Deorgast sat on the edge of a small cliff, observing the peaceful plains and hills of Rohan. He had his usual relaxed smile on his face as he looked around idly, a lot going through his head. He was fully recovered from his ugly wounds that almost had him killed a long time ago, back in the outskirts of Bree. It was the second time he got caught and beaten by his own kin, who judged him a deserter.
From that time, Deorgast kept the scar
s from the multiple wounds and the thought of the many friends he made there. He smirked as he thought about Fiontann and his urge for killing orcs, swinging around his sword and shield like there was no tomorrow, never getting tired. "Terrible aim, though." He mumbled as he pictured Fiontann shooting a bow. His mind turned towards Neyaa, the crazy but yet lovable woman who was young but yet so wise, much more than many scholars and such. He chuckled as he thought about the many ways she used to make him blush, there was always something she would say to make him feel embarassed, but yet with a constant smile on his face. He had in his mind the image of every single friend he made back in Bree, all his companions of the Dawn. He shivered as he pictured Hardoleth beheading a man, the misteryous Hyrien who never spoke much to him, the quiet Nimeway and her husband Ross, his kin Falarthin, Rothlung and Terralyin, every single one.
It has been a while since Deor was found at the brink of death by a group of Dwarves, merchants who took him and patched him up. They saved his life, and he was forever grateful to them. Deorgast feared the idea of returning to Bree. If he did so, perhaps he'd be captured again and this time, probably they would finish the job. He had to stay hidden, in the shadows. The Dwarves knew a company of hunters in Rohan, who would gladly take a man such as Deorgast, skillful with the bow, as one of their own. And so they did, and Deor lived a peaceful life as an hunter back in the hills of Rohan, his home.
But something was missing. Deor felt a hole inside him, and he knew exactly hoe to fill it up.
He got up and went back to the lodge where he lived with his companions. He gathered nothing more than some food, water and his bow and arrows. He looked west as he climbed upon Grimme's saddle. He smirked as he looked as his old sword, given to him by Fiontann.
"A new dawn rises.."
((Copyright on the image goes to Brad Allen: www.allenfoto.com))
