Leather for Hell [October 3010][Khamul]
Oct 20, 2017 23:49:59 GMT -5
Post by Wyn on Oct 20, 2017 23:49:59 GMT -5
He protested that Mirkwood was too far for him to make it in time, and as much as it frustrated her, she knew he had a point. Even if they managed to escape Mordor, they would have a long trek ahead of them--one she wasn't sure he'd be able to manage. He suggested another place--Rohan, supposedly closer. She had sometimes heard the uruk talk of places beyond the Anduin, places they had fought and pillaged. Rohan, as far as she could remember, employed formidable calvary that could given even the warg-riders a run for their money. The idea of venturing so far from Mordor troubled her for a variety of reasons, but for Adan, she would do it. "I'll get you to Rohan," she promised with a firm nod. "Even if I have to carry you there. We'll find you help."
She fell silent for a while, watching as the elf seemed to doze. Had he been a human, she would have been relieved to see him getting some rest, but after what he had just told her, that elves only truly "slept" when they were in dire condition, it only worried her further. He could be dying right in front of her, and she couldn't do anything to stop it.
The girl rested her head in her hands and groaned softly, recalling the screams of those slaves as the wraith ripped them to shreds. The screams echoed through her memories, down to the very core of her being, where a terrified child watched her father torn apart through a crevice in a rocky cliff. That girl had run and hid, living on the knife's edge of life and death, until she learned how to take the brutality and ferocity of Mordor deep into herself, becoming as feral as any beast. Brenwyn was a pathetic, defenseless child, fleeing and cowering while the people she cared about were murdered. Wyn would never be that helpless. She would be quicker, meaner, sneakier, better, and she wouldn't give up until she was bleeding out in the dirt.
As she came to, surfacing against the flood of emotions, she realized her hands were shaking. She breathed in and out slowly, until the fear and fury were withdrawn back into her, swirling about deep within to be unleashed later. Raising her head to look at the sleeping elf, she felt that protective warmth surge to take its place. Moving quietly so as not to disturb him, she stood up and crossed the tunnel floor to sit down beside him. Even if the idea of being so close to another being stirred an instinctual flicker of fear, if she couldn't mend his wounds, then the least she could do was share some of her body heat in the damp cold of the tunnel. If he allowed it, she would lean into his side, resting part of her cloak over his shoulders as well in an effort to keep him at least a bit warmer. With that taken care of, she'd lean back and try to catch a bit of sleep herself, letting her exhaustion finally drag her into a dreamless sleep.
She fell silent for a while, watching as the elf seemed to doze. Had he been a human, she would have been relieved to see him getting some rest, but after what he had just told her, that elves only truly "slept" when they were in dire condition, it only worried her further. He could be dying right in front of her, and she couldn't do anything to stop it.
The girl rested her head in her hands and groaned softly, recalling the screams of those slaves as the wraith ripped them to shreds. The screams echoed through her memories, down to the very core of her being, where a terrified child watched her father torn apart through a crevice in a rocky cliff. That girl had run and hid, living on the knife's edge of life and death, until she learned how to take the brutality and ferocity of Mordor deep into herself, becoming as feral as any beast. Brenwyn was a pathetic, defenseless child, fleeing and cowering while the people she cared about were murdered. Wyn would never be that helpless. She would be quicker, meaner, sneakier, better, and she wouldn't give up until she was bleeding out in the dirt.
As she came to, surfacing against the flood of emotions, she realized her hands were shaking. She breathed in and out slowly, until the fear and fury were withdrawn back into her, swirling about deep within to be unleashed later. Raising her head to look at the sleeping elf, she felt that protective warmth surge to take its place. Moving quietly so as not to disturb him, she stood up and crossed the tunnel floor to sit down beside him. Even if the idea of being so close to another being stirred an instinctual flicker of fear, if she couldn't mend his wounds, then the least she could do was share some of her body heat in the damp cold of the tunnel. If he allowed it, she would lean into his side, resting part of her cloak over his shoulders as well in an effort to keep him at least a bit warmer. With that taken care of, she'd lean back and try to catch a bit of sleep herself, letting her exhaustion finally drag her into a dreamless sleep.