Outracing the Flames RPG

[piosenniel]

Wulfham


The iron bell that hung in the wooden tower above the Lord of Wulfham’s mead-hall rang out in the dark watches of the night. Aldwulf, the march-warden for this far eastern area of the Riddermark, sat in his carved chair giving orders to his wife and sons. They moved quietly and efficiently about him – pushing back benches and tables to make room for the crowd they knew would soon be there; heating up kettles of water for the hot tea the cold and tired villagers would need to hear the news.

Aldwulf rubbed his thumb along his coarsely bearded jawline. It was a nervous habit of his, helped him keep his focus he told himself. Tonight that was a lie. He couldn’t focus, not yet. The news was still too fresh. It made his gut ice cold to think of the horror that was coming their way.

A messenger had come earlier in the evening from one of the small hamlets a week’s ride north of Wulfham. The smoke they’d been seeing on the far hills now had a hideous face he’d told them. Orcs and men from the east-lands had made their way near to The Great River. A number of Outlander villages that lay in their path had been razed – the houses and barns burned to the ground, the people killed. The headman for the messenger’s village had sent him and a number of other messengers out to warn those who dwelt near them. And he, himself, had been sent by the headman to let the marchwarden know what was happening.

Questioned by Aldwulf, the man told him that many of the villages were heading to safety. A number to small fortressed hills further westward and some even making the long march to Edoras. ‘It is said,’ the messenger told him, that some great power to the south and east of us presses against the Mark and would swallow us one by one, until his shadow covers the grasslands and we are no more.’

The man would not stay once his message was delivered and the lord’s questions answered. He took a quick meal, a cup of ale. and then was on his way, riding back to intercept his own village’s flight to a place of safety.

‘Rouse yourself, Aldwulf,’ he heard his wife say as he considered the choices before him. ‘The crowd is come through the gate and will soon enter the hall.’ She handed him his thick vest to put on, for it was still cool in the hall, thought they’d piled the grates with wood and the flames licked at the offering hungrily. He tied back his grey shot hair with the piece of cord she gave him next and stood up before his chair as the villagers entered.

^*^*^*^

Brand squeezed along the south wall of the hall, making his way to a place nearer the raised platform where the Lord stood, talking to the heads of some of the more prosperous families in the village as well as the man who captained his small company of warriors. Brand waved off the offer of tea, focusing his gaze on that core of decision makers. Something big was happening and those who saw to the welfare of the village were discussing what should be done.

Aldwulf finished speaking to the men near him and motioned for the crowd to attend him. With an economy of words he explained the situation – that a messenger had come and the news bode ill for Wulfham. In the space of a few days, he would expect the villagers to pack up their belongings and be ready to move themselves and their animals to the safety of the King’s own city. The warriors would ride with them for protection, he told the people, many of whom were already muttering about the plan, both from fear and from the tumultuous turn they knew their lives would soon be taking.

Many questions were shouted at Aldwulf. And he took them as calmly as he could, giving as much assurance as he could to his frightened and angry people. When the asking was all done, and the ruffled feelings smoothed over for the moment, he raised his hand again, calling for quiet.

‘I have need of a small party of volunteers,’ he said, his gaze going about the room. ‘Fast riders to bring this news to Edoras. The King will want to protect his people and to do so he will need to know what we have learned. I would send some of my own armed men, but I want them all with us as we travel.’

His eyes rested on a number of folk about the hall and then moved on. ‘Four young people, those for whom others can pick up their responsibilities is what I want . . . what Wulfham needs.’ He nodded toward the captain of his men who began moving through the crowd with three other of his warriors.

Brand watched as three of them clapped their hands on the shoulders of a young villager each and led him or her . . . for there were two females he noted with some astonishment . . . to where the march-warden waited. ‘Poor sods,’ he murmured to himself, thanking his lucky stars that he did not stand among them.

Much to his surprise and dismay a voice rang out behind him. ‘There you are!’ the captain, himself, said, drawing near. He grasped Brand’s shoulder and urged him firmly toward the others.

A short while passed and villagers began to return to their houses, most to begin the long job of sorting through what they would need to bring; many to weep at what they must leave behind.

Brand and his chosen companions were told to go home and get what rest they could. Aldwulf would see them back at the hall midmorning to instruct them on what he wished them to do. ‘Bring your horses and what weapons you might have,’ he told them. ‘My house will fill your packs with food for traveling and with drink for several days' journey. You will leave directly then for the King with my written message.’

He nodded to them once he had finished speaking and then wishing them well, dismissed them to their beds.



-- Arry

[piosenniel]

Wulfham


Naria's post

Incana and her mother were getting ready for bed when her father and uncle came crashing through the door. "Something is going on in the town square" her father exclaimed. "We heard the bell ring, must be very important." said her uncle. With their night dress on and lanterns in hand , Incana and her mother hurried outside with her father and uncle leading the way. "It's a good thing that we reside nearby else you ladies would be catching a chill this night." her uncle said trying to lighten the mood.

Approaching the centre of town they noticed a large group of people had already arrived. Some they recognized some they did not. "I wonder where these people have come from that I have not seen before." Incana said with concern in her voice. "Oh don't worry, I'm sure it's nothing that we should be too concerned about." her mother said not quite convincing herself of that.
The four of them walked through the crowd and into the town hall where there were even more people that they had and had not seen. Incana was starting to feel overwhelmed and scared. She took her father's hand and held it tightly. Her father, straining to hear, heard what sounded like a plea for help from an older man in the sea of villagers. With Incana's hand still tight in his they weaved around people until they were closer to the stage.

The MarchWarden had given his speech to everyone and after listening to him, Encana's parents couldn't believe what they had just heard. "He can't be serious Sending our young ones out like that." Her father said in obvious disdain about the idea. There was some quarreling back and forth among some other parents and it was getting louder and louder. The MarchWarden banged his staff on the stage floor twice. All went silent. "I implore all of the young people of Rohan, come forth if yea shall volunteer for this task." Incana felt a pain in her stomach and a pull in her that she could not ignore. She slowly loosened her grasp of her father's hand and walked even closer to the stage. "NO!" cried her mother "I won't let you do this." Incana picked her mother up off of the floor, wiped away her tears and whispered into her ear, "I'll be ok. Don't fret mother I will come back to you. I have to do this." And with that Incana raised her hand.

