Two
Rangers
Once again the brush rustles. My shaking hands can hardly hold the arrow to the bow. I feel the enemy's presence; tension rises when whatever it is decides to pounce. As the creature hurls itself at me, I fire. By some miracle I manage to hit it. It howls when the arrow pierces its thick skin. Now that it has slowed down, I get a better look as it snarls, hisses, sneers at me, its black lips curling back to show an unforgiving set of teeth.
Drake.
Its heavy golden wings flatten against its scaly back. Dark blood oozes from the wound in the monster's right shoulder. Terrible yellow eyes glare at me, taunting me, curtly informing me that not only have I not killed it, I have made it very angry. Snarling, it crouches. I can see the power loading up in its strong legs; its claws carve ruts in the tender earth.
Rapidly I load my bow. No sooner have I raised it does the drake fly at me, claws extended, teeth bared, wings beating furious winds. My arrow flies. The creature jerks back, crying out in pain. The feather sticks out of the monster's left leg. This time, however, the drake remains aloft, its own weapons poised for use. Claws fly at my face; somehow I duck and the huge mass of scale and muscle barrels over my head. I leap to my feet and draw another arrow, letting it fly as soon as it is loaded. Thanks to my haste, I miss. Again an infuriated drake swoops down at me. I leap out of the way, making a hard landing on top of a protruding root and knocking the wind out of myself.
I manage to stagger to my feet a few seconds too late. The drake is rushing violently at me; by the time I've regained enough of myself to dodge the blow, its claws are already tearing the flesh on my arm. A rip is made in the deep green cloth, immediately filling with blood. My sleeve is stained a rusty brown. I fail to stifle my outcry.
At this point the drake very well could be laughing at me as it hovers above my head, its horrible expression jeering as it lands. Weakened by our wounds, we stare at each other. Fear, which has somewhat been pushed down by the adrenaline rush, slithers back into my heart. I know by the look in its eye that this time, the drake will go for the kill. But I cannot allow myself to be its prey.
Still stunned from the blow, I fumble in my quiver for an arrow. As I fit it to the notch, the drake slinks forward slowly, hissing my demise. More blood is squeezed out of my arm as I pull the bowstring taut. It screams under the exertion, but my determination to live quiets its cries. A fire rises in my heart, waging its own battle to burn off my dread. I can feel my brow knitting with the tempest of my emotions, and my teeth begin to bare. My focus is zeroed in on the monster's throat. To my horror, the drake seems to mirror my actions.
The drake squats.
I raise my weapon.
The winged menace launches fury into the air.
My arrow flies.
And, only by some gracious work of Elbereth herself, it sinks into the monster's throat.
A final cry of pain escapes the drake as it plummets. It moans when it crashes to the ground with a thud.
Thanking the Valar for my life, I draw my sword, for the monster is still alive. Sweat pours down my face and into my eyes as I hack off the drake's head, putting it out of its misery. Panting, I take a few steps away and collapse onto soft ground. I try to catch my breath as I wipe the blade on the green moss that surrounds me. When the metal's dull luster returns, I sheathe the weapon. Now my hands fumble for my water skin. The cool, soothing liquid glides down my throat. I still have sense enough to abstain from chugging the entire thing down. I know not when I will come across a reliable water source be able to fill it again, so I must ration it.
Somewhat revived, I stand and make my way to the carcass. Slowly, carefully, I work my arrows from its flesh, as my need to conserve them is great. Gingerly I wipe the blood from them and return them to my quiver. I then cast about for the last arrow, the one that only hit air. I find it when I nearly step on it. Perfectly, miraculously intact, it joins the others in the safety of my quiver. Gladly I turn and leave the crumpled, battered corpse behind.
The sun sets, painting a wonderful array of colors in the sky before she finally bids the rest of the world goodnight. Now the stars peek out and dot night's black canopy with light. I put at least two miles between me and the corpse before lethargy takes hold of me. It does not take long for me to find a good, sturdy tree to sleep in. As nimbly as I can manage I climb the sturdy oak, settling in on a wide, strong branch. As soon as I am comfortable, I take a look at the wound on my arm. Though it still throbs, it is not as severe as I had initially thought, and the bleeding seems to have alleviated. I find myself wishing for something to bind it with as I drift off.
Crackle, crrrack, cr-crackle. The sound awakes me, accompanied with the distinct smell of smoke. My senses slap me to rigid attention; immediately I begin to search for the source of the disturbances. I see the small campfire about six feet from my tree. Around it sit two hunched figures clad in earthy, olive greens and muddy browns, their clothing every bit as worn as mine, if not worse. One tends to the fire, the other smokes a crude pipe with his back propped against my tree.
Rangers.
A spit with meat sits over the fire; the tantalizing odor of food causes my mouth to water. As I sit up, my hands instinctively close around my weapons. My heart rate and breathing increase with my growing fear. Instinct is the root of my immediate distrust.
As soon as I move, a small branch snaps, landing right beside the dozing Ranger. He immediately jumps, nearly dropping his pipe.
Across the fire, the second's head shoots up. "What is it, Aradan?"
