The birdsongs of the Trollshaws had been a comfort to Tivlyn at first, and her unease from sneaking away from the watchful, judgmental eyes of Thorenhad and her fear of spiders rushing upon them had lessened enough to allow for a little birdwatching, whilst she still kept an eye out for danger, but when the fellowship had found what remained of Wethorm and Blacksteel's caravan, the birdsongs started to unsettle her; the noise she'd usually find cheerful and lovely felt suddenly so wrong among the carnage and grief.
Felt insulting to those that had lost their lives, and a sting to Blacksteel and Wethorm's grief.
She'd tensed when the boar sprung out from beneath one of the wagons and startled Vratni, moving to help him up and squeezing his shoulder before she assisted Wethorm in tending to the dead, closing eyes that would never see again, at least in this lifetime.
Then the screams disturbed the birdsongs, dozens of birds fleeing the treetops to the sky, and for a little while at least, they were free from their cheerful songs, but that brought no comfort, nothing to ease the quickly growing dread that always seemed to be ever simmering to some degree in the back of her mind since she'd left the Midgewater Marshes after facing that terrible Brood Mother. Wethorm and Blacksteel helped each other onto their horse and galloped away through the trees.
A moment later after a brief hesitation, Vratni followed.
Tivlyn was in motion the moment she saw him leave, hoisting herself up onto the saddle of her massive mare, Heartwood, galloping off after Vratni. He'd been taken from them once, and she'd be damned if she didn't do everything in her power to stop it from happening again. She stayed low in her saddle, leaning close to Heartwood's neck to keep out of the way of branches best she could, briefly looking back to make sure the others were following.
What they found at Barachen's camp was a harrowing sight, just as the attacked caravan had been. Corpses everywhere, slashed by many clawed legs or torn with cruel fangs, the goal not consumption this time, but to inflict as much pain as possible and death, some of the corpses far too marred to look upon long.
As they all dismounted their horses and stepped among the carnage, the birdsongs started again. Tivlyn wanted to scream for silence, but she kept quiet. The birds were not doing anything wrong; doing no harm to them besides unnerving them, to be troubled over such horrible things was not in their nature, and to rage against them would be pointless.
Tivlyn hung back, axe and hammer in hand, intending to keep watch over the group, but Daewen's grief over her fallen friend, Rochwen, and the group finding a survivor, that drew Tivlyn forward. She put her weapons away, briefly placing a hand upon Daewen's shoulder to show her that someone cared about the pain she was going through, she wasn't alone in this.
The gesture wasn't enough. Nothing would ever be enough, Tivlyn knew that. She wanted to kneel beside her elven companion and hug her tightly, but Benjenn and Rothlung were tending to the the survivor, Calenroch, and Tivlyn squeezed Daewen's shoulder before she stepped over to see if they needed help.
Rothlung gave Ben supplies before moving further into the camp with Mel and Wittkun, to see what they could discover whilst Benjenn carefully bandaged Calenroch's headwound, gave him water with delicate care and attention, and offered him comfort as he spoke. Not for the first time, Tivlyn marveled over how one of the strongest members of their fellowship, whom always barreled into battle with ferocity, was also one of the most gentle and kind. She kept watch silently as Calenroch told them of what had befallen the caravan and then the camp when the spiders had attacked.
The birdsongs grew louder, grated worse on her nerves, and Tivlyn closed her eyes a moment, taking a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. She opened her eyes, scanning the treetops and ground around them, blinking back tears when Calenroch saw his fallen companion.
This quest just kept taking and taking. She fought back tears, not out of shame, but because now wasn't the time. Push it down, there would be a moment for letting the sorrow and anger spill out later.
Or there wouldn't.
She couldn't be bothered with that now.
Watch for danger, help how she could, that is what was required of her right now.
She moved to kneel beside Calenroch as Benjenn moved to join Rothlung at the center of the camp, some of her attention on Cal, the rest on her companions. She offered the injured man more water, and when he thanked her and told her that he'd lost his canteen, Tivlyn admitted to losing several canteens before getting the one she held now up to his mouth as he drank, the story shared as a foolish attempt to try to draw him away from the shock of his ordeal with a little normalcy.
They needed to get him to his feet, because he couldn't stay here. They couldn't stay here!
There were debates around her over what the best course of action would be, and Benjenn and Rothlung were eager to finally put the plan they had for a big distraction back at Thorenhad into motion, working around the embers of the campfire. Tivlyn stood, offering Cal her hands, and it seemed like he would stand, but the sight of Rochwen's body stilled him.
Tivlyn knew that feeling all too well; seeing a loved one's lifeless body, grief and horror stealing breath and movement. And having no time to process it, to FEEL it because of danger looming.
She embraced him briefly, spoke what words of comfort she could think to speak and then got him to his feet and to a horse, helping him upon it as dark and foul smelling smoke started to rise from the fire and the smoke bomb Rothlung and Benjenn had flung upon it, made from their hair and whatever else they had placed in that leather sack.
Then the horses spooked, not from them nor the smoke, not from the birds, who still persisted in singing away despite the horrors below them.
That is when she felt it.
Just the slightest vibration underfoot.
