We continued west and no one bothered us, it was like those plains were vastly uninhabited. We avoided the few settlements. Cernaindo was carried on an improvised stretcher made out of wood and a couple of cloaks, the most resistant ones that we carried. It looked rather princely with the silver embroidery and dark leather tassels that poured on the side.
He was feeling better, some color returned to his face but he was still weak and slept most of the time, a deep sleep close to unconsciousness, interrupted by nightmarish visions that seemed to come from his far past and torment and slow his recovery.
There was talk that we should turn north and, with a detour, leave him in the care of the avari of the golden wood who should be inclined and able to care for him during his recovery and catch up the delay we anyway had due to the weight we carried and care directed to him. He seemed terrified and begged him to allow him a few more days or just let him by himself with supplies and in a good surroundings – some small cave by a river one that he could fortify against beasts and use to recover- alone. His mistrust and displease at the idea to remain in the care of the elves of Lorien was strange but so strong we dismissed the idea, as we dismissed his suggestion: after all we were to return as soon as able but never was any warranty if and when we would return with any news.
We ran out of supplies -that was common, and we handled it well on the plains were rich in small hunt- and out of medical supplies -and that need was more dire, we never planned to care for someone for long. Among us Altalwë had scholarly interests and good knowledge of healing herbs but this lands were new to us and we did not know what we could find of some use. He made sketches of what he could use and in what kind of places each herb grows and I was left alone with Cernaindo while they spread to increase the chances of finding anything of use. They were to return at dawn so I attuned my lute and prepared to make this hours of rest count, for rest and music heal too the soul and its shell.
The music sounded silvery and pure under the morning sky, it was full of hope and comforting, it told of the past and of the future. It told of the beauty of the world, of the times of joy still waiting to be spent with friends and kin, of love and kindness, of the fights worth fighting another day and of love that may be found or not, for someone or something, and how such passion can ensnare, make boundaries adrift, create unworldly beauty and change the fate of things. I sang of Melian and Elwë, of Fingon and Maedhros, of Feanor and his Silmarilli and many other stories, looking at his still pale face and trying to remind him of all it worths returning to.
The cool air of the morning started to change into the less pleasant heat of mid-day and I rose my eyes to check on the sun ride on the sky that went above the rocky wall sheltering us. It was only then that I saw her.
