She'd crossed that bridge dozens of times before. The Trestlespan was strong and sturdy, and its wooden walls hid most of the ravine below it from view.
But of course, it was still there, and it was impossible not to look at it, even if only by peripheral vision. Cirith Núr was fairly wide, and its gray rock bore striking contrast against the grassy green lands on both sides. The roaring waters running in the depths, splashing against the rocks in their journey to the west, sent their echoes upwards, bouncing inside of her head as if within the stone walls of the dark abyss under the bridge, unnerving her entire being and drowning her, slowly but surely, in anxiety.
She had thought about taking the route of Nen Harn instead. It was much closer to Esteldín; it would've saved great distance. However, the neighboring waterfalls could be heard all over the lake, no matter on what side one stood… More importantly, solitude was absolute in its vicinity, and even though she wouldn’t interact with anyone in Trestlebridge, riding too fast and too swift through the small town to be noticed, the presence of people helped, if only a little, to calm her down.
Whether it was because she truly appreciated the “company”, or out of shame of being seen having a breakdown, she herself wasn't too sure. The suppression came on its own, without effort or thought, and the horror amassing in her stomach felt only like the shadow of a dark cloud, its storm threatening on the horizon, far away.
Still… Although she had carried this fear from a young age, it’d been a long time since last she’d felt so disturbed by it. So physically… limited. Her senses betrayed her: try as she might, she couldn’t focus on anything aside from the sound of the water; she was drawn incessantly to look between the wooden planks, drawn to look down at the darkness, forgetting that it was still daylight, forgetting that there was no stench of worm blood, that she was not under its spell…
The date was the anniversary of that dreadful night. The memory was fresh again, every sensation alive on her skin.
She felt like suffocating, her breathing became faster and erratic; her chest tightened, her hands trembled and hurt, and her sight became black. Then, a short glimpse of gray, the dark abyss of the rocks, the endless fall, the thundering of the waters, the horrifying impaled silhouette in the moonlight.
Her fault, her fault, all her fault, and she was only paralyzed, unable to move, unable to act, unable to stop them.
Useless. Cursed.
Her horse smelt her fear. It ran faster. It passed the guards who stared at it, startled. It kept going, unstoppable, into the forest, losing itself in the distance.
And the sound of the water died down. There was the rustling of the leaves in the breeze, birds singing and chirping, the wind caressing her hair.
The horse stopped slowly. Amarthniel heaved, tired as if she’d been running. She seemed lost for a moment, unable to recognize her surroundings. But then she smiled weakly and caressed the noble animal's neck.
'Athaeroch, annon le,' she whispered. 'Thank you.' The creature shook its head and neighed softly in return.
The road was still long, but she did not stop to rest. As the stars and the moon appeared, she continued her journey, and they traveled with her. There would be no rest that night.
