It might be winter here in the land she was in, across the Undeep to the east of the Riddermark, but she was in armour, and in sun-warmed foliage, barely in cover. She was getting way too hot and thirsty, even now that she'd stopped her digging for a bit to rest and drink.
Opening mass graves wasn't something she'd ever pictured herself doing, no matter the reason. But even this far south, it helped some to be doing so in the winter. Some of the burial sites had been a bit too recent to want to open them in warmer times. It was only because of starting to learn a few bits of the tongue of these "Easterlings" that she'd learned of where they disposed of the bodies of their deceased captives, and she still wasn't entirely sure how and why they'd died, or what use had been made of them.
"Time to get moving again." She was momentarily amused at the fact she was talking to herself in Rohirric these days, after so long in the Mark. The scout got to her feet and listened, re-stowing her water-skin and making ready to move off. With no signs to change her mind, she quietly made her way along to the next area of obviously disturbed, though re-packed, earth.
After another look around, and making sure she could keep an eye on the direction to the nearest enemy camp, she settled down to prying up and digging up the area enough to see whether it was, finally, relevant to her search. It took a while, of course. She was only so big, even though she was quite strong for her size. But after a while, she saw bits of colour that were not showing the dyes of the Easterlings, but of the Eorlings.
Over the past few days, nearly into weeks now, she'd learned how to estimate the former height of a body from the leg bones, and how to tell women from men (for the most part) from the bones as well. It had been mostly a way to help limit her search as she dug, besides a way to keep her mind occupied with something other than just how grisly her task was.
This time, though, she saw the hip and femur, partly occluded by the remains of Rohirric fabric in the "right" colours, and quickly determined that it was of a woman of just about exactly two hands greater height than her own. This was, in theory, what she was seeking, or could be – but it was also as welcome as a sudden attack of Easterlings would have been. Her breath caught in her throat, and tears threatened to keep her from managing to complete her digging. She rubbed her sleeve across her eyes and swore at herself. This time, she was muttering in Quenya. And wouldn't Mirwen be surprised, and possibly even dismayed, to find that she'd learned those words from her?
Steeling herself against her impending grief, and further swearing at herself for making assumptions in advance, she dug carefully around the body to make sure. The remains of the right shade of golden hair, of course, were to be expected. The right hand was missing, and the arm-bones showed signs of a proper amputation, partially healed. Whoever the dead woman had been, she'd not died immediately, though the condition of the remains indicated most of a year had passed since she'd been interred.
A closer look showed some sort of woolen item on that arm, and the remains of a thong around the woman's neck. The leather was barely more than sludge, of course, but it led to a pendant that had weathered the burial better than some items might – and it was entirely too familiar. It might be a coincidence. Surely that particular horse motif wasn't unique, even when hand-carved? But it looked exactly like that one she'd had.
"No. Not yet." She was back to Rohirric, and forced herself to check the decoration around the mutilated arm. It turned out to be a woven bit of knot-work in a very familiar pattern. It exactly matched the two bracelets she was wearing. This time, she had no words. It was fortunate that the depth of her grief had robbed her of breath and voice, for she rocked back on her heels and tried to wail. If she'd had voice, it might well have been enough of a howl to summon the encamped enemies.
By the time she was properly aware of her surroundings again, the sun had moved significantly across the sky. She rubbed her tears away enough to be sure she wasn't surrounded. She was still alone, but for the peaceful dead. She was briefly tempted to just end her own life and join her beloved in the grave, but even in her current despair, that was not something she could quite do. She had too many obligations to the living, including the beasts she'd left in Harwick.
Instead, mostly by touch, she extracted the replacement bracelet and the pendant, and checked briefly for any other identifiable belongings, then set to re-covering the grave. It wasn't nearly as good a job as the dead deserved, but she couldn't see well enough now to do better. When that was done, she moved off to hide in another stand of bracken, crying and mourning until nightfall.