----------

With barely any sleep Incana awoke the next morning to find that it wasn't a dream that had kept her tossing but a cold reality. Her mother had been up before her daughter that morning and prepared and packed some food and extra clothing for the journey. Her father came inside and wiped away some dirt off of his face. Incana couldn't help but notice that the dirt had smudged even though it wasn't hot enough outside this time of year. She felt tears well up in her eyes and threw herself into her father's arms. He pulled her back and told her that the horse was ready while he walked into another room. Incana heard muffled sobs; she wanted to go and be with her father but she changed her mind. Her mother hugged her only child and said good-bye and told Incana that she loved her. Incana put the food pack around her waist and went outside where her horse was waiting tied to a post. She fastened her weapons to the side of the horse sighed deeply, mounted and made her way to the town.

[piosenniel]

Wulfham


Valier's post

Vaenosa turned her back to the crowd and grasped her mother's hand firmly, leading her towards the small stage that was set up in the town hall. "Vaenosa you must go child! Do not worry about this old woman, I will be fine. I will go with one of our kindly neighbours,do not fret!" "Mother I will not leave you,not in your condition! Who will care for you? You are not strong enough,you need me here with you."

As they approached the stage, the MarchWarden was requesting volunteers to ride ahead with a letter for the King. Vaenosa felt a slight squeeze in her hand. Sighing deeply she turned around again to her ailing mother. " No mother I insist I stay here with you!" But the look of determination in the sick woman's eyes, melted Her heart. Before she could try and reason with the woman again,she felt a push from behind. Hands grabbed her from the front and lead her away.With one last look at her mother, Vaenosa raised her head high and walked towards where the other volunteers stood.

After receiving praise from the March Warden, he dismissed them all to their houses, to return in the Morn with weapons and horse. Then he would fill them all in on their duties.

Vaenosa was dazed. Almost walking in a fog, she found her way outside without looking for her mother.The cool air hit her face, bringing some colour back to her ashen cheeks. Then came the small frail arm, touching her own. "This my daughter is all I ask of you before I go......Please save this town,Get help while we still can! Your Father loved this town, as I do. I would love for this to be your place. For you children and your children's children. Please go."

With shoulders slumped and head hung low, Vaenosa let herself be led back slowly to the place she called home.

----------

Awaking the next morning to he mothers wracking coughs, the day before came flooding back."Well there's no chance I'm getting out of this now,I may as well make the best of it." Vaenosa was reluctant to put all her energy into the thought of the long road ahead,for if she did she would be set to accomplish what ever was asked of her, to the fullest extent. This scared her to her very core. Yet she would put on a brave face and say goodbye to her mother,maybe for the last time.

After a teary goodbye and a promise to stay safe, Vaenosa packed a travelling pack with some extra clothing and equipment. She was accustom to carring only what was essential, to let Nay go as fast as he pleased. Walking out to the stables, lifted her spirits some due to the slight Autumn breeze.

Nay was prancing in his stall and throwing his head back in anticipation. She had not let him run the day before and now he knew she was taking him out. "alright my friend,lets go." She jumped smoothly on to his blanketed back and without another look back, she started down the road to the town.

Tying Nay outside took alot longer than it should have, Vaenosa was still nervous about the whole thing. There was three other people she would be traveling with, and she was sure they would just get in the way. Taking three deep breaths she walked up the steps and through the door.

[piosenniel]

Wulfham


Tevildo's post

Dorran sat up with a start, threw off the covers, and leapt to his feet, hurrying over to the door and throwing it open. The sun had risen several hours before. He had managed to sleep through the cock's welcoming cry and all the hustle and bustle that had gone on in the courtyard, an area that stood only a short distance from the doorway of their tiny shed. Quickly sweeping his eyes over the area in front of the main hall, Dorran could see that preparations for their journey were well under way. The horses had been saddled and were snorting with impatience to be off. Several of the party had already arrived and were saying their final goodbyes to well wishers and friends.

Pummelling his fist into his other palm in frustration, Dorran turned and glared back at Criede. His sister was seated at the small table and was putting the finishing touches on a large sack of provisions that she meant for her brother to carry with him. "Why didn't you wake me sooner?" Dorran demanded. "I intended to be up and about. And what are you doing with all that food? The Master said he'd supply us with whatever we needed."

"Perhaps so," retorted the younger girl. "But this may be the last time for a while that you get a taste of my biscuits and apple tart. I thought you might like it." She stared back at him and then boldly stuck out her tongue. One moment Criede could be serious and adult, and the next moment acting just like a child.

"Alright, alright." His tone had softened considerably. "You've got me there. But still, I should have been up at dawn. What about the watering and feeding of the horses?" He stopped for a moment and shook his head, "It isn't like me..."

Criede interrupted before her brother could say another word, "The Master said I was to let you lie abed. You were up late helping him to gather the things that the group would need today. He wanted you to get some sleep before you began your journey. Anyways, it's only a few steps out to the courtyard, and you'll be ready to leave."

"Well enough, I suppose," he conceded with a sigh. "Promise be you'll be good, Criede, and do what the Lady says, and that you'll mind her on the road. She says you're to sleep in the hall with the other maids until you all leave together so you won't be out here on your own."

"I'd rather stay here," she objected. "This is my home."

"No more trouble now. Just do as the mistress says. When she says it's time to leave, you must go with her. She has always been kind to us and I expect you to behave. I'll see you soon in Edoras so you have nothing to fear."

"Alright, I promise. But why are you going early? You don't have to, you know. The Lord wouldn't make you. I'm sure of it."

"No, he wouldn't make me. But I want to go. I would never feel right being here and doing nothing, not knowing the danger the whole realm is in. Anyways," he muttered through gritted teeth, "not if I could do something to strike a blow at the likes of them."

Criede glanced up sideways at her taller brother, "You don't expect to see any of. those, those.... things on the road."

"I don't know but I don't expect so. They're still off to the east, or so I heard the Master talking. But if I do meet one, he won't live till another day. They are evil through and through. They have no soul, no heart, only blackness." There was real animosity in the lad's voice, the tone of one who knows more than what he says.

"Promise me, Dorran." his sister responded. "Promise me that you won't do anything foolish. You're the only family I have."

"I promise. I'm not a fool. And being dead isn't something I want to do for a long time. Anyways, dead men can't fight Orcs."

With that final thought, Dorran reached down and gave his sister a final hug, and raced out into the open courtyard to join the others who were just mounting up.