"Something is in the trees," Aradan replies, frantically scanning the canopy.
I freeze, hardly daring to breathe.
After taking a quick look himself, his companion cocks an eyebrow. "I see nothing," he gruffs.
"A twig just landed right beside me!" Aradan says, a hint of desperation in his voice.
"A squirrel, most likely," the other Ranger muses.
"Maybe," Aradan agrees, beginning to settle down.
Slowly, carefully, I shift to get a better view. The adjustment proves to be a mistake.
Once again Aradan nervously whips around, his grey eyes searching the tree tops.
His companion sighs. "What is it now, Aradan?"
"Something is moving," Aradan worries.
The other Ranger rolls his eyes. "Aradan-"
"I swear to you, Orodben, there is something up there! Something rather large!" He fumbles for his decrepit bow. "And given our location, dangerous!"
Orodben heaves a noisy sigh.
I know Aradan is becoming anxious. "You saw the drake carcass back in the clearing! It is a warning sign!"
"It was barely a yearling. And quite small for a drake," Orodben grumbles.
"But it was a drake nonetheless!"
"Sweet Elbereth, Aradan! Peace!" Orodben snaps.
As the two continue to argue, I slowly load my own bow. It is best, I deem, to be prepared since my friends seem to see me as a threat. I rest the weapon against my thigh, ready to snatch it up when the time comes. And come it does.
Aradan is now on his feet.
"There is something above us! In that tree! I just saw it move!"
Sighing, Orodben heaves his burly form up. "All right, where is it?" he inquires skeptically.
Aradan merely points in my direction in response.
I raise my bow and pull the string taut. I will not fire unless fired upon first.
I know Orodben has seen me, for he is now snatching his bow from the forest floor and fitting an arrow to it. As his bow flies up, Aradan's hand slips to his sword hilt.
I perch in the tree, holding my breath. My arm is screaming.
To my shock, Orodben's arrow whizzes towards me. The breeze from it spits in my ear.
"Raich!" I loudly blurt.
Orodben loads another arrow, but Aradan pushes his bow down. "Wait!" he demands, taking a few steps towards my tree. He looks up and his eyes lock with mine. When he sees my loaded bow, he jumps back.
"Peace, friend! Do not shoot!"
Warily I lower my bow, eyeing him suspiciously.
Aradan smiles. "Mae govannen, mellon nin!" he calls to me warmly.
I am immediately taken by surprise. The Ranger knows Sindarin! "Suilaid," I reply, my voice barely audible.
"You may come down," he says amiably. "I promise, my comrade and I will not hurt you. We are friends of your kin."
Hesitantly I return the arrow to my quiver. But this is as far as I can make myself go. I stare back at the Ranger.
Aradan turns to Orodben. "Put the weapons away. This is one of Thranduil's folk."
With the realization, Orodben hastily shoves his arrow back in his quiver and throws his bow down. "My apologies for firing upon you," he says. "Please, come down."
The sincerity in both their voices consoles me enough to unfreeze me. Never letting my guard down, I cautiously descend the branches. Leaves crunch under my feet when they land on the forest floor.
Once again Aradan smiles. Its warmth begins to penetrate my distrust. For now.
"Please, sit down," he says.
Tentatively I obey. It is hard refuse the warmth of a fire on a morning as chilling as this one has proved. When I lay eyes upon the spit, which appears to have venison on it, my stomach growls.
Aradan sits beside me. He moves slowly; I know he has picked up on my suspicion. He even removes his sword belt and casts it aside. "I am Aradan. My friend over there is Orodben. What is your name?"
"Esgalion," I mutter stiffly.
Aradan appears to be about to say something, when a look of concern crosses his features. His eyes travel to the cuts on my arm. "You're hurt," he says softy, making a small move towards me.
Instinctively I jerk back.
"Peace," he soothes. "I mean you no harm."
With that, he slowly takes my arm in his hands. His touch is surprisingly gentle.
"Orodben," he says, "Get me my pack."
Orodben grabs a small leather satchel and sets it beside Aradan, who reaches in and retrieves a small bundle. A sweet fragrance fills my nostrils when he unties it. Inside are healing herbs. I immediately know the plant; I have seen it much in Thranduil's halls. Athelas.
Aradan takes a pinch of the athelas and further examines the lacerations. "These look like claw marks," he observes. Another smile spreads across his face. "You must be the slayer of the drake we saw a few miles back."
I nod.
"It must have put up some fight," Orodben adds.
Once again I nod, but this time more fiercely.
Orodben and Aradan both chuckle.
Gently Aradan lays the herbs inside the wounds. I wince, but as soon as the pain arrives, it is soaked away. A soothing sensation rushes through my arm, and I can feel the strength returning. The stiffness fades as Aradan wraps it with a bandage from his pack.
I wonder if the Ranger can see my soft smile through the mask. "Le hannon," I say softly.
He only smiles in response.
Elvish phrases:
Raich! ~ Curses!
Mae govannen, mellon nin! ~ Well met, my friend!
Suilaid ~ Greetings
Le hannon ~ Thank you