MossFelt clambered off her steed steadily, her breath sharp and quickened in the night. She looked 'round, her curly hair being thrown to and fro, the night was cold and no one was in sight. She patted the horse gently and led it to the small bush around the Prancing Ponies side. She tied the reins to the plant and rushed to Iccarus, who was barely hanging on the back of the steed, his breath full of pain. She stroked his hair with a clammy hand and helped to drag him off the pony. He hit the ground hard but it was all she could do. Hobbits were not known for their strength. He let out a soft moan of protest at the movement and put his arm around her shoulders roughly. She grabbed the bag off the ponies back with difficulty and clambered up the steps with him. The door was made for a hobbit so she knew no unwanted eyes would see the pair as they entered for few hobbits entered the pony and no man would fit easily through the entry. She peered around the corner of the entryway and spied a man and a woman talking quietly. She grabbed on to Iccarus tightly, and quickly and quietly moved up the steps to a back room with him.
The room was musty and exactly as she had left it. She shut the door softly behind her and helped Iccarus upon the large bed in the room and sat the bag by the post. She flicked her flaming red hair from her face and scuffled to the fire. A pot lay by it and hot water would do well for her poor lover. She watched until the water came to a soft boil before removing it and placing it on the floor. She then took a towel from her side and dipped it into the pots heated contents. Rigging out the towel before returning to Iccarus. She began at his forehead, working her way down to his chest. He seemed to mumble inaudibly all the while she did so. Her brow furrowed. She wondered where his mind was at that moment and if he was in too much pain.
MossFelt rummaged in the saddle bag and took out a few rags she reserved for bandages. She began the careful process of tying up Iccarus's wounds. The hobbits face looked rough and bruised beyond what she had seen. It would take several weeks for him to heal up enough for his usual activities. She was lucky to have him alive though...not many hobbits could work their way out of a Uruk's interrogation. Though uncommonly stupid Uruks were the smartest of the lot, other than those men who turned to the evil eye.
MossFelt shuddered at the thought. These were dark days...
She moved to the pot once again to refill the rag she held. The water flowed from her hands as she raised it from the pot as though trying to purify her hands from the hurt they had gone through. She sighed moving back to the bed. Climbing upon it she watched Iccarus carefully. His mumbles had subsided which hopefully meant his dreams were at ease. She brushed his dark hair from his eyes, her lip quivering at the sight of her lovers face so covered in bandages. She wondered silently what he would be like when he woke.
Her eyes moved to the writing table in the corner. She must write to someone who might be able to ease Iccarus's pain... but who?
