((Faelalan dreaming about her first adventures in the world.))
It was a kiss that woke her.
It was not the kiss of a mother pressing her tender lips to the forehead of her child in silent prayer. It was not the ardent kiss of a lover waking his beloved. Nor was it a kiss shared between friends, meeting after a long time apart.
It was an ethereal kiss. It was the kiss of the wind bringing to her the first drops of rain from an iron sky that looked ready to burst. Lights danced along the bellies of the ponderous clouds that belched out loud and raucous laughs that sounded more like growls of warning. She must find shelter soon, she knew, but she wondered if she would be able to pack up her meager belongings before the storm truly began. Shivering with cold as the wind picked up, she rose from her bedroll and broke camp.
She was lucky; she was able to get her things together before the rain came pelting down in drops that stung her skin. She fastened on her cloak and put up its hood before she began to lead her horse toward the hills in the near distance. Surely she could find some shelter there away from the storm -- better shelter than the trees she had camped under would provide. As she searched, the clouds above her gained strength and ferocity, turning into a veritable maelstrom of which she had never seen the likes of before. At least, not up close and personal. At last, though, she found some shelter; it was an overhang on one of the hills that would allow both her and her horse beneath it and possibly a fire, too. Even without it, they would be safe and dry and could wait out the storm in peace.
Faelalan had been two months from home. She wished heartily that she were there now and seriously considered going back. But no; she would not give up so soon and she would not return disgraced. She would find Lindy and she would bring him back. She would return her friend to his family and she would return her life to happiness.
Even now, though, there was some small measure of happiness in being so alone and in watching the wilderness around her thrash with the might of the storm that tossed it. Curled against her horse's side, she eventually drifted off. She was lulled by the music of the rain and the trees -- who would find her here? Who would disturb her?
But she woke again, her senses recoiling and crawling at the sounds near her. Was it speech, or merely some creature come to spy on her in the twilight that had fallen when more clouds had rolled in? Each new sound disgusted her to the point of nausea and made her wish desperately for a bath. Her answer came soon as the bald head of a particularly ugly orc peered around a bush at her. Had they smelled her? Or had they discovered her tracks in the wet ground that led to her hiding spot? Either way, she gripped the hilt of the short-sword sheathed at her side and drew it quickly.
Her fight was short; she defended herself as well as she could against the some six or so orcs who had come upon her. In the end, she was dragged from her hiding spot by the hair (for at that time it reached her waist in lovely waves). They wanted sport with her before they killed her, she was sure, or they would have run her through at the start. Just when all seemed lost and she thought that she would be beaten, raped, and murdered, they began to fall one by one, struck by arrows from an unseen bowyer. They were all dead before they had a chance to run or even to discern from whence the arrows flew.
In the midst of the gore and the violence, she rolled to her stomach and retched, emptying the contents thereof on the ground before her. With her belly still roiling and heaving, she pushed herself to her feet and wiped her mouth, taking up one of the accursed swords of her now dead captors. She meant to defend herself against this new threat; she meant to stand and fight even if she was exhausted and ill to her core.
"Show yourself," she cried, turning slowly, not knowing which way to look. "Reveal yourself at once!"
The whistle of an arrow sounded in her ears; the world went black before her eyes.
It was a kiss that woke her.
It was not the kiss of a mother pressing her tender lips to the forehead of her child in silent prayer. It was not the ardent kiss of a lover waking his beloved. Nor was it a kiss shared between friends, meeting after a long time apart.
It was an ethereal kiss. It was the kiss of the wind bringing to her the first drops of rain from an iron sky that looked ready to burst. She woke from her dream with the first drops of a spring storm kissing her face, washing away the tears that had gathered and fallen in her sleep. Sitting up, she looked about her; she was at home in Bree beneath one of the shade trees in her yard. With a thankful glance toward the sky, she rose and went inside just as the heavens above opened and cried with her.