[piosenniel]

Bregoware


Farael's post

The long, slow wail of a horn arose those living close to the Town Hall. The sound of horns was taken up and repeated by others as they awoke and soon all the town had rose to the sound of alarm. The March-Warden Horwald was calling for a town meeting. It had not happened since the times of Brego King, many lives of men before, that this emergency call had sounded in the middle of the night. There was no man alive who had been born then, but still the villagers responded as they had trained themselves to do.

Upon receiving the disturbing news in the middle of the night, Horwald had ordered his eldest son to sound the alarm but he had not shared the dire news with anyone. It was the right of all the townspeople to learn about the incoming dangers at the same time. After making their respective horn calls, the people of Bregoware had started to make their way towards the Town Hall. As this town was mostly a farming community, it had been the best part of two hours before all the families were represented. Mostly men had answered the distress call, but in dangerous times like these some brave women had joined their husbands and fathers.

With a sigh, Horwald raised his hand to ask for silence. He was proud to see the look of worry in the faces of men untainted by fear. Soon that would be no more, as the news he had to tell them were ones no March-Warden had ever been forced to say in this town. A tense silence was finally achieved and so Horwald, son of Leodwald addressed his people. They were his, his responsibility. As he repeated them the words of the messenger, who at the time had long ran off to meet with his own townspeople, he saw even the bravest of his men frowning. Bregoware had been harassed by easterlings and even a party of orcs before, but the news were that of a marching army not a wild group of bandits. The people had followed him through the hardships of living outside the boundaries of the Kingdom of Rohan and they trusted him. They would follow him if he ordered them to abandon their houses. They would follow him if he ordered them to retreat into the fortified city and prepare themselves for what could be a long siege. But as he looked into his people’s faces, he could not bear the thought that in the next weeks some of them would die, no matter what choice he made.


Osmod was awaken by the alarm cries of his own family’s horn. He ran up to his father’s chambers to find him standing by the window, blowing at the horn that had belonged to his grandfather. He could hear the distinct sound of other horns at the distance, but more worrying to his mind was the sound of his mother crying. Leofwen had always been a strong woman; she had even ridden against an invading group of bandits in her youth.

The alarm sound was soon picked up by other families and father and son readied themselves for the ride to the Town Hall. They chose their fastest horses and carried their swords with them. Osmod did not have a sword that belonged to him and so he ‘borrowed’ his grandfather’s. It had been hanging on the wall since the day Osbearn had returned from the ranks of Thengel King.

They were one of the last people to arrive, as his father’s lands were far outside the town, but many of the men present allowed them to make their way closer to where the March Warden was standing. Horwald’s face was grim and soon they learned why. First there was silence. Then the yelling started. The opinion that was voiced the loudest was that of war. They had defended themselves from those orkish bandits before, they would do it again. Yet soon common sense sank in and they realized they would fight a loosing battle that would be over before it even got started. The men still wanted to fight, many of them were gripping their swords hilts already. Yet as they looked around the room and saw the women present, they understood they could not let their families die for their pride. Soon the room was silent and the March Warden announced what they all dreaded. The city was to be emptied by noon on the following day. They would march towards Edoras, protected by the warriors of the town.

As everyone was reading themselves to go back to their houses and start preparing for the long escape, a voice was heard on the back of the room. Osmod could not tell if it had been a man or a woman who had spoken, he could not tell even if it had been any older than himself. Yet the words were true. Marching armies could run faster than retreating towns and even if they left on the first light the following day, they might not make it to Edoras before the orcs caught up with them. At least some riders would need to be sent to alert The King and bring back help.

Silence fell upon the room again as they saw the March Warden deliberating with his main counsellors. When he looked up, his face was stern and decided. Four of their fastest riders would go ahead of the main group. Yet he could spare none of his warriors and so volunteers would be needed. Osmod’s hand moved towards the hilt of his sword even before Horwald had finished the call for volunteers. Never before had anyone but the March Warden heard those words and never before had they been meant for anything other than teaching the March Warden his duties and responsibilities. “Who among the people of Bregoware will answer my call? Who among us braves will show to be the bravest? Who will risk pain and death for the greater good of his people?”

The room fell silent, interrupted only by the sound of a sword being unsheathed. One volunteer had accepted the call. Soon two more swords were raised over the heads of their brave owners. One last volunteer was needed yet the room had fallen silent again. Osmod closed his eyes and tensed his grip on the sword. Almost without him knowing, he unsheathed his grandfather’s sword. He had answered the call for help.

Voices were heard at the back of the room and spread out quickly towards the front. Soon all the gathered townspeople were discussing the names of the volunteers. Everyone seemed to want to talk to Osmod and grab his arm. He had shown to be as brave as his grandfather Osbearn had been, they said. He had shown to be great among the great of his town. But Osmod knew he had shown nothing yet. He was still safe inside the walls of the village and there were many dangers to confront before he would even consider himself to be brave.

Horwald dismissed everyone but the volunteers and their families – it would have been pointless and cruel to force them appart now when they would be parting soon enough, perhaps for ever- who stayed and gathered close to him. He praised the volunteers sincerely and offered them his help in anything they needed. He would provide them with food and water, as well as fast horses if they lacked one. Of course, they all had good horses, but it was a great compliment to be offered a horse by the March Warden himself. After the March Warden had spoken, Osmod asked of him only one thing. The sword he carried was old and the edge was dull. He wanted to carry his grandfather’s sword and would very much appreciate it if the March Warden could have it sharpened for him. Horwald granted him his wish, as he granted everything the others asked. They stayed until it was long past midnight discussing the best strategy for their ride, but they all agreed that there was no way of knowing what they would find and so no way of making accurate plans. The town of Bregoware would have to trust on their rider’s skill and intelligence. And as most of them made their way to their respective houses, they knew their trust had not been misplaced.

Osmod rode back to his father’s estate. His father had been uncommonly silent since he had volunteered himself and they rode in silence towards the big house. After they left the horses in the stables, Osmod’s father asked him to wait on the hall before retreating to his own room. Osmod complied and sat down on the cold floor, feeling more comfortable there than on the sturdy chairs. He scrambled up to his feet as he heard his father walking back in and could not help to gasp when he saw what he was carrying. His father had his own longbow on one hand, the finest quality weapon his family had. But what surprised the son was the family horn in his father’s left hand. It belonged to his father, it had belonged to his grandfather before and to his father before then. “Son, it has been our family tradition that the father of the house gives this horn to his son on the day of their wedding. I know not if I shall live to see that great day and this is why I want you to have it. It may be of assistance to you and I know our ancestors will forgive me for breaking our long held tradition”. As Osmod laid sleepless on his bed, he told himself that nothing would go wrong as he had the protection of those who had fought the same enemy before and won.

