[Lasbelinion]

With a sudden exhalation, Lithmîrë let go his breath. He’d been holding it in, keeping quiet as possible as Mistress Bunce spoke with the dark haired woman. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Watching the woman pick up the last two buckets of clay, he forced himself to see beyond his remembrances of encounters with females of the Man races who served the Dark Lord, and who could be as cruel as their male counterparts. There was nothing about this woman that spoke of the myriad of cold and calculated ways that pain could be inflicted. Her voice held no mean, sadistic undertones nor did the way she held her body show the savage ferocity that had often lurked behind a fair face.

But reasoning could only go so far. There had been that definite visceral reaction to the sight of her, and deep within his gut it still lay, a small hard kernel of fear and hatred and paralyzing despair.

‘Will I never be free?’ he asked in a whisper, his voice ragged with weary hopelessness.

Perhaps it is folly for me to stay here any longer, he thought to himself, beginning to feel the panic still eddying about within himself. Perhaps I should just go; gather the herbs I need as I can. The sooner I reach the Havens, the sooner I will be on my way to safety and to healing.

He was still considering his options when Mistress Bunce peeked her head through the entry way to the bower and smiled at him.