Aimlessly she wandered, avoiding the men that were now searching for her. She tried for Rohan, but at every turn, it felt like there was one of the wild men ready to stick her with a spear. Later, she realized that she was going in circles after passing her old campfire a few times in the thick brush. Instead of continuing, she stopped for the night again for another sleepless night. Her sprained ankle continued to throb in pain from being walked on.
She was drenched, a few days later, with rain as she came upon a hill covered deep purple with flowers. At the top, the ground looked scorched and littered with fallen men from the tribes and of the horse-lords. She knelt by one warrior, checking his wounds. The merchant’s daughter couldn’t do much for him and continued on. Then a noise came from the other side of the hill. Cerriel limped quickly towards it, recognizing it as the greatest sign of luck she’d had in weeks. A horse.
Granted, it was a horse and not Goat, but it gave her a chance to ride away from Dunland and hopefully into kind, un-stubborn Rohirrim. Hopefully they were not idiots, she thought with a wide grin.
“Woah there, Horse.” She walked up to it with her hands up, “Let’s just take a little ride.”
It stared at her. That’s when Cerriel noticed it was standing over its fallen rider.
“You have to be teasing my need to get out of here,.” She muttered, looking at the beast, “I knew you were deeply in love with your riders, but to stand over him when he’s dead?”
The horse scratched at the ground, calling her hypocrisy as she recalled Goat babysitting her, “And you read minds… All I needed in life was a sarcastic horse, and yes I am talking to myself.”
She grabbed the reins to the horse. The animal stomped the ground again, snorting its warning. She tried a different approach.
“Av-'osto.” She started speaking, recalling a few elves during her stay in Imladris with spooked horses, “Tolo ar n-“
The horse then bumped her, unappreciative of her Gondorian accented speech, “Rhaich! Sevig thû úan! I hate horses. I thought animals liked that speech. It worked for the elves.” She then gave it a glare, “You really are just going to stand there and mock me? Fine, let the Wildmen eat you. I am not staying.”
She began her decent of the hill, limping and cursing every horse and straw-headed, horse-lorded folk she could think of. As she continued her ranting, she did not see the thing that tripped her, causing her to shout in pain. Cerriel then kicked the body out of rage, weariness and for the rare occurrence, fear of being stuck in Dunland with a hurt ankle and having no clue as to where she was. A nudge on her shoulder brought her back. The horse was there.
“Oh, now you come.” She muttered, wiping the growing tears away.
Eventually, she was allowed into the saddle. The feeling of getting away from Dunland put her at ease, or at least until the horse didn’t listen to commands. Bad luck further hit her as a patrol of armored men arrived. The Men of the Rohirrim patrol weren’t any better than the stubborn horses they rode.
They accused her of trying to steal their horse. Cerriel denied it until one of them knocked her off. She didn’t remember the ride to the next village or camp as she woke up in a cell and without her weapons.
