In the Grip of Nightmares
“Everything had gone black. All I could hear was that voice asking me the same question over and over again, was the feeling of my lips moving silently against my will answering its devious call. I groped for the moss hung humid wall behind me for steadiness, how shaky did I suddenly stood and not because of my wounds. I could hear water drops falling into the stinking pool we all were standing in. I felt concerned glances on me yet how could they know what was happening. I had to get a grip and make sure. One pound against the slippery stone helped me focus enough to open my eyes. Yes we are still here, in the ruins of old Arthedain, the hooded figure lies beaten in his own blood on the floor, Rogue is ready to end it. Like part of a different person my legs carry me forward ever closer. The creature sees me and blurts its rotten lips lets its poisonous words fly towards me. Fool. He is not my demon. I kneel and stare into the blackness of its pupils, my heart more aware than ever of its being turned to ice. My fears ring true within the darkness, though this creature will soon be no more others wait to take its place are already working their powers of ensnare and destruction. I pull my javelin from the creature’s body, making sure to inflict pain. It screams as I turn around - it is dying by the hand of the one it terrorized; I walk away step by tiny step while in my mind it is not him posing the question that still haunts me, but it is Dale’s handsome face, his charming voice that bids me to follow the answer. I cannot help but wonder how this endless nightmare will continue. Already I act upon anger and revenge as much as I proclaim to rever justice and love - so Dale's voice does not cease to tell me with joy and so do I realize its truth with ardent horror.”
What does this - my life taste like? The answer is so simple .....of Blood.
***
Cold winds blow over the landscape as the woman stands wrapped in furs watching the horizon. Although it is her first visit to the Blue Mountains she has found more respite here than she had hoped for. Many a thing remind her of Othrikar; of all places this was probably a good one to nurture wounds and think deeply. Every day she would make her way from the homesteads towards the forging fires exchanging her skill with willing Dwarven smiths her mind busied with long lived routines. At night the nightmares would come, brutal and unabiding, it was good she had learned to live her terror in silence. Amongst her new company she would play a cheerful part that to some extent became the more true the longer she played it. After some weeks the silverchain not only bore her medal but the ring as well. In some ways she felt herself splitting apart inside – as long as she was away from the Downs it was manageable to keep her sorrow at bay, to let oneself feel the breath of human warmth once more. Yet. It would do no good to pretend this peace would last forever. Between merry evenings and occupying daywork her mind sought solitary walks and it was during these that her conviction grew stronger her intent more demanding. Sparrow was unsure of the the hows and whens, but soon she would need to find enough words to give her tentative request a grounding of reason. Snow starts falling a shine of ghostly glimmers during the hours of eve. Like winter turns to spring things are steadily changing, but to where they will lead no one can foretell.
***
A letter arrived at the eve of full moon, a call back to the Breelands. Sparrow was both glad to be moving again and scared that she would lose the small haven so bitterly found. Travel again, through a passing of landscapes - it was night too when she arrived at the Bree stables and left Star for a short rest seeking the path to the ruins. It was strangely good to see some faces once more, it was even more satisfying to have a task to fulfil. In the morning two of them would leave for the lone lands. She was ready and raised her face to meet the reluctant dawn.
