Arewe had knelt down on the grass, his fingers trailing the tale told by the ground, “They do not wear the shoes of our horses…Easterlings….Fifty riders…Rode West, but stopped here…” The old man frowned in thought at the riddle written in the soft marks, “...The night surprised them…. They sought safety between the hills.”
The young woman stood by his side, turning on the spot as her eyes searched the landscape with growing concern. When she turned once again there was suddenly a distant silhouette of one rider in the opposite horizon than where The Easterlings had supposedly set their camp. She frowned in worry, “Master, is that a friend or a foe?” The old man turned his head, staring but a brief moment at the figure, “It is their scout. Quickly get on your horse.” He rushed to step in his saddle, but in contrast to him the woman stood frozen. Three more figures had appeared and they were growing with astonishing speed.
Is it truly your wish to bleed to death, alone and violated. She stood there staring in the eyes of the future her brother had predicted but a year ago.
“Faerhild get on your horse! Now!”, the old man roared and as if by instinct she ran to hop on her horse’s back. Arewe kicked his into a fierce gallop and yelled over the thunder of it's hooves, “Let us hope their horses are tired of a long ride!”
It was as if his words had carried an omen. While Faerhild’s Gewind galloped with fresh and tall limbs, Arewe’s Andwid grew quickly weary. The woman attempted to constrain the speed of her mount, not wishing to leave her master behind. The old man’s gaze snapped between the four Easterlings and her - abruptly he roared from the bottom of his lungs, “Do not wait for me!”
The woman yelled, her voice trembling and lacking the strength of his tones, “No Master! I am not leaving you behind!” He attempted to repeat his command, “Faerhi - -.”, but his words were stolen by a spear.
(I started to write this backwards, so what follows is in Part 2. I'm trying to make it readable from both directions.)
The young woman stood by his side, turning on the spot as her eyes searched the landscape with growing concern. When she turned once again there was suddenly a distant silhouette of one rider in the opposite horizon than where The Easterlings had supposedly set their camp. She frowned in worry, “Master, is that a friend or a foe?” The old man turned his head, staring but a brief moment at the figure, “It is their scout. Quickly get on your horse.” He rushed to step in his saddle, but in contrast to him the woman stood frozen. Three more figures had appeared and they were growing with astonishing speed.
Is it truly your wish to bleed to death, alone and violated. She stood there staring in the eyes of the future her brother had predicted but a year ago.
“Faerhild get on your horse! Now!”, the old man roared and as if by instinct she ran to hop on her horse’s back. Arewe kicked his into a fierce gallop and yelled over the thunder of it's hooves, “Let us hope their horses are tired of a long ride!”
It was as if his words had carried an omen. While Faerhild’s Gewind galloped with fresh and tall limbs, Arewe’s Andwid grew quickly weary. The woman attempted to constrain the speed of her mount, not wishing to leave her master behind. The old man’s gaze snapped between the four Easterlings and her - abruptly he roared from the bottom of his lungs, “Do not wait for me!”
The woman yelled, her voice trembling and lacking the strength of his tones, “No Master! I am not leaving you behind!” He attempted to repeat his command, “Faerhi - -.”, but his words were stolen by a spear.
(I started to write this backwards, so what follows is in Part 2. I'm trying to make it readable from both directions.)
