Taraborn sits down with a thump, leaning back against the earth bank. Sighing, he pulls of his helmet and looks about. Goblins lay around the area, all dead. The fighting had been heavy, and Taraborn and his comrades were exhausted after a daylong assault. The job was to defend the convoy, some rich merchant had travelled West to trade with the dwarves, and was now returning with goods to trade in Breeland and its surrounding area. Goblins had caught them in the wilds between Ered Luin and the Tower Hills, and were harassing them persistently. Each day the guards had pushed them back, and each day they had returned.
Sore, hungry, and sleep deprived, Taraborn rests against the earth bank of the road, not daring to close his eyes for fear of another assault. Hopefully they might outrun their foes soon, but they doubted it, these goblins were as persistent as a hungry hobbit child.
This was the life that he lived, and in his own strange way he enjoyed it. The feel of his sword in his hands, like an extension of the arm, the crunch of blade on bone, the clang of steel on steel and the feel of a heavy purse at the end. It had always been that way, and until recently, he had thought it always would be. Now though, now something was missing. Narys. The woman that haunted his dreams, waking or sleeping, who caused him so much happiness with him, and so much pain when they were apart.
He needed her with him now. These other mercenaries, they were good men and he didn’t doubt that he could trust them to an extent. But none were like Narys. None were as perfect as she whom he could trust so completely. If she were here he would be able to rest easy, she would have his back.
Yet, she was not here, and he had to make do. He would have to continue fighting and hoping he would make it back to her. To sleep in her arms was all he desired, to feel the warmth of their shared body heat combine to keep them both comfortable, her coppery hair sprawled across his face as she sleeps at ease.
A shout goes up, and he is broken out of his reverie. They were moving on, and he was needed. With the image of Narys ever in the forefront of his mind, he climbs back atop his horse, and rides up to his position on the left side of the convoy. All the guards seemed tired now, and the drivers. They had been moving endlessly for the last few days, taking turns to sleep in the carts as their horses are guided by the others. Taraborn was still on guard for now, sword at the ready even as they sun sinks over the horizon ahead. It would be a long night.
