From atop a watchtower, her arrows flew, one after the other, doing their small share of lessening the storm of orcs swarming the town.
Fo’ Ath.
Fo’ Gae.
Fo’ Lieta.
Fo’ Kim-somethin’.
Fo’ Big Bear.
Fo’ Tess.
Somewhere in the distance, a Rohir shouted out in alarm. They had broken through. Phaewyn didn’t need to understand his words- she could see the fires starting, the black masses spreading. She could hear the panicked screams of the townsfolk fleeing for their lives. Not everyone could fight back. Some tried.
But what could she do? Stay on her tower and shoot. Each arrow had meaning. One for a friend she couldn’t spot amidst the fighters. Another for a man who fell in combat. Soon, the barrel of arrows she had been plucking from was near to empty. Not that it mattered- the orcs were almost upon them, up in the higher part of Eaworth.
And Phaewyn was afraid. Her bow hand shook as she shot. But her probable death wasn’t what caused her shaking. Her separation from the rest of her group- her family- gave her fear. She could not see them anymore. How to know whether they were alive or dead? How could she help them?
She didn’t have the time to think any more about it. Before her, the ugly mass of an orc jumped up into her tower. It didn’t leave her a moment to react. A second later, she was flying off the tower. She never felt the landing- only the pain it left. She lay there for a moment that felt like ages, unconscious of anything around her.
As she opened her eyes, looking up at the sky, her injuries came rushing back. She had landed badly in the fall. Her left leg was twisted, sprained, and her right shoulder, dislocated. Pain radiated from her ribs, as though to remind her of how they were once broken. But she could not stay there to suffer. As quickly as her body would allow her, she got to her feet, all her weight on her good leg. She picked up her bow, too attached to it to leave it behind, and used it as a cane as she started to make her way towards the remaining villagers and warriors nearby. A cry stopped her, and for a moment, time froze in her mind. She could see, not far from her, a boy holding up a wooden sword against an orc. It would be in vain, of course, that, Phaewyn knew.
An unexplainable feeling of realisation grew within her. Perhaps it was that she had grown so accustomed to protectiveness for her friends that she had forgotten others. Maybe it was purpose. She couldn’t tell, but she knew that she could not let that boy fall.
Forsaking her own health, she ran forwards as the orc’s axe descended towards the child, her foot almost crumbling beneath her. The axe slashed the boy’s cheek as Phaewyn slammed into him, pushing them both out of the way of a blow that should have been deadly. The huntress turned back, off of him, dropping her bow momentarily. Without thinking, her left hand went for one of the swords at her side, blocking weakly the following blow, enough to save her life, though the axe cut into her hairline and forehead. She pulled back as it hit her, pushing against the orc’s weapon for dear life. She almost threw her weapon forwards in surprise as the strength suddenly left her foe’s arm. As the orc fell, her eyes turned to her side, where the Rohir boy stood, holding the huntress’s second sword now blackened with blood. The two looked at each other for a second, in wordless understanding, and smiled.
Phaewyn grabbed her bow and sheathed her sword before getting to her feet, blood from her wound dripping down into her eye. The pair, the younger helping the elder walk properly, made their way to the square, slipping around fights as best they could, discreet amidst the noise. Soon they were within the circle the Eorlingas had made, behind which those who could not fight stayed, taking care of the injured. A woman came to the pair as soon as she saw them, embracing the boy dearly before nodding to Phaewyn, ushering the two of them towards some healers, who did a rapid job of setting the huntress’s shoulder back in place and cleaning their cuts, though not having enough time to do more- others with worse injuries arriving.
Thin’s are a’worsenin’... no time t’lose- we need t’save th’folk ‘ere, at this point. We ‘ave t’leave.
The Breelander’s eyes settled on a closed gate in the wooden fortifications behind them. She tapped her new companion’s shoulder, pointing towards it and towards the remaining forces around them. The boy seemed to understand, nodding before talking to the woman who had welcomed him. His mother, as she appeared to be, replied quickly, then hurried off, speaking a few words to everyone she’d pass. Phaewyn took the moment to sit and rest, thoughts racing.
I cannae’ yet see the stars… If I live t’see ‘em, I’ll make sure they shine brigh’.
