to send her rider flying, and Adelais shrieked as she was seemingly tossed headlong over the horse’s neck.
The wind was knocked from her lungs as she tumbled, her tender leg spiking in pain as she slid over the rough gravel and dirt of the city lane. Adelais’ elbow and neck were throbbing, a sudden stiffness clinging to her joints. She shook her head, blinking. Her house. She made it. She was home. She was safe.
Two survivors.
That was all—Adelais and Esma. The lady turned, words of thanks upon the edge of her tongue. “You got us hom—!” Her blonde hair billowed wild as Adelais began to scream, tears renewed in her eyes the moment she saw the crumpled heap that had been her mount. She attempted to adjust, half crawling, half dragging herself toward the horse. “No, no! Please, don’t be dead! Not you, too!”
Water was flowing from her eyes in thick rivers as the woman threw herself upon Esma’s still neck. Once more she was alone, the last one left. She did not know what to do. Her body was on fire, the pain sharp as the warg claws had first felt. Runa was gone, and the others. All of them…
She sobbed into Esma’s black mane, and felt the overwhelming despair flood through her as well as the pain. She did not know what to do; she could not stand, and she could not move. Inside was where she wished to be, curled in bed, clutching Hopsalot.
He was the only one who did not leave.
Breaths like quakes racked through the horse beneath her. The borrowed mount’s dark, full eyes were rimmed in white halos of terror and pain. Adelais looked much the same; the woman was caked in sweat, ears deaf to the calls the farmers had leant her as she had barreled through their fields in a flurry, tattered, blood-soaked hem flying like a banner. Red liquid was sill oozing from the claw marks on the brown horse’s flank, unable to stem its flow by clot for the fervor the mare was throwing into her strides.
Adelais’ eyes were red with tears, her face wet and pale. She had tried to stop Esma, but no matter the tug on her reins, no matter the way Adelais called her orders, squeezed her legs, or prayed to Bema, the horse did not listen. It was as if the mount could hear the howl of the wargs yet, feel the ribbons being torn by claws into her flesh. The healer could feel the heat and pain in her own leg at the thought.
A scar, certainly.
She escaped, barely. The others, though…
Adelais swallowed hard, biting back the sob that was rising, the panic that was running as wild in her veins as the horse she was riding. She had hoped to hear something other than their screams, something to indicate she was not the only one who had managed to escape.
But nobody had ever fallen in step beside her; nobody else was closing in upon the gates of Edoras. All of them. Six healers, gone. Three Eored men. One baby.
Runa.
Adelais sobbed, stomach dropping and filling with lead. Ceolmund was going to be furious. She was furious! How dare Runa stay behind! How dare she risk herself, and that baby? She had been so excited, Ceolmund, too…
The gate was open. She did not pause to heed the calls and waving hands and spears of the guard at the door. She could not see them. The world was a blur of hot water, shapes whizzing by that had little form. Adelais knew where to go, though.
Cries lifted from the street as her horse huffed, hooves pounding toward the lane that curved behind the Healing Hall, the one that nearly hugged the wall. People were diving, leaping, running to escape the bloody hooves. Curses stringed through the air, though as Adelais passed they morphed to screams of horror.
Even for her pace, nearly all had seen the blood caked upon the silken coat of the brown mare, the smears of dirt, sweat, and red on Adelais as well. “Esma, woah!” Adelais began to try. The city was growing familiar. She was close to the place she wished to be.
“Woah! Woah!” Tugging on the reins was doing little, though the horse was now at least slowing down.
Quaking breath. Pause. Another shudder through Esma’s ribs. Large, dark eyes rolled. Then there was weightlessness.
Esma’s forelegs crumpled first, heart finally giving way to the terror and exertion she had given for the last day and a half in fleeing. Her power and pace, though, was enough to send her rider flying, and Adelais shrieked as she was seemingly tossed headlong over the horse’s neck.
The wind was knocked from her lungs as she tumbled, her tender leg spiking in pain as she slid over the rough gravel and dirt of the city lane. Adelais’ elbow and neck were throbbing, a sudden stiffness clinging to her joints. She shook her head, blinking. Her house. She made it. She was home. She was safe.
Two survivors.
That was all—Adelais and Esma. The lady turned, words of thanks upon the edge of her tongue. “You got us hom—!” Her blonde hair billowed wild as Adelais began to scream, tears renewed in her eyes the moment she saw the crumpled heap that had been her mount. She attempted to adjust, half crawling, half dragging herself toward the horse. “No, no! Please, don’t be dead! Not you, too!”
Water was flowing from her eyes in thick rivers as the woman threw herself upon Esma’s still neck. Once more she was alone, the last one left. She did not know what to do. Her body was on fire, the pain sharp as the warg claws had first felt. Runa was gone, and the others. All of them…
She sobbed into Esma’s black mane, and felt the overwhelming despair flood through her as well as the pain. She did not know what to do; she could not stand, and she could not move. Inside was where she wished to be, curled in bed, clutching Hopsalot.
He was the only one who did not leave.