"This way," Boromir said they were keeping their voices down; the heavy down pour was now just blustery spray, easier to ride in. Whatever they sensed was still watching them, following them as they made their way through the forest. It seemed to be clearing; sooner or later they would open out onto the plains, on their way to Rohan.
"We will not be in this woodland forever," he sighed, mainly speaking to Whistletop, reassuring the creature, who was becoming restless, as was Harver.
Therassa watched him fearfully; knowing he was anxious only increased her terror. She just wanted to be somewhere safe, but she also had no regrets. She'd rather risk her life in unknown woodland than face another calling from Denethor.
They travelled further, beginning to relax a little as they saw, very far off, what sugeested to be a nearing end to the trees, perhaps opening out onto a field. Relief washed over her, she'd feel reassured once she was away from the dreaded place.
As this thought crossed her mind, she heard the not so distant cry of what sounded like a man. It was bloodcurdling; a sharp coldness pierced her spine, refusing to look around. Boromir did, and his eyes widened as he saw figures rushing towards them through the trees. They were humans, barbaric wild men, Easterlings.
"We must ride!" he bellowed, darting off, Therassa close behind. The men moved with unusual speed, there must have been seven but they were determined to claim the Gondorians. She could not make the sound of their calls fade away, their animalistic sounds rattled deep under skin.
A crude arrow was shot, penetrating Whistletop, bringing him to the floor. Boromir tumbled from the helpless beast and lay wheezing. Coming to a sudden halt, Therassa dismounted clumsily and tried to help him to his feet. The weak cries of the dying horse brought tears to her eyes; the arrow had struck deep and pierced a vital organ, making it bleed internally.
"Get up!" she sobbed, pulling at the warriors arm, "They're approaching!"
He struggled in moving, rolling onto his side. They were so near; she withdrew her dagger and stood protectively. Harver stood beside Whistletop, refusing to leave as its friend died slowly.
At last on his hands and knees, Boromir looked blindly about him, struggling to regain control of his thoughts. Seeing the immobile horse, he crawled towards it and stroked its weak form before pulling his belongings from its back. Desperately, he managed to stand and withdrew his sword as the Easterlings jumped into sight, waving aging but deadly weapons.
Harver still did not run, ignoring the fight. Therassa stabbed awkwardly at the men attacking them, but it was Boromir who defended her as she failed to hurt any of them.
"Take Harver!" he barked as he dodged the strike of one of the attackers, "Let me fight them." he gave a blood thirsty cry as he took two down in swift flourishes.
She did not do as ordered as she felt a blade slice her fore arm. Stunned, fury building as the pain struck her, she turned and stabbed blindly, cutting into the skin at the base of its throat, killing him almost instantly as she broke the airways.
Blood upon her hands, she realised that now was not the time to be stunned by her kill. Confused that Boromir was the main target, she searched the woodland only quickly counting three dead and three attacking her companion. It was then she saw the other reaching for an arrow from his sheath. He was watching the warrior.
Faster than she thought she ever could, she ran towards the Easterling who was beginning to draw the bow back, ready for shooting. She knew his shot was good and that he could hit Boromir even as he moved frantically in a difficult battle between the other barbarians.
The enemy was focused on his target and was not so very aware of her as she came at him diagonally, tackling him to the ground. He shot the arrow upwards, penetrating a tree branch. She rolled off him as they struck the ground and struggled to stand upon the uneven woodland floor. Able to get to his feet faster and infuriated, he withdrew his sword, filthy with an uneven edge.
Wide eyed, looking up at him on her back, she crawled away realising her dagger had fallen from her hand as she knocked the enemy down. Not knowing if it was too dangerous to look away to see where it was, she just stared at the barbaric man standing over her. The sight mirrored a memory she cared to forget, scared but angered by the recollection she scrabbled to her feet, avoiding a thrust of the blade.
Taking the moment as he regained his balance, she spotted her weapon about three paces away. Grabbing it, she turned around with it held in front of her; the Easterling foolishly ran into the blade, his rage had gotten the better of him.
His face level with hers, she watched the life leave his psychotic eye, a childlike fear flashing across them before becoming blank. She let go of the dagger handle and the body, with her weapon in him, collapsed to the floor. Carefully, feeling a sickness rise in her throat, she removed the blade and backed away from the body speedily; terrified it may grab her ankle.
Without looking back, Therassa ran towards Boromir who had two Easterlings left, she jumped on the back of one of them, covering his eyes, digging her fingers into his skin as he fought blindly to get her off. Reversing into a tree trunk, winding her, she slipped from him. He kicked her in the face, before returning to his original opponent. Her head snapped right, her whole body collapsed to the mossy floor as her skull struck a solid root. Therassa was knocked unconscious.
