Waelden

((This is another point of view, from the NPC named O, I role played in a small event regarding the life of Wealden and Yllfas characters. Its written fast and from memory, so I apology in advance if I missed some crucial elements or made up things that did not happen. - Visit the chronicles this story is attached to, to get an full account.))


The door SLAMS open and a monstrous large man appear in the doorway, blocking the light from the outside and cast a long dark shadow that fills up the room.

The moist ground, after several days with heavy rain, have cleansed the ground for all traces, making it impossible to track anything that might be older than a few hours. The same goes for the smell and other senses... everything smelled and felt fresh… unspoiled, assuring me that for now there are nothing to worry about, around the northern area of the farm.

Two nights ago it was. Two nights ago when we heard Ealfin snorting and kicking at the stable wall. 

Ethel knew much of the cruelty of men and beasts, after seeing her father coming home bleeding and with broken bones over the years, and she had on more occasions than one helped the healers take care of both him and other people, including the elf named Seregrian at one point - now a Forever-Friend to her, by ancient elven ritual. But never had she known such evil in her home, on her own doorstep, in her very own room.

One.. two... and step back… one.. two... and step back… trying to increase the speed... one, two and I’m out of balance again... stumbling back, instead of the single steady step required. It is hard to practice the basic counter maneuver I learned all those years ago, with the left arm in a sling and broken ribs not fully healed. The throbbing headache is not helping either.

Ride not easy into dark and shadowed forests,
Where ancient trees whisper and conspire,
Where roots and stones tickle a horse’s hooves,
Where streams are deep and treacherous,
And overgrown paths lead too far from home.

Ride not foolishly into golden northern realms,
Where wicked elves weave their magic spells,
Where the shade of trees hide their gilded arrows,
Where heavy leaves glitter in the dark of night,
And elven waybread tastes naught of home.

Note: This is my own rendition of J.R.R Tolkien's poem Lament of the Rohirrim / The Horse and the Rider (which in turn is based on The Wanderer), and should be read for what it is: a fun interpretation from a creative point of view.
 

This is another recollection of memories of Waelden from many years ago, one of the many things that formed the man he is today.

This story may not be suitable for everyone. Read at your own discretion.