[piosenniel]

Bregoware


Eowyn Skywalker's post

Jerked from a weary sleep by a strong wailing of an alarm, Eostre's eyes flickered open in the dark. An attempt to speak... her voice choked off and she leaned over to grasp a white square of fabric, rubbing some excess mucus from her mouth with a grimace. It took the adult woman sometime before she was able to place the harsh sound of alarm that drilled through her mind, chasing away all the flickering images of the dreamworld she dwelled in during her sleep. Something about... A chicken?

But, as was her custom, she didn't let anything sway her course from the choice to sit up and shove her bedding aside, yanking her nightshift off and changing hastily into full garb. By the time she was fully dressed—making the attempt to change in the dark hardly easy—the sound of the alarm had long leaned towards the houses far further away from the Town Hall, and in other rooms in the house, there came the sound of feet smacking against bare wood, her host family coming to wake her up.

Had they honestly thought the light sleeping Eostre would still be abed when alarms cried all through the town, the clatter of hooves passing through the streets and roads stretching far beyond the town to the adjoined lands? She could scarcely sleep through the sound of bacon frying in the rare mornings when she was ill, mainly from allergies. But it meant little; she was dressed, as were they all, and the bordering elderly Haodel and Gelwyn were insisting she ride to the Town Hall with them from their farm. Gelwyn wanted to stay with cousin Ieloa, Haodel wanted to go to the meeting... clamor. She didn't mind. There was no way she could ever have fallen asleep after such a racket! What was the world coming to? A full out war?

Needless to say, not being so far out of town, the two arrived quickly to the Town Hall, possibly after the first ten or so people had arrived. By this point the woman was well awake, sticking close to Haodel as they watched others arrive to the meeting.

An explanation...

Eostre exhaled. So. It did come to war, then. She felt no fear, only a vauge sense of intriege at the arguements being cast around the room, the voices raised and tossed from one hand to the next. The call for aid was too facinating; she didn't want to see any unnecessary death.

Metal cut against metal, and a sword was raised above one volenteer's head, held high in the crowd. She hardly hesitated after that. The mission screamed for fast riders, for those who knew the land, knew how to fight, and wanted to protect their land. She unsheathed her dirk, raised it above her head with just the faintest flicker of a challenging smile on her face.

Haodel threw her a glance. "Eostre..."

"They mayn't even allow me to ride along," she murmured in soft reply. "If they do, I ride hard. I shall return, and in the meantime you and Gelwyn will manage."

He only inclined his head, and she realized when he had spoken, he hadn't spoken in critisism. So. It was done, then. She glanced up at the flame-colored light reflecting off of her blade for a moment, then back down at the others surrounding her. Somehow, time seemed to blur past, others finally raising their blades in agreement of the mission.

Time passed...

The Marchwarden dismissed everyone beyond the volunteers and their families, but names had still spread. Her family recognized her involvement, remaining while Haodel returned to his family. Somehow through the plans, the clock passed well beyond the witching hour as they spoke, exchanged embraces with her family near the end, though they were unnaturally silent, Eostre noted.

She was silent through much of the planning, letting things sink in. And when she went to ride back to Haodel's family, her parents pulled her aside, insisted that it would be better if she spent one last night at home. As if she would never return, she thought...

And yet, as she lay sleepless abed once more, she felt no fear of death, only a desire to protect others of the potential same fate.

[Folwren]

Athwen followed the young man mutely to his companion. She kept her eyes down and her mouth shut, not really knowing what would happen if she looked a stranger in the face right now and spoke to him. But when he stopped, she looked up, and her eyes fell on her own horse, being held with his reins in the woman’s hands. Silently, she reached out for him, and she was handed his reins.

“Come, li’le one, come,” she murmured, drawing him near and placing her hand on his shoulder. He was trembling, and in the back of her mind she knew he was fearing the same thing she was - the dead and the burned. But she didn’t think about it. She buried her face in his mane, wrapping her arms about his neck, and shut her burning eyes.

Oh, the cruelty of wanting to cry and not being able to. Athwen became absolutely still again, as though frozen in her place. Her little chest rose and fell and her throat was choked up, but there were no tears and she made no sound.

After a moment, however, she seemed to come to herself. Slowly, she looked up, loosed her grasp on her horse and turned about. The strangers, there were three now, she noticed, were all looking at her. Somehow, she didn’t mind, nor did she feel threatened.

“I am sorry,” she said, her tone dull and quiet. The next moment, she realized she had nothing further to say, and so she didn’t say anything, and simply stood and looked at them, just as they stood and looked at her.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Of course they were almost ready. It wasn't as if she would've not taken the time to pack up anything that wasn't needed (which of course nothing was)... it wasn't as if they hadn't taken time to eat. But some things went unspoken, perhaps for the greater good of the party, and perhaps for not.

Eostre didn't care. This was only the first step, after all. Standing beside her horse, she stared across the river. It was a bit narrower here, a bit shallower, but still swift from the nearby mountains—fortunately it was late fall, not spring. There was no melted water runoff to sweep away the horses and riders into the icy maw of death that surely waited beyond the bends and rapids.

The river was their enemy, sure as the orcs and wolves preying upon villages.

The sun gleamed off of the river, as cold as the chilly wind. Eostre tugged her robes tighter about herself, sipped the remainder of her soup down and stashed the tin cup. Surely they'd leave soon...

[Arry]

Wulfham

Brand was very glad the older fellow was not going to be stubborn. He felt he owed the man on two counts – one for the vegetables and herbs he’d taken from his gardens and the second for the use of his healer’s skills to treat his wounds. It would have been very hard to leave Leod behind when it was time to go. And somehow he could not see them hog-tying the man and taking him along with them in that manner.

Leod led him to the cottages of his nearby neighbors. They poked about and Leod called the names of various members of the different families but only silence, or the echoes of their own voices met their ears.

He could not see Vaenosa anywhere in that part of the village, and Brand thought that perhaps she had gone chasing after some extra horses for them. ‘Let’s go to the western side of the village, Master Leod,’ he said after they had finished looking through yet another empty house. ‘My other companions are looking for survivors there. Though it was hit much harder than this little area. Most of the buildings are burnt to the ground and there are a great number of bodies lying about . . . villagers and Orc alike.’

