Smoke in the Folde (February 3010) [Eomer]
Oct 10, 2017 20:24:24 GMT -5
Post by Ceolmund on Oct 10, 2017 20:24:24 GMT -5
It had been nigh on two months since an Eored had ridden back to the city with a tattered bundle... a little girl, who had not much hope of life left in her. She had been found among the tussocks of the Fenmarch where a band of orc had been tracked, and as they came upon the small company, a remnant which had likely left the greater group. The orcs had the child's back pressed to the mud and were slicing her, chest to stomach, preparing to devour her. The orcs had been quickly reduced to nothing, and the child was bandaged and laid on a flat plant of reeds, then taken swiftly to the Healing Hall in Edoras. If there were any hope of saving her, the lady healers of the small city would be the ones to do it.
The healers had worked on her, and kept her for days, and she slowly made progress back to the world of the living. The little child's family was still a mystery however. As much as the healers at the Hall could surmise, she came from a farmstead somewhere on the Eastfold which bred horses, for the child would often talk about the colorful baby foals and colts. There had been a mother, and a father, and a baby sister. Gathering information from a three year old was not the easiest of tasks, especially when it had to be gathered sparingly... nobody wished to remind her of what she had most probably lost.
One search party had gone out hoping to find the farmstead of the child, to see if there were any survivors, but they had come back with no information. There were many farms scattered about the Folde. Many active. Many abandoned. Some burned. Nobody they had stopped to speak to knew of such a family, and so the first search party had returned in mid January with no word.
Ceolmund had met the child in the Healing Hall when on recovery from his own battle wound, and the fact that no information had come back on her family had left him angered. Surely, someone, somewhere must know her. She might have been kidnapped from her farm. Perhaps her family was waiting for her. It was more than likely not, but there was a chance. Truth be told, he needed to know.
It had been brought to the Marshalls of the Mark, and decided that they would continue to seek for the family, and meanwhile track down any orc that may be residing on the plains nearby. A small search party was amassed once again, and the men had set off, riding hard to the east. Ceolmund had volunteered to ride, he was mostly healed from his previous injury and had been training the past weeks. His run was not strong as it once had been yet, but it did not matter as much from horseback. They followed the river Snowbourn for a time until it came out into the Wash, and then turned southward.
It was black night. The wind was rolling over the plains, and snow from the day previous was drifting about in the gusts. The men had ridden the first night, and camped for awhile near the edge of the Fenmarch, taking turns on watch. It was still an hour or two before true sunrise.... the twilight hour before dawn was upon them, and the men had hastily packed their camp to ride under the waning moonlight. They rode swiftly inland onto the Folde, keeping eye and ear for a sign of any disturbance. After a time they stilled the horses, there was a smell of smoke in the distance. It could just be a hearth on a nearby farmstead but the smell began to seem overpowering.
Ceolmund slowed his horse to trot, and eventually stilled, listening as they went for Eomer's command. Horse hooves kicked up the snow and suddenly-- Ceolmund's eyes were drawn downward.
“My Lord, Eomer,” he said quickly, beginning to dismount.
There in the ruddy winter grasses before them was the form of a sleeping baby. A newborn child discarded in the mud, frozen stiff and blue, the umbilical cord still hanging from her tiny belly. “My Lord...” Ceolmund could barely speak; his face turned to stone. The sight was haunting. The blood in his head was pounding and his pulse quickened.
The healers had worked on her, and kept her for days, and she slowly made progress back to the world of the living. The little child's family was still a mystery however. As much as the healers at the Hall could surmise, she came from a farmstead somewhere on the Eastfold which bred horses, for the child would often talk about the colorful baby foals and colts. There had been a mother, and a father, and a baby sister. Gathering information from a three year old was not the easiest of tasks, especially when it had to be gathered sparingly... nobody wished to remind her of what she had most probably lost.
One search party had gone out hoping to find the farmstead of the child, to see if there were any survivors, but they had come back with no information. There were many farms scattered about the Folde. Many active. Many abandoned. Some burned. Nobody they had stopped to speak to knew of such a family, and so the first search party had returned in mid January with no word.
Ceolmund had met the child in the Healing Hall when on recovery from his own battle wound, and the fact that no information had come back on her family had left him angered. Surely, someone, somewhere must know her. She might have been kidnapped from her farm. Perhaps her family was waiting for her. It was more than likely not, but there was a chance. Truth be told, he needed to know.
It had been brought to the Marshalls of the Mark, and decided that they would continue to seek for the family, and meanwhile track down any orc that may be residing on the plains nearby. A small search party was amassed once again, and the men had set off, riding hard to the east. Ceolmund had volunteered to ride, he was mostly healed from his previous injury and had been training the past weeks. His run was not strong as it once had been yet, but it did not matter as much from horseback. They followed the river Snowbourn for a time until it came out into the Wash, and then turned southward.
It was black night. The wind was rolling over the plains, and snow from the day previous was drifting about in the gusts. The men had ridden the first night, and camped for awhile near the edge of the Fenmarch, taking turns on watch. It was still an hour or two before true sunrise.... the twilight hour before dawn was upon them, and the men had hastily packed their camp to ride under the waning moonlight. They rode swiftly inland onto the Folde, keeping eye and ear for a sign of any disturbance. After a time they stilled the horses, there was a smell of smoke in the distance. It could just be a hearth on a nearby farmstead but the smell began to seem overpowering.
Ceolmund slowed his horse to trot, and eventually stilled, listening as they went for Eomer's command. Horse hooves kicked up the snow and suddenly-- Ceolmund's eyes were drawn downward.
“My Lord, Eomer,” he said quickly, beginning to dismount.
There in the ruddy winter grasses before them was the form of a sleeping baby. A newborn child discarded in the mud, frozen stiff and blue, the umbilical cord still hanging from her tiny belly. “My Lord...” Ceolmund could barely speak; his face turned to stone. The sight was haunting. The blood in his head was pounding and his pulse quickened.