Her Eyes Searched the Faces of the Dead
Anarion Tari Culnama
Chapter I- A Vast Loss
Her eyes searched the faces of the dead, hoping against hope that he was not among them. She sidestepped piles of bodies, her features ever wondering, ever concerned. Presently she halted in her tracks and her breath caught in her throat. The dead eyes gazed blankly skyward, the familiar azure blue eyes of her brother. A Southron arrow protruded brutally from his throat; his hands were still groping for it, clutching at the dart. Her own throat constricted in anguish and a bitter sense of loss. A loss so bitter, she could taste its acidic flavor. She stood staring in the lasting silence, the wind hissing all around and tossing her auburn hair about. The tears streaked her face, but she scarcely noticed. All was now so quiet, oh so quiet. Images of her brother giving his farewell, holding her hand in comfort, flooded her mind.
"Don't worry," he had said. "This is but a skirmish. There is naught but a slim chance that I could be killed." How she prayed that he was right, but when not a man returned for a full day, the townspeople began to worry. A scout rode out in the gray hours of the morning to see what had become of them. Lossefir wasn't present when the rider brought back the ill tidings, but she could tell by the great wailing that went up from the crowd that it wasn't good. Lossefir went to the balcony when she heard the clamor and saw the women and children weeping for their lost husbands, sons, and brothers. But still she would not believe it. How could Tinwetar be gone? He was a valiant warrior, confident in his skills and training, and rightly so. His many years of experience had lent him a keen understanding of the way battles are fought and won. He was, by far, one of the most worthy fighter of the Woodland Realm, and the better of the two chief commanders. It was simply common knowledge that if Tinwetar was in a battle, it could be won, no matter the odds.
If only this battle had required merely skill on the field. Normally, Lossefir would not have given up on hoping that her brother might still have a lingering bit of life in his veins, but her brother was clearly dead. She didn't even check his pulse or listen for a heartbeat. He was dead. Lossefir barely noticed the massive mounds of Southrons scattered around him. Her mind was spinning with possibilities of her brother's last moments. Was he the last one standing? Who had won this fight? Why was he dead when he had been so certain of a victory?
She wondered greatly why she wasn't more upset. Why wasn't she a sobbing, disorganized heap on the field right now? He was the only relation in the world that she had! But she knew the grief would come later. This was only the beginning of the sadness she would face. For now, the shock was too new. She still couldn't decide whether it was real or a nightmare! Mightn't she wake soon and discover it all a horrid dream?