Tindir

The 15th day we left the Gravenwood, crossing through it not far from where I was caught in the accursed orc mangling trap. It was to the Gap of Rohan that we were bound, to recover Lord Anglachelm, at least, that was the idea.

It seems to be hours since I left lord Estarfin and Turmagor to go to sleep. And still sleep evades me as the past two days events keep coming to my mind. Oh, alright, not all these days’ events. Just some of them.

How Parnard basically owes his life to the fact he was suffering from more than one arrow wounds to beginning with and how I didn’t noticed the state of Parnard’s ankle, which could have healed badly, provoking a permanent fragility of the joint, chronic pain and blood circulation problem.

“Well done, O cracker-eating varlet! And so I am to be roused, and awakened out of my sleep, to listen to more of your sing-songing prattle! See how my leg is wound up, and my limbs yet trembling and shaking, from the putrid orc arrows? No, varlet, I suppose you must not, else you would give me a moment’s peace, and not twine my thoughts like some noisome, overgrown weed, filling my head up with a bramble chain of idle fancies. You must not suppose I need rest, varlet; but if you do, you are widely mistaken – “

A new day was here, and I was once again hunting for some game for us to eat. I caught a boar, and I took some ribs from it, cooking it on a fire. I cutted the ribs to separate bones and served it to others. Lord Tindir hesitated at first. ”No more sausages, please”, he said. ”Sausages? I suppose they taste like that”, I said. I knew that some Men used boar for sausages, so I understood why he would say so.

Tonight I sit sleepless, and look into the night about me, dark, terrible things lurk there, and often the dread comes over me, that I feel my reason is overpowered, and my senses are bewildered. Abandoned to evil spirits, we are, we who followed because duty demanded it, because we swore to serve. How can we believe that our well-doing has availed anything? All our labors have met with failure, all good for nothing. We only seem to fill up every place with our trouble and strife. Behold the works of the proud Noldor!

While sitting next to a bush, waiting to see if something else would happen, my thoughts were  going in circle over the events of the day. I already completed a list of the plants and healing supply I used and I was currently contemplating just leaving the camp on my own in search for some heal herbs that were quite easy to find in any area with no extreme weather.

Parnard lay in a half-dream, his thoughts back in Imladris, beside the warmth of the fires. Earlier that day, the elves reached a ruined dwelling, roofless, its timbers brittle, charred. Yet another farmstead, burned down to the foundations. Even in this vast wilderness, hundreds of miles from any elvish settlement, those savages had found them, and had cut them down a few feet from their doorstep. Gnawed bones lay scattered around. When the scent of slaughter is wafted on the breezes, bands of hungry Wargs hasten from every side to the feast.

The grey light of dawn did little to lift his spirits as he shivered and brushed the morning dew from his armour, feeling the cold water soak into the leather of his gauntlets as he did so. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, he looked around the camp searching for the remains of a fire to warm himself with. Seeing nothing, he cursed to himself and stood slowly, stretching his limbs and testing his shield arm. It still felt weak but it was not seriously damaged at least. He peered around at his companions; some were sleeping still, a few were sitting and sorting through their gear.

The fairest gift of strength is clemency

If the weak offend;

So kindly do not punish me

For having the fault of a friend.