You came back I see. Was your night filled with dreams of blood and screams? I feared as much would happen. Forgive an old woman, if I was able to go on, they might not have been nearly as bad. You wish me to continue this tale and so I will.
Laying there with blade pressed to her throat, eyes steeled and cold, she just looked at her captors, daring them to end her existence, to let her join her child in the after-life. That was not to be so though, as I told you already, for an uncanny thing occurred. A ruckus drew the attention of all at the ritual site. As they looked up, as they drew blade away from Falra, Falra's world again exploded in blood as a sword sheathed itself within the woman who stood over her. Blood drenched and numb from pain, all she could do was watch as one by one those around her dropped to nothing but a hooded shadow. She could make out nothing but the glint of the blade as it reflected the fire's light.
After all had fallen, Falra felt gentle hands pick her up and cradled her, the tremor of a voice spoken through her pressed face against his chest. She knew not what was spoken, but from the way it was said, she could only imagine they were words of kindness. Kindness for a slave, for a woman broken, and most likely who's life was slowly fading away. Falra gripped his tunic as best she could, tried moving her hands and fingers in an attempt to let him know she couldn't hear him, but it was no use. She was too weak from the loss of blood, and exhaustion was setting in.
Her dreams were filled with horrors and beauty. Beauty of a child born of her womb, horror at his loss. When Falra woke, over her stood a glistening light, within the light stood a woman like no other had she seen. The woman had long pointy ears like some she'd seen in the past, but this one appeared golden to her. She saw Eldar speak but could make out not what she said. It was then that sleep took her once more. When she woke the female Eldar was nowhere to be seen. In her place was a mountain of a man. He stood over her, looking on her with a kind and concerned face. He asked her if she was hungry and for the first time she was able to move her hands freely and respond to his words. This hand signaling confused the man and it showed on his face. For you see, most who knew the silent language of hand speak were by large, slaves, or runaway slaves. There were several other races that developed silent words; the dwarves in their mountains, when silence was most crucial when listening to the thunks of the pick. The Eldar in their forests when an uttered word meant giving away one's location to a possible enemy, or scaring off dinner. Thieves and assassins alike, as well, developed hand codes to speak, crud things that often only gave short descriptions and directional points.
Under the care of this man, Falra grew healthy and healed again. She taught him how to sign in the most common of fashions and he taught her the signing of his people. He told her he shouldn't but he feared those that held her would come looking for her again. With this knowledge she could seek out other's of his kin and find help.
As they trekked through the forest, they spoke of where he would take her. He was determined to get her away from where he found her. Put her in a town where she might blend in. Her lack of hearing might be a problem, not many were born with her malady, and that would cause her to stand out. At last he picked the best place, one where he could watch over her more carefully, one in his own forest, he chose the town of Bree.
This my friend is the new start for young Falra. There are more tales to tell, oh so many more. I'll leave you with this one for now though. As always come back and see me. Next time bring a gift of tea and that delicious meat pit you brought several days ago. I will have more stories next we meet. For now, may your dreams be brighter, I know Falra's were.