Again Leod led the way, and Brand could see he was saddened and angered at the destruction that had taken place. Soon the could hear voices a short ways away. ‘It sounds like one of my companions, but there is another voice I do not recognize.

The two rounded the corner of a half burnt building and saw Brand’s three fellow travelers – Incana, Vaenosa, and Dorran. They had their backs to Leod and Brand as they approached. And as the two drew near the familiar trio, Brand could see beyond them another person – a very young girl, holding onto the reins of a horse.

Brand hailed his three companions and introduced Leod to them, saying that he had agreed to come with them. He stepped forward and smiled as best he could given his face was half in bandages. ‘And who is this?’ he asked cocking his head a little as he took in Athwen. ‘I see you have a horse, mistress. Are you coming with us, also?’

[Nogrod]

Bregoware

Sythric was brought back to the here and now by the oncoming steps. How long has passed, what’s happened? The bright voice addressing him got him totally awake from his thoughts. “Is the soup ready? Raedwald would surely use some in a moment – and so would I”. It was Meghan. She sat beside him with a cup in her hand.

Sythric looked back at Meghan, pretty unsure about anything just now. Then he took a look to the shore. Fionn and Eostre were bringing the rope to the pulley, and someone seemed to be tying the raft at the other side of the river. “What on earth!” Sythric almost shouted, turning back to Meghan. “It was Raedwald, now wasn’t it?”. As Meghan nodded, he smiled her back broadly.

“Help yourself with the soup, and give it a stir if you leave the pot. It would of course have been better if it could have simmered another couple of hours...” With that he winked an eye to Meghan and rose up, addressing her still: “Then again. I’ll prefer bad soup to the option of spending any more time in this hounted place that just throws grim ideas over you.” He grinned amiably and turned towards the shore where others were approaching the pulley. “I’ll see if I could be of any use down there. I’ve sat down enough for this day.” By that he went to the shore.

--------

The ferry approached slowly but steadily. It was hard work. The rope was totally soaked and the ferry had some weight too, not to mention the current that tried to push the ferry downstream – a force which they had to fight against too. As the ferry was about the midway over the stream, he remembered! Long time ago, he had been on the ferry, when it had been laid full with the autumn’s harvest. The ferry had been quite loaded indeed! Then the ferrymen had used a kind of reel that was attached to the pulley – so that the round movement of the pulley could be changed into a straight pulling movement behind the pulley. And they had used horses to pull it! And that cage-like thing surely was here somewhere! He remembered vaguely, how it looked like. Someone must have run across it while searching the sheds... It would be tough oaring, getting ourselves to the other side anyhow, notwithstanding us being already quite feeble after this one. Well, it is late anyhow. You should remember things in time my friend! Sythric addressed himself, and bit his lip to make another pull.

Of course Raedwald! The thought came to him while pulling the raft. That’s so like him! When others say, that we should think about a problem faced, Raedwald would solve it meanwhile – and not only solve it, but accomplish it also. He just kind of saw the solutions and then acted on them, not making a fuzz about it. That was one of the reasons, why Sythric thought so highly about Raedwald, and why he was so happy about their friendship. He himself might have been the more battle-hardened warrior of the two – having served mostly in parties that had frequent borderline skirmishes - and probably in a bit better physical condition, due to his continuos riding, shooting etc. while teaching the youngsters. But no-one could outwit Raedwald, or actually do the things he did. He is just a marvellous man! Even if, after the soldiering years he had abandoned all the military excercises, he clearly is the man to cross the river by himself! Of course there were other things, more important ones: all the shared memories, the hardships taken together, facing death side by side. Those things do bind people to each other. And anyhow. Sythric just loved the man: his personality, his humour. What an example of the Rohanian spirit he is!

“You never give others a chance to work things out, now do you?” That’s what he would say to him as he would come to the shore. And he would embrace him, embrace him hard. And I’m being the melancholic cooking-boy today as others have done the work? I’m tired, yes. Because of these days of riding with barely no sleep at all, yes. But still. Pull yourself together man!

[Folwren]

Athwen looked up at the man addressing her. Her blue eyes softened slightly as she saw his bandaged face, even now, in her present state, pitying someone without even knowing them.

‘I see you have a horse, mistress,’ he said with a gentle smile. ‘Are you coming with us also?’

‘I don’t know,’ she answered. She studying him a moment longer after her slight reply and then looked at his companion. Recognition flooded her face and she extended her free hand, a smile coming to her face. ‘Leod! You. . .you were not. . .’ she faltered, and her face twitched slightly. ‘That is good enough,’ she said, lowering her hand and eyes together. ‘You are alive.’

She drew a trembling breath and let it out slowly. There were so many feelings warring against each other inside. She didn’t know what to think, what to do, or even how to react. To despair and wish to die seemed to the easiest route just now, and the least miserable. What was living?

But no. She shook her head to her own thoughts, struggling with a battle within. There were people here and she wasn’t alone. She had to show strength . . . perhaps it would get her through, even if it was faked. But at least they shouldn't have to bear it. They had asked her a question, and she must answer.

She looked back at Brand, though she didn’t know his name. ‘I don’t know if I am riding with you,’ she said. ‘Where are you going?’

[Folwren]

Athwen was gasping as she rode forward. Osmod was by her side. She glanced his direction and wanted to thank him for trying to help her, but she didn't have breath or time. They were coming closer to the others now and at a glance she saw that there was trouble there. Besides the wounded and dying Easterlings on the ground, there were also the bodies of their group, and Sythric, although he was mounting his horse and urging her forward up the hill, appeared to be wounded. Athwen stopped Parith and tumbled down from the saddle, rushing forward towards where Brand lay, half propped up on a rock. She reached out and grasped his arm.

'Brand. Brand!' she cried, her voice frantic. He looked at her, and in his eyes she saw fierce pain and something else she couldn't quite place. 'Can you get up? You've got to fight!' She released his arm to look at the blood stained tunic at his shoulder. He couldn't fight. . . not with that. She looked about her, and to her dismay saw Raedwald lying senseless on the ground. She didn't know if he was dead.

Brand started under her hand and she looked back quickly. His eyes were lifted to something behind her and he gasped her name. Her hands were on the hilt of his sword in an instant and without looking she whirled about with a hoarse cry.

