Creoth

"Pathetic! Get up!"

Her muscles ached, arms and legs trembling as she tried to push herself up to at least get her head out of the dirt. She only just managed to dribble some bloody spittle onto the ground before they gave in and she found herself sprawled face down again.

It did not feel like a welcome home.

She left Gorlakon sleeping soundly, her own slumber disturbed by thoughts that would not settle. Zorzimril slipped on a pair of leather shoes and a cloak over her linen gown, silently departing the tent. The fires burned low, most of the Creoth and Duvardain snoring where they passed out from too much ale. Others stood guard, with tired eyes and deep yawns. And there were those that watched that never grew tired or drunk.