Reflections: Trestlebridge?

There were two men on either side of her, both older than her, grim and weathered. One of them much more weathered than the other. He still suffered from shivers and rambled occasionally. She did not care for the shelter Torchanar had found. It was cold, damp, choked with smoke piling in the low ceiling shed from their small fire.

But it was safe. 

"I wonder if I should not have told him. Torchanar did not know who the kinsman were that he found ill and sick out here. Nor did he know for whom he came to Esteldín and sought the aid of healers. 


Worse for wear every time I find him. I could tell him he deserves to suffer this way. It would not be untrue. If he knew who he were, Torchanar might have left him. Perhaps he would even have slain him without my presence to sooth him. Not all my kinsmen are as merciful as my brother."

Laerhen looked at him and sighed. She looked at the dark silhouette of the other man at the entrance. Conversation did not come easily between them. There were little she could do to occupy her mind between tending the broth and helping him drink. 

Putting her thoughts to paper helped. It focused her. 

"Torchanar now knows the truth but has chosen to remain. If he will not stay for him, I know he would stay for me. He is a good man, though I see he is pained by a cruel fate. I understand him. I wished to return Rhaug to Esteldín where he will have a warm bed and medicine. But he will not be welcomed there. 


It is the only other option I can think of. It is a longer ride, it would risk him. But this cavern will not aid his recovery. And every day we linger we risk being detected. They would not turn away a sick man and I could tend to him there.

I will consult this with him."

Laerhen's eyes felt heavy. She had barely rested before the call came. The fitful rest atop Torchanar's horse had not been enough. 

She would enjoy sleep in a cold, damp cavern choked with smoke tonight.