Athwen knew nothing of sword play. She swung wildly, only aiming to hit her enemy. The large Easterling took several paces back at the first fierceness of her onslaught, but then he stood, parrying every stroke with infuriating skill. Athwen hated it. She hated him, and she hated everything else. Her jaw was clentched and there was no maidenly look about her face, but there were tears, tears of rage that only came to women at a time like that.

She made a rash move, a large stroke, and the Easterling dodged easily to one side. She stumbled with the force of her own move. A blow then from his large fist sent her sprawling, with the sword flying from her hand. She lay still one moment, her eyes opened. Directly across from her lay Raedwald, and she had no doubt now that he was dead. Then, between her face and his, she saw, just within reach of her hand, a rohanian dagger. The sound of a heavy boot was behind her. No clear or definite thought came to her as she reached out, quick as lightning, grasped the fallen blade, twisted beneath the man and his groping hands, rose up onto her knees and then...

She wasn't expecting the tearing sound the blade made when it slipped between his ribs. Athwen didn't remember that with such a wound blood would have to come. The dagger was thrust in up to the hilt, and the dark, warm blood flowed out and stained her hand. She jerked back, leaving the dagger within his side. Her eyes nearly started from her head, and the scream she wanted to utter was caught in her throat. She looked up and just saw the brief, dying look in the Easterling's face before he turned and fell. She had killed a man.

Her senses came back in that one, sweeping, horrible moment. She trembled violently from head to foot. Her left hand, her clean hand, lifted to her face, and was placed half over her eyes, and she turned away. She didn't take a step, though, as a sudden sob wrenched her chest. More followed until she was helplessly weeping. Tears quite blinded her. Slowly, Athwen sank to her knees, and then by degrees she bent lower and lower towards the ground until her face touched the cold, wet earth. One hand still covered her face, the other was held out stiffly from her body, half coated in blood.

She cried for Raedwald, for Brand and Sythric. She wept for her home, her friends, her family and her past life. And Athwen mourned for the dead Easterling behind her.

'I can't do it,' she cried, her voice choking and her words probably unable to be made out with her face towards the ground. 'I can't go on. Why didn't you take me with you? Why? Why?' That haunting question - again. She wanted to rise, to run, to flee from death and blood shed, to leave the bounds of the earth, leaving all battle, guilt, and hate behind. But she couldn't. That road was not for her and she had no choice in the matter. And so she lay in the wet grass, completely overcome and completely helpless, crying such tears as she had cried the first day. . .tears she had hoped she would never have to cry again.

[Valier]

Vaenosa was enjoying the peace of the on coming twilight. She enjoyed the time to herself, to scout the area ahead of the group. It gave her a sense of independence and a slight hint of belonging to a group. Vaenosa shifted on Nay's back and moved her bow from one hand to the other. She was leaning Nay to turn around and head the short distance back to the group of riders, when a strange noise began from overhead.Vaenosa cocked her head to the sound, it sounded almost familiar...yet different.


Thunk..........thunk, thunk. Arrows came flying from all directions, some whizzing passed, others grazing or hitting the group. Vaenosa's eyes went wide, she was so surprised she was almost dazed. Everything seemed to be happening so fast.

With a sickening Thwack an arrow lodged deep in her thigh, bringing her back to her senses. Men began to charge from all directions.Nay squeeled in fright and took of, nearly leaving Vaenosa behind. She regained her grip on his reins and pulled back. She was facing away from the scattering group heading towards the right side of the hill. She turned Nay around and almost screamed in the effort, the arrow still lodged in her left thigh was seeping blood down her leg, but she would not leave the others to die.

Readying her own bow, Vaenosa saw Sythric fighting with two Men to her left, but before she could help, Nay squeeled and turned towards an on coming man approaching from behind them, followed closely by another.
Vaenosa let fly a missle, but it went wild, she followed the first quickly with another, it hit the man hard under his out stretched arms, but he continued towards her arms reaching for her.

As he drew closer Vaenosa grabbed for the blade on Nay's side, but Nay had other plans. He drew up in anger and thrashed the man with his hooves. The man went down. He was trampled by Nay's feet as he began to charge at the second quickly approaching man. The man had an evil look and smiled as he saw the advancing woman and rider. Vaenosa dropped the blade as she fumbled to regain her bow and attempt to load another missle, before her estranged horse ran them straight into an oncoming sword.

Nay just kept on charging, head down straight for the now slightly puzzled Easterling. He readied his sword, waiting for the on slaught. Vaenosa's heart quelled as she saw her own death approaching. She struggled to over come her fear, she had seconds left....She raised her bow and shot.
The missle landed in the neck of the surprized Man, splurrting blood from his wound. Nay did not stop, he charged the man as a bull cow would an intruder into his pasture. He plowed his head straight on and knocked the man back at least three meters. Vaenosa could no longer hold on and she was tossed from Nay's back landing hard on the steaming earth.

She lay looking up at the sky. The sounds around her were deafening. The screams, the clashing of blades. Vaenosa closed her eyes, as a tear rolled down her tortured face. But she would not give up. Get up you ninny! You are fine! Get up and do not back down! If you die, then at least you did something in your life that was not selfish! Get up! She rolled onto her right side and staggered up into a sitting position. In her hand, white knuckled she still held her bow. She reached up over her shoulder and found her quiver still there, but only two arrows remained.

She stood and looked around in horror. Many lay wounded , she could not tell from which side. Then a scream of a woman, brought her to her senses again. She saw atop the hill a woman crumpled on the ground and a figure wrestling with a Man atop him. Her mind was set. She looked for her blade, but to no avail. So she loaded her bow and dragging her leg she set off for the hill.

She passed bloodied bodies on the ground, but she kept her eyes solely on the Man ontop of the struggling lad. As she reached the bottom of the hill her leg gave out and she fell to the yellowing grass. She screamed her frustration and pain. She pulled herself up so she was kneeling and lifted her bow. She steadied her hand and let it fly. It sunk only into the leg of the attacker and did nothing to stop his attack. Vaenosa cried as she pulled out her last arrow. Please, let this hit it's mark! she prayed as tears streamed down her face. The world around her seemed to stop as she pulled back her bow string.

Two things happened at the exact same moment. She let her arrow fly and she felt a searing pain hit her in the back. She screamed out in pain as she began to slip from consciousness. She raised her head to see if her arrow hit, but she was sinking slowly to the ground. Where is Nay I wonder? Where has he gotten himself to? Was all she could think as she slumped to the ground, stuck from behind with a spear from one of the many fallen Easterlings.

She lay staring at the blood soaked ground. She tried to get up but could not. Her vision blackened.....She passed out.

