Cerriel

The Misty Mountains ahead, Rivendell behind. The group walked up the path leaving the Elven settlement behind them with mixed and confused feelings. Even someone who isn't fond of Elves and their ways can be captivated by Imladris and that is what happened. That strange bliss  that fills one's heart there started to diminish once they all fully realised that they are leaving and entering the den of the wolves, but it's not the danger, it's the absence of that warmth that comes in RIvendell, the absence of...

Aching pain burned in her feet as she walked through the town.  In her opinion, one should not have to spend so much time standing on their feet as she found guardsmen of the town had to.  If you asked her, Nettie would say it was inhumane and cruel, although she would probably only say that in that moment for her feet hurt so much.  The uniform she wore felt heavy and uncomfortable on her shoulders, but she had not had time to take it off and store it away where it would be safe.

She hated these wooden cells with a passion. They were small and she hardly had room to move around in. The guards were hated even more with their horrible, guttural speech that she couldn’t understand. The days passed without word of what they were going to do with her. Cerriel spent most of the afternoon, cursing their horses and straw heads, hoping for some kind of reaction. She soon realized that they just did not speak Westron, leaving the troublemaker to her mumbling curses again.

Aimlessly she wandered, avoiding the men that were now searching for her. She tried for Rohan, but at every turn, it felt like there was one of the wild men ready to stick her with a spear. Later, she realized that she was going in circles after passing her old campfire a few times in the thick brush. Instead of continuing, she stopped for the night again for another sleepless night. Her sprained ankle continued to throb in pain from being walked on.