The Burning of the Westfold
Ayalyn stood outside, gazing at the stars and taking deep breaths of the fresh country air. How peaceful the village did seem; a safe haven in the shadow of the mountains towering high above. Warm lights glowed in every humble cottage's windows.
The rumors of terror and the Nameless Fear seemed ever so distant, and Ayalyn did not believe that anything could ever impose on her loving family and cozy village that she loved so dearly.
Nothing, that is, until that night.
As Ayalyn leaned on the rail of her cottage, listening to her family's mirth within and reflecting on various subjects, she thought she heard a faint shout echoing down the mountainside. She turned and studied the slope far above; and behold, a host of glaring torches, still quite distant, were flooding towards the village.
"Mother! Father!" she cried, "Come quickly!"
Her parents, along with Ayalyn's older siblings, came running at their daughter's call, surprised at the urgency in Ayalyn's voice.
"What ails sister?" inquired Elantë, the eldest of the three children. The family looked in the direction in which Ayalyn pointed. Her brother's eyes bulged at the river of torches rapidly advancing. Hoarse cried could now be heard clearly, and the people of the village were growing anxious. Men went inside to fetch their hunting bows, and boys armed themselves with knife, stick and stone.
"These foes are numerous and will not be defeated by our handful of archers", Ayalyn's father said in a strained voice.
"RETREAT! Evacuate the village! Send the women and children on what steeds we have!" he raised the cry.
Soon the village was in uproar, with terrified mothers clinging desperately to their children while men ran hither and thither, dodging careening horses and shouting orders.
Ayalyn watched in horror as her brother Daryon and her father were swept off along with the majority of other males rushing to defend the village.
"May the grace of the Valar be with you!" her mother called after them in a choked voice. Then she, Elantë, and Ayalyn made their way to the stable adjoining their house.
Their horse, Harfara, was feisty and nervous.
"I want you two to make your way south to Edoras; through the mountain pass" their mother said. "Much haste will be needed" She handed them a bulging canvas bag. "Here are some provisions. They are scanty, but you will have to make them do; it is a long journey to the Golden Hall."
Without taking pains to saddle the horse, the girls sprang lightly up onto Harfara's back.
"What of you, mother? Surely your fate concerns us closely", said Ayalyn, clearly distressed.
"Do not worry about me or your father, or Daryon, we will be fine. But ride to safety, my daughters, then my heart will rejoice. Harfara will be hard pressed to bear two, thus would not be able to stagger under my added weight." Their mother forced a smile. "Now ride with haste" she said, kissing them in turn. "We will surely join you at Edoras."
The girls reluctantly spurred Harfara forward, calling out blessings and farewells over their shoulders. Trotting down the street, they were astonished at the crowded state of frenzy the village was in. They had not so many people existed in their tiny village.
As they fled down the slope away from the village alongside many other mounted women and children, a drawn out wail of agony erupted behind them. Ayalyn turned to look back, her long hair streaming in her face. The horse flanking them was now deprived of rider, and a limp figure lying on the ground grew smaller and smaller. Was that an arrow protruding from her chest? It was too dark to tell.
Suddenly Harfara gave a loud scream and lurched to a staggering halt, throwing the girls roughly to the ground. She uttered a final desperate whinny and collapsed on the ground. A crude arrow still quivered in her belly. Had the ravaging band of enemies reached the village so swiftly?
Elantë pulled Ayalyn down in the tall grass. They began to crawl stealthily back up the slope, but to the right of the village where they could hide beneath the great jutting rocks. Screams of terror rung in the valley, mingled with cruel jeers from the enemy. Billows of black smoke made pitch blotches in the already dark sky. Flickers of red firelight danced high in the air.
"What could have stirred these fell creatures to such reckless hate?" Elantë whispered, her eyes wide with horror and disbelief. "What have we done?"
"We cannot stay here and watch this!" Ayalyn cried. "We must go down and find them!"
Elantë knew she meant their family.
"What can we do? Fall down on our knees and beg for mercy? These men are slaughtering men, women, and children alike." Elantë hissed. Ayalyn could sense the inner tumult, the helpless pain that her sister was feeling. Grief, despair, hopelessness raged in her eyes.
"I shall go" Ayalyn whispered softly. Before Elantë could stop her, she charged down the slope. Elantë knew she could not let her sister perish alone. Uttering a last prayer, she chased after her sister.