[Nogrod]

Sythric hadn’t time to think about Brand, as he made it upwards, and was seeing Vaenosa up the hill, slipping to the ground, rising up, and then shooting her bow – being followed by an easterling, just going for the kill. He spurred Thydrë to make the best of it.

Just as the easterling was about to give his killing-blow to Vaenosa, he glanced back – hearing someone approaching him with speed. He had no time to curse his lord. Raedwald’s lance pierced him with such a vigour, as to send him flying from his saddle. With a quick yank, Sythric got the lance free of the man. So this is why he loved this spear! I’m beginning to get it! The man fell over Vaenosa, but Sythric had no time to check on her now. There was too much going on at the top of the hill – and he started feeling dizzy. The pain on his side started being unbearable. He didn’t know, how much blood he had lost, but clearly, things started getting foggy around him, the voices softened... Raedwald! “Just remember, that this message to the King... is the single most important thing on your journey”. Brand!! “It’s more important than the lives of any one of those youngsters, and remember also this...” Meghan!, Dorran! “your being alive is the best insurance we have for the message reaching it’s destination.“ Vaenosa! ”Don’t try to be a hero of your conscience, be the hero of your people.” The words of old Hugebryth were dimmed down, confused with his own nightmarish visions... He approached the top of the hill, barely conscious.

[Farael]

There had been one Easterling and then another. Osmod had avoided their attacks but had not managed to land a blow. He had already seen Rædwald go down and Meghan taken prisoner. He knew others had been wounded yet it was not time to stop just now. Osmod had barely managed to parry a stroke by an Easterling rider when a blood chilling scream was heard from the nearby hill. The few riders left wheeled around and dispersed, leaving the field littered with the bodies of their fallen as well as some of the Rohirrim.

Osmod jumped off his horse and kneeled by the side of a fallen woman. It was Vaenosa and she seemed to be out cold. Her hand was still grasping her bow and the dead body of a man was lying nearby. Osmod looked for any cuts or slashes and found none, so he carefully turned the woman face up and was relieved to see she was still breathing. A dark bruise was forming on her forehead so he assumed she had been knocked out, perhaps the Easterling meant to take her as they had taken Meghan.

Meghan… Osmod looked up the hill and saw that the fighting was not over. Yet he was too far to help them and there were people who needed to be looked after. Cursing himself for not being able to do more, he decided to help those he could rather than waste his time, and possibly his life, in a lost cause. As far as he was concerned, those up the hill were by themselves. He prayed the gods would be on their side as well.

[Arry]

‘Help me up!’ Brand’s voice came weakly at first and then stronger as his resolve grew. He forced his mind away from the pain in his shoulder, focusing on the present need . . . to drive away the foe and to bring Meghan safely back to the group. With an effort and a steadying grip on the rock he’d lain against, he got to his feet.

‘Stop your crying, Athwen. Bring Lady near and hold her steady.’

He’d pulled the Easterling’s blade from his shoulder. It had bled profusely, but now seemed down to a trickle. He could barely move the left arm, though, so intense was the pain from the wound. Holding on to Lady’s mane, Brand pulled himself up with his right arm until he was once again astride her. He could not help but hit his left shoulder against the horse and saddle as he clambered clumsily up. And it took all his effort not to cry out as the pain seared through him.

He asked for his cudgel, and someone, he was not sure who, handed it up to him. He grasped it tightly in his right fist and with his knees and voice urged Lady up the hill.

At the top he saw Sythric, barely sitting on his mount and there against a tree was Meghan with Dorran crouched by her. One Easterling lay dead a little ways away and one Easterling hovered over Meghan and Dorran, his scimitar raised.

With a loud cry, he raised his cudgel and bore down on the Lord of the Easterlings . . .

[Folwren]

The day had been long and wearying, on both body and mind. Athwen felt exhausted as she sat beside Sythric who now slept. She could not exactly account for the weary feeling, for she had really done surprisingly little. There had been nothing for her to do, except for keep the fire going, prepare food, and sometimes lug water. That job was often given to Osmod, Fion, or Dorran, who could all carry quite a bit of water far more easily than Athwen.

Meghan had dozed off some time before supper. No one woke her. The wounds were all bandaged and looked after, nothing else had to be done, and she needed the sleep. A quiet settled over the camp. People said very little. Athwen and Dorran prepared the evening meal with silence between them. Brand woke long enough to eat some of the watery soup and then went back to sleep. Sythric did not come back to consciousness.

Athwen sat with her knees drawn up and one hand looped around them. Her other hand held a warm cup in her hand with steam rising out of it. She sat close to Sythric, watching for any change in his sleeping while at the same time, observed the sky changing colors and growing darker.

Meghan stirred nearby and then slowly sat up. She looked about her, blinking the sleep away, first glancing towards Brand and then to Sythric. Her eyes settled on Athwen. ‘How does he fare? Has he been awake at all?’ she asked.

Athwen shrugged slightly. ‘No, he hasn’t woken. I don’t know how he does. He seems to sleep peaceably enough. . .but I can not read a fellow’s health by his sleeping face.’ She looked at Sythric. Surely she would know, she thought. If his face held any trace of pain or uncomfortable sleep, she would know. ‘You slept quite a while,’ she went on, turning back to Meghan. ‘Would you like some tea? And there is soup left for you. I made sure that not all of it was eaten.’

[Undómë]

‘I would like some tea,’ Meghan said, giving a thankful smile to Athwen. ‘Soup later, I think.’ She yawned and stretched, trying to work the kinks from her back.

She watched as Athwen fetched her a cup of steaming tea and took it gratefully from the woman’s hand. The heat of it warmed her cold fingers. Her gaze was drawn to the other side of the fire where the Elves were gathered.

‘They move with such grace, don’t they?’ She put down her tea and rubbed her hands together, feeling how rough they were. The healer’s hands, Nevtaliel, had been soft and smooth when they’d touched her own in passing. ‘I suppose they’ll be leaving when the sun rises. That is,’ she looked at Sythric and then to Brand, ‘if they do not worsen.’

Meghan turned her thoughts to what would happen once they got to Edoras. It was only a three-day ride to the King’s Hall. And then what would happen, she wondered. She’d given very little thought to how she would find her family, her village.