OOOoOOO
Cold hands touched her cheeks gently, thumbs tracing the curve of her cheek. Therassa did not open her eyes, becoming, slowly, distinctly aware of a throbbing pain in her head. She realised that she had been knocked out but she didn't want to wake. She felt unusually tired and sore all over her body. She could feel her hair clinging to her face, her damp clothes stuck to her skin. But she did not feel cold; something dry and warm had been placed over her. In fact she could not even feel the wind or the down fall of rain on her face.
Finally opening her eyes, the pain spreading through her brain, she squinted as she looked up at a man's profile. It was Boromir, she could just about make out the strong features, his hands were still on her face, but he was not looking at her. Where she was, it was dark and sheltered from the elements although she could tell night had fallen as the sky was just visible from the corner of her eye, a moon shining mysteriously above. She'd been unconscious a while.
A fire had been lit, and she lay beside it, Boromirs intentions were to keep her warm. She groaned as she tried to move her head. Hearing her and noticing her movement beneath his touch, with a sigh of relief, he smiled down at her.
"How are you feeling?" his voice was soft, hushed. He removed his hands from her face and went to throw a stick on the fire. He'd found a chance while she lay unconscious to gather wood dry enough to ignite.
"My head…" She pushed herself to a sitting position and held her head in her hands, hissing at the movement. She glanced about herself very carefully, trying to avoid the painful motions. He must've used one of the tors as a cave like shelter for them; the rocks were large and curved in interesting, protective ways. Where the moon shone upon the landscape before her, she saw wide plains and the rolling hills about them.
"You should lie back; your head was struck hard and I have not had the chance to fully inspect it." he moved closer to her, kneeling beside her, holding her head with his large hands, his fingers delicately prodding and exploring for any open wounds or damaged areas. One part, to the side of her head was tender and bruised; he discovered this as she let out a little squeal when he pressed upon it.
"Ah, don't be so theatrical. There is not much I can do to heal this, just be careful. Oh, and I bandaged your arm. The cut was not too deep." She felt for the bandage and saw that only a small bit of blood had soaked through, she'd almost forgotten about that injury.
He took the blanket that sat over her legs and draped it over her shoulders, encouraging her to move so her body faced the fire, legs crossed.
"Why did they attack?" Therassa asked after a moment of silence, being offered a freshly cooked rabbit. He'd been hunting too; they must have not travelled much further after the ambush.
"I believe it was because they recognised me, they seemed like a scout mission. Much farther away from their fellow clansmen." He took a large bite from his own rabbit and chewed casually whilst she struggled, the meat was tough and the simple task made her brain sore.
"They are all dead?" she tried to speak softly as to save herself any more mind trauma.
"Yes, I am impressed. You took down two. Where did you learn those skills?" he watched her curiously, finishing his food.
"There was none, sheer dumb luck." Smiling crookedly she tried to finish her own food. He could see she was struggling but he wanted her to gain as much energy as possible, he was concerned that she was not eating enough as it was.
"Well your dumb luck saved us both." He chuckled, "Thank you for disobeying my orders."
Staring at him she frowned, "Orders? Of course I would refuse them. Out here, you and I are equal, are we not? That is how I see it."
Watching her intently, they did not look away from one another. She was waiting for a response whilst he was thinking about how very right that comment was. He had not seen himself of higher stature as they rode across the land, risking their lives to ensure that she could have a life. If he was alone, he would not have stopped so often and would only have been concerned with his own safety.
They glanced away from one another when Harver let out an unattractive snort, seeing the horse grazing. The horse seemed in low spirits, mourning the death of Whistletop.
Standing and then steadying herself, feeling dizzy but relieved that the pain in her head was lessening, she reached into her bag that lay not too far from where she'd been sitting and retrieved the last apple. Approaching the beast, she stroked his ear and presented the fruit to him on her open palm. He took it gratefully; she ran her hand up and down his head and patted his side.
"You were a very good friend to Whistletop," she murmured to him, "I'm proud of you, staying by his side." The horse seemed to listen to her, his large glistening eyes observing her. He nuzzled into her shoulder, and she patted his neck lovingly.
Finally stepping away, whispering goodnight, she went to observe the moon in the sky, the winds had died down and there was still no rain. The night was clear and she was beginning to feel dryer, although in the distance she could see the rainclouds leaving meaning that Boromir had not had her out of the showers that long.
Pulling her blanket closer, she leant on the stone that they camped beneath. It was larger than she thought; it stretched far back and stood very solid. Boromir stayed where he was, knowing that she was not far from him. He had feared the worst that day and could not stop staring at the edge of the rock where she would appear when she returned to her seat.
He wanted to be at her side, to remain at her side. To stand with her, warm her in the night air, viewing the moon shining across the landscape. He did not know if she felt the same, he knew there was a friendship between them but he was unsure of more.
Within a day or two, their travels would be over; he would take her toe Edoras where she would be kept safe by the king Théoden and his kin whilst he continued on to Rivendell. Trusting she would remain protected, it would not be enough because he would miss her.
