As the shadows moved across the floorboards above her, each noise made her twitch and cling against the wall. There was little that knew about the passage ways that twisted beneath their feet, but low lives and mice. It had been two days hiding in the dark. The news came to her from Duincerth as he stitched up her face, “Ya face is plastered all over the streets lass. They saying ya killed that man. Some lord of sorts. Regardless the wife wants a head. They have a rather large price on it. Seems to want…” His words seemed to just turn to a muffled, a white noise as she continued to stare at the wall.
As each stitch pierced her cheek, it brought home the difficulty of the decision she had to make. On one hand, she could stay in the country she loved and likely be executed and the other, run as far away as she can, without any idea of where she could go. She could only see one plausible answer as much as she hated it.
Duincerth tied the last stitch in place and she hissed in pain, placing her head upon his chest and simply wept quietly. Duincerth’s reaction was somewhat puzzled at the unnatural emotion, and he brushed his fingers through her hair not really knowing what to say. There they sat for a number of minutes before she finally spoke, “Tell the Blind- Hand I need to leave Gondor as fast as I can. I will steal a horse and head out the seller’s gate.” And with a frown Duincerth stood and left her. Sat in the dusty, darkness trying to figure out some sort of plan.
At dusk she crept into the darkness, hood pulled down over her face and each step she took was as quiet as the next. Her eyes dart at every moving shadow or sound, old washer woman in her doorway, some drunken fool on his way home, cat. Even the pounding of her own heart made her feel somewhat, exposed. Once she got the stables, she found no problem finding a loose board at the back and crawling in. The horses murmured uneasy at the intruder, though the guards seem to care little outside and tried hushing them for a moment. Hyrien drifted along the shadows to the stable door, sliding the clasp quietly open.
With that she turned to face the steeds, taking a quick breath at their splendour. They were much larger than the steeds she had ridden, Donkeys, Mules and scabby farm mares where the only things she had saddled, but these? Something inside nerved her, as the beasts stared back. Though this was life and death.
She moved towards them and they neighed softly, uneasy by her presence though, from the six within the stable only one stood out to her. He was a fairly large steed and his coat was as black as the night. It was if he knew her trouble and was somewhat calmer than the rest, or was fearless in his way.
Her hand quickly fumbles around in the darkness for some reigns and to her surprise the horse seemed willing to allow her to put them on. It was at that, and without chance of saddling the beast she climbed up on top of it, unsteady and nerved by the steed’s height.
Her heart pounded more predominantly in her chest, as a burst of adrenaline filled her veins. It was now or never, now or never, now or never. The words echoing in her head somewhat matched each gasp for air. Outside the guard were growing suspicious and they mumbled between themselves before careful footsteps approached the stable door.
She gripped the reigns tightly until her knuckles turned white. As the creek of the stable door almost made her freeze, what next happened was something sort of a miracle. Whether it was by instinct or by mere training, the horse she was sat upon suddenly bolted, Hyrien gripping to the steed with her life. Calls echoed behind her as the guards shook themselves in disbelief, “Get the gates! Get the Gates!”
The horse bolted towards the wall’s gates, as men charged towards them. Hyrien simply a passenger in this escape plan, as the odd arrow started whistled past her. Ahead the gate started to slowly lowering and Hyrien could feel panic rise inside her. She digged her heals in hope that the horse would find some miraculous speed, and amazingly it did.
The horse sent itself crash through two guard now preventing access to the lowing gate. It wasn't long before they were through the gate and racing down the plains to the forrest. The whistling of arrows skimmed in all directions. The voice playing out in her head, “we are going to make it, we are going to make it!” Suddenly there was a sharp pain in her abdomen and she stumbled from her steed. Arrow sticking from her middle, head bleeding from the impact…. and with that it suddenly went back.
There was not much to remember from then on. The fade from the blackness to a simple grey scale and back. A man, old in his ways, fussing around wounds and asking questions she could not answer. She knew and felt safe but she had no idea where. The man, kind in face looked down upon her and if trying to make sense of her consciousness he simple asks, “This steed of yours I have grazing outside. It have a name?” and with the last of her energy she simply answers, “Suldal.” the blackness creeping once more on her.