She felt a twinge of guilt recalling that at least she had a village and a family somewhere, while Athwen had no one to find, no home to return to. ‘Athwen, what do you think you will do once we’ve reached the King and delivered our message?’ Meghan leaned forward a considering look on her face. ‘You’d be more than welcome, you know, to come live with my brother’s family and me . . . in Bregoware.’

[Tevildo]

Leod sat down beside the fire and wearily stretched out his legs, ladelling out a generous bowl of soup. It was the first time he had eaten anything in over a day. At least things were ending slightly better than when they had first begun. There were already signs that Brand would recover, and even Sythric had managed to sleep peacefully without any of the troubling dreams that had disturbed him before.

Even with the Elves in camp, Leod had been busy most of the day, running between Brand and Sythric to check on their condition as well as rebandaging the wounds of those less seriously injured. Since Athwen and Meghan had shouldered so much of the burden, he had still managed to snatch a few hours of sleep, enough to keep him going. He needed to thank the women for their steadfast help and to say a word of appreciation to Nevtaliel and the other Elves. Without the Elven healer, both Brand and Sythric would most certainly have died.

Leod glanced up to see Dorran approaching. The young man squatted down next to him, offering a mug of tea. "They'll make it?," Dorran immediately queried.

"With luck, yes. At least they have a much better chance now."

"Leod, do you know what herb Nevtaliel used? The one that smelled so pleasant.... I saw her bathe the wounds with it and also place a steaming bowl beside both Sythric and Brand."

"Ah, that. Yes, you could smell it through the whole camp. It carried such a sweet odor, like a bank of newborn flowers in spring or a strand of pine trees after the rain. Sorry son, but I don't know the name of it. And I believe Elves like to guard some secrets carefully so I will not press them. But I have heard tales of a potent herb brought from across the sea in ages long ago. And I suspect that may have something to do with it. It is said that the healers of Gondor once knew the secret as well. I am only glad that the Elves came when they did. My own skills were too meager to help." Leod's voice sounded almost wistful.

Dorran reached out and affectionately pummelled the older healer on the shoulder. "Your skills are fine. Any of the Rohan villages would be lucky to get you. Do you plan to settle in Edoras? Or is there any chance we could lure you back to Wulfham, once things settle down?"

"I am not sure yet. Perhaps I'll have a talk with some of the Riders I used to serve and see where the need is greatest. But it is kind of you to say that, and I will definitely keep it in mind."

"Look here now," added Leod, pointing over towards the six Elves who had just remounted their horses. "It looks as if our guests plan to leave tonight." Leod pointed towards Nevtaliel and beckoned her to come over. "But stay till the morning. Surely you don't want to travel in the darkness?"

[Child of the 7th Age]

"But that is often our way, kind sir," responded Nevtaliel, "to go abroad by moonlight that we may travel undisturbed. Our party must leave. Our job here is ended. The cairn has been built, and I have done what I could to aid your friends. The rest lies within their own will and in the skilled nursing they will receive from you and the women who assist you. My husband and I hurry back to Rivendell where Lord Elrond awaits us. For we have much to say and show that can only be done face to face."

"But do not look so sad, Leod. You are a good healer. There is no reason to hang your head in shame. If your hand had not been here before mine, there would have been no patients who needed care. And, just like you, there are countless times when I must admit defeat and watch someone slip from life, unable to do more than console and grieve. Such is the lot of a healer."

"But you and your friends have also given us a gift. We travelled long on the road and, everywhere we went, met with much suspicion and odd looks from those who are our younger kin. But the men and women in this camp made me remember that we are all children of the One. I thank you for that reminder, especially since we first treated you harshly."

Then, she offered Leod a large packet, explaining to him what was inside, "I have stocked this with all the herbs you will need for the remainder of the trip and beyond, for my own satchel is filled to overflowing. And, beyond that, I have given you two precious leaves of the type I used on Sythric and Brand. They are dried and will last some time. Guard them well! Someday, when you find yourself in a grievous situation, you may wish to try them. Part of the cure lies in the hands and heart of the healer so I can not promise you what will happen, but perhaps they may be of some help. Memorize the shape and pattern of the leaf. Some say herbs like these still grow in certain places on middle-earth where the sons of Numenor touched their feet to the ground."

There were final goodbyes all around, and Leod bowed in thanks at the rich gift he had received from the Elven woman. Then the six Elves filed out of camp, heading north, and had soon disappeared from view.

[Folwren]

Meghan made the same offer that Dorran had. Athwen was inclined to smile, but she didn’t. They were all so kind and wanting to give help. But she didn’t know how to answer. She couldn’t answer. She didn’t think there was any way to without knowing what lay ahead. Then, before she could think of someway to say this, the elves began making their farewells. The two girls rose and said goodbye with bows and they all watched the elves silently leave the camp.

When they had disappeared into the gathering gloom, Meghan and Athwen sat down again. Athwen drew her legs up and once more wrapped her arms about her knees. She looked at Meghan, laying her cheek against her knees.

“I do not know what I am going to do when I reach Edoras,” she said. “Life is so different for me now. I really don’t know what choices I have left. You offer me a home with your people, but you don’t know if they’ll be there. We don’t know if anyone that you all knew will be there. Besides, there’s war now, and I don’t think that any of us will really be able to decide anything until it’s over and you can return to your normal lives. I can really only decide what to really do then. . . when all this is over.”

She stopped and turned her head, resting her chin now on her knees and staring at the fire. “It’s hard to look ahead when everything is so uncertain, Meghan,” she said quietly. “You, at least, have something to live for and hope for. Your family may still be alive, and all your friends. You rode to save them. You have a future before you, and don’t have to start completely anew. I don’t know what I’m going to do. That is why I can not accept immediately your invitation.” She turned her head again and looked at Meghan. “I hope you understand. I don’t know how to explain why I cannot accept. I don’t want to say anything until I know at least something of what might happen, and right now, there is a thick veil over everything past the next moment.”

She stopped abruptly and turned her face away suddenly. There was a long pause before she spoke again. “Dorran’s said nearly the same thing, too, you know,” she said, her voice rather thick. “You all want to help and I love you for it. I feel, though, that I’ve been a burden since I was found. I wonder if they hadn’t found me and taken time to gather my dead family and friends and gone on instead if they wouldn’t have been attacked. Perhaps Vaenosa wouldn’t have died, and maybe Brand and Sythric would be in no danger of following her. And. . .and even Raedwald. . .” Her voice broke completely and she came to a stop, unable to go any further. She knew for a fact now that Meghan wouldn’t know what to think, and she wondered why she had even gone on so long.