Tivlyn drew her weapons, managing to shout a warning before chaos erupted around them. Spiders poured into the camp from the tree tops and churned up ground and a massive spider emerged at the front of the camp from below the ground, throwing Wethorm and Blacksteel from their horse, knocking Cal from his before it attacked the horses. Daewen charged the spider with a cry, not in fear, but in warning. Tivlyn was moving before thinking, no hesitation as she barreled after Daewen, crashing into the spider, aiming to blind it, slay it through one of the creature's many eyes if she could manage it.
Fight, she told herself, roared it in her mind as her voice grew hoarse from roared battle cries. Her limbs were growing tired, arms especially, but she kept swinging her axe and hammer. Keep going, keep fighting, she told herself. Do not stop. Stopping was not an option, it wasn't an option till the battle was done. You can rest when it's safe or when you're dead. Fight fight FIGHT.
Daewen fought beside her, a brilliant light in the smoke, her presence giving Tivlyn strength and courage to fight on harder, and together, they downed the spider, Daewen's sword sliding in deep through an eye just as Tivlyn dealt a mighty blow with her axe through another eye. There was no time to catch their breath, for in the smoke, which was so thick they could barely make out shapes moving within, they could hear the sounds of fierce battle.
Fear gripped Tivlyn's heart, twisted in her chest when she realized that she couldn't see anyone but Daewen beside her. She needed to know they all still drew breath, that they would be all right!! She called hoarsely for them, coughing, moving into the chaos, when torchlight caught her eye through smoke.
Calenroch charged in with a torch, driving back spiders with it, caring not how close the flames came to him and burnt him in his effort to burn a path through the spiders. In a frenzy, he knocked a barrel of oil over and sent it rolling out of the camp and down the path that led from the camp out into the forest, hurling his torch after it, the oil igniting, flames chasing the line of oil the barrel left in its wake, spiders fleeing, pouring from the camp with pained and terrified screeches.
For a moment, Tivlyn was no longer there, she was in the past, over a decade ago, in a different battle. Just a lass of seventeen, surrounded by so much smoke and bloodshed. She couldn’t find her uncle Jackryn, or her brother Bastyn, but she could see her friend, Malledryt, completely covered in flames, ignited by a damned goblin that had thrown a flaming jug upon him. Somehow he's still moving, still fighting, through the pain, through his cries of agony. He downed the goblin, and another, grabbing the jar it held and barreling into the rest of the goblins before the jar exploded.
She screamed, rushing towards the fire. Then suddenly Jackryn was there, lifting her and throwing her over his shoulder, running away from the flames, from the sounds of more goblins, from Mal who had gone silent, Bastyn running hard beside them, neither of them listening to her pleas to go back.
With a cry, Tivlyn was back in the present, swinging her weapons, slaying what retreating spiders she could, but they were moving as if they were a swift flowing wave, and she could only manage to down a few before they were gone, the camp free of them, for the moment, but that would not last, she knew it. The fire would burn out, eventually, and they would return.
Rothlung ran past her, down the ramp-like path after the retreating spiders, roaring at them, or maybe the world...Or perhaps both, Tivlyn couldn't make out what he was saying. He was always raging at something, but always charging into danger too, trying to draw the enemies attention from his companions to himself despite the peril, and she'd rather see him raging than badly wounded. She almost hurried after him, afraid he was going to disappear beyond their sight and their ability to help him, should their enemies return, but when she saw him collect himself and halt, she left him to his rage. Beside her, Daewen sicked up the contents of her stomach, leaning heavily against a rock.
Tivlyn stumbled further into the camp, calling for the others. Vratni answered her, his voice muffled. The wind shifted, the smoke started to clear, but not the smell. Tivlyn could see Mel, thank the stars, who called out that they had to leave, which Tivlyn agreed with fully. She saw Benjenn, still in his bear form, weary, his fur a bit scorched in some places, but otherwise unharmed. She wanted to hug him tightly from relief to see that he was all right, but the need to get eyes on Wittkun kept her moving.
She saw him through the smoke, surly and unstoppable as ever, thank the stars. She wanted to embrace him, Vratni and Mel too, but stars, she was so tired. She could just make out Wethorm and Blacksteel as well, still alive! She let herself relax, just a little, as relief took over all else she felt. She took a moment to catch her breath as Vratni moved to help Calenroch, pouring water on his burn and wrapping his burnt arm in some kind of fabric he had managed to get his hands on. Her companions started debating what to do, where to go, and what was to be done about Calenroch. Leave him, take him?
Their voices all sounded muffled, far away.
Memories and grief clawed at Tivlyn's thoughts, trying to pull her away from the present.
The fire continued to burn, but was already beginning to die back at the edges. Smoke drifted low through the trees. Nearby, Benjenn let out a commanding series of growls.
The growls snapped Tivlyn out of the stillness that had overtaken her for a few moments, as did Wittkun grumbling nearby. Tivlyn strided to Calenroch, agreeing that they had to go but that she would help Cal along, telling Witt she would not leave him there to be eaten. Mel was there in an instant to help her, dependable and steady as ever, and together they got Calenroch onto his feet, helping him over to Heartwood and up into the saddle. Tivlyn gave Mel a grateful nod before hoisting herself up into the saddle behind Cal, taking the reins as the others quickly got on their horses, though the spider attack had taken some horses from them, and all of the dwarves in their company had to crowd upon one horse.
They had to reach Barachen at the overlook. Higher ground, supplies, more arms. That was the only choice, the only hope.
Around them, the birds continued to sing.
