Flight from Edoras

For too many moons had she stared out the window of her room, which overlooked the wild plains of the Horse-lands. It had been nearly three years since the death of Foldred, and the grief still pierced her heart as fresh as the day it had happened. 

 But Widryth knew she could not tarry in Edoras any longer, wasting away in a bedroom that would never be warmed by love again. Night had fallen, and the moonlight filtered in through the window that had been dirtied by the wind. The soft light shone down on a scene of flight. 

  Widryth had her old pack open on her bed, and the room was in disarray. She had sorted through essentials and non-essentials, the former of which was tucked into the bag if she could fit it in. Tears stained the wood floor as she knelt and stood and moved things about. It was not long before she was finished. On her dresser there lies a blade, one certainly of Rohirrim make, one that is oft used by the Riders of the Riddermark. She takes the blade, and in its place, she leaves a simple silver ring, set in the center with a gleaming green gem. 

 Widryth knew her mother would understand why she had to leave. She was a wise woman, if sickly often, and knew best the grief that had plagued her daughter’s heart and mind. Widryth also knew that it would devastate her father to find out with the rising sun that she had fled home with nary a word of warning to him. Although he had wanted a son, it was he who raised a daughter and taught her to read and to write, and the ways of the sword, so that she would be prepared to handle herself against the shadow that stirred over their home. 

 I cannot think of that now, she told herself as she threw the pack across her shoulder, settling the strap so it did not cause discomfort. She then took the sword in its scabbard and tucked it onto her belt. 

 She crept through the house, wincing with every creak of old wood underneath her feet. To awake, her parents would be to forgo her quest, for she knew the dismay in their eyes would be enough to make her stay.  As she approached the door, she heard Barnum, the old bloodhound, snort as if he was waking up. She froze, but she heard him then roll over and continue to snore by the dying hearth. A sigh of relief, and then she opened the door and was free. 

Well, free as one could be. There still yet remained a final task, and that was mounting up and leaving the ranch. Widryth scurried down the steps of the back porch and ran out into the open horse pasture. The stables were to the east of the house, and she knew exactly which one harbored Felgar. She threw open the old stable door with difficulty - even after years of doing so, the heavy wooden door posed a challenge to her. The sound of it opening and the moonlight that poured in after awoke some of the horses with a snort. She calmed the ones closest to the door, before spotting Felgar’s stall about six spaces in. 

 “Hello, old friend,” she greeted, and he whinnied with delight upon seeing her. 

 “Hush! Hush or you will get us both caught,” she chided. Felgar thankfully remained quiet after that, making it easy as she took the tack off of the wall. She had not ridden Felgar in some time, and so she understood his eager anticipation. He shifted his hooves as she equipped his gear, and then she opened the stall door. He snorted as she led him out by the reins.
“What is it?” Widryth asked although she knew well he could not answer. Nevertheless, perhaps he sensed something - and that he did, for as they stepped out of the stables, she felt the scatted, cold droplets of the beginning of rain. She quickly closed the door so as not to let the chill into the stables.
“I’m sorry,” she told Felgar as she pulled the hood of her cloak over her head. “I know it is raining, but we must still go.” She hooked her foot in the stirrup and pulled herself over. She glanced back at the house once more, the only light growing dimmer now in the windows as the last sparks of the hearth dithered out. I’m sorry, she thought. But I cannot stay here, in this place, where he once was. I hope you can forgive me. 

 And after saying her silent good-bye, she urged Felgar on, full speed out of the pasture and into the wilds of the Rohirrim to find her way to Bree.