Chapter 10 has arrived! This one's a bit longer… hopefully it will make up for my late update. I really do apologize for the wait, by the way. I've just been VERY busy. :P
Anyways, I hope you all like it! Enjoy!
Dawn rises above the horizon, painting the city of Rivendell with gorgeous shades of gold and pink. The Elves have just begun to stir; I can hear their soft foot treads as they make their way down the cobblestone streets. The birds sing their glorious melodies as they flutter amongst the trees dotting the courtyard in which I stroll, but I cannot bring myself to enjoy the sweet sound. Instead, my mind is spinning with one thought that has blossomed into thousands of possibilities.
Why is Carca here, and where is he now?
It has been two days since the beast's mysterious arrival. Lindir had turned in for the night shortly after the incident and been replaced by a different Elf with pale gold hair and stormy grey eyes. He introduced himself as Daeron, and though he seemed nice enough, I could not bring myself to ask him about the wolf. Instead, after many long hours of doing nothing but sleeping and pacing, I had requested to take a stroll through the courtyard. Daeron did not hesitate to guide me out to the courtyard, claiming that he himself would, "like some time with nature."
And that is how I ended up here in the first place, gazing up at the magnificent tree tops as Daeron kept a watchful eye on me from beneath a nearby archway.
How amazing that the trees here keep their leaves even in the cold of winter, I think to myself. The foliage shines golden as sunlight streams through the gaps between the leaves. For a moment I stand there in silence, willing myself to forget my troubles, but somehow I cannot. Carca is here, though I know not where exactly. That thought in itself is enough to send me into a tizzy.
"Why?" I whisper aloud. "Why would the Elves bring him here?"
"Something wrong?" comes a voice to my right. Daeron, ever insightful, must have caught onto the conflicted look of my expression.
"It's nothing," I say quickly, looking at him with a smile. Seeing him makes me think of Legolas. They have similar colored hair, the same bold Elven features, but there is something that Daeron lacks. His eyes do not harbor the same wisdom and depth as the Prince's, nor do they shine as brightly.
Why does everything I see make me think of him?
Shaking my head, I force myself to continue walking along the earthen pathway. The thin Elven slippers adorning my feet are no match for the roughness of the ground beneath them; their soles have worn themselves into nothingness, exposing my bare feet to the elements. But somehow, the feeling of the soil between my toes is enjoyable, therefore I declined Daeron's offer to get me more suitable footwear.
Speaking of the Elf, I feel that perhaps now is the time to mention that I had seen the wolf.
"Daeron," I say suddenly. "Why is the wolf here?"
The Elf blinks with surprise, and his face pales.
"Wolf?" he replies uneasily, rising to his feet and striding over to me. "There is no such thing within the walls of Rivendell."
"Don't pretend to be ignorant. I know what I saw. Surely Lindir told you that he and I watched the animal being led into the city?"
"I assure you, there is no such thing. You must have been dreaming."
Why are you lying, Daeron?
"My eyes do not often deceive me," I say warily.
"The darkness of night can betray even the sharpest of eye. Do not trust in what they see, for the truth will not always be shown." Daeron narrows his eyes as I take a step back, an expression of disgust written onto my features.
Liar! Deceiver!
"Oh? Then why don't you ask Lindir about it?"
"I already have," he says. "He told me that the late hour was playing tricks on his mind. There was no wolf being led into Rivendell; only the patrol."
My face flushes with angry heat. Is he honestly going to pretend that I saw nothing? When Daeron makes no further reply, I take a deep breath and decide if this is the game that he's going to play, then I might as well join in.
Forcing myself to stay calm, I straighten before giving the Elf a weak smile.
"Forgive me," I say, forcing myself to play along. "It must have been my imagination." Shrugging off the anger rising up within me, I change the subject. "Do you think you could give me a tour of the city? I've been dying to see more of it!"
"It would be my pleasure. Guests are always welcome to experience the full glory of Rivendell whenever they wish." I barely contain a snort as the Elf turns and beckons me to follow him back up the path.
A guest? Since when do guests have guards stationed outside their room? Since when do guests have to be escorted everywhere without a moment's peace? I am no guest…
I am a prisoner.
"This is where our councils are held," Daeron says, leading me through a dark archway before we emerge in a circular room. I blink as my eyes adjust to the glare of the winter sun.
A dozen or so chairs form a ring around the perimeter of the room, and a small gray pedestal stands in the middle of them. There is no ceiling, allowing the trees towering on either side of it to grow overhead. Birds flutter admist the tree tops, their wing-beats stirring up old blossom petals that now fall daintily onto my hair and shoulders. Golden leaves are scattered along the ground, crunching beneath my foot treads as I admire the scenery.
Or, at least, I try to make it look like I am.
My mind is secretly straying to thoughts of a much darker place. A place where the Elves could potentially keep an enormous wolf hidden away from my sight. Or so they would think.
"This is beautiful," I tell Daeron, turning to meet his silver gaze. "When was the last council held?"
"Many years past," he replies. "Lord Elrond has found no need of them in recent times."
"If that is so, then do you have visitors often?"
"Not often," he says with a hint of sorrow in his tone. "Wayward travelers will pass by here on occasion, but they never stay for more than a single night. Our most recent and memorable encounter with the other races was when Thorin and his company passed by on their quest to reclaim Erebor."
My father used to tell me tales of the desolation of the dragon, Smaug. He was a very vain beast, I was told; vain and incredibly powerful. Yet it was but an ordinary man, Bard of Laketown, that felled the creature with a black arrow.
"What were they like?" I ask. "The dwarves, I mean."
Daeron chuckles lightly.
"Now that is a question that might best be reserved for Lindir." He smiles. "The poor soul had quite an experience when the dwarves decided to use our fountain as a wash place. I dare say that he has never quite recovered from the ghastly sight."
"Has he not?" I laugh in turn. "I can only imagine what that must have been like... and for such a shy person to go through, nonetheless."
"To be shy is in his nature. Not even Mithrandir can seem to get more than a few words out of him at a time."
My smile fades slightly at the mention of the strange name. Daeron seems to catch onto my confused look and quickly fills me in.
"Mithrandir is a great wizard, a member of the Istari. He is known by many different names; perhaps you are more familiar with the title Gandalf?"
"I have not the slightest idea," I say. "He might have dropped a visit by Brunsfarrow once or twice, but I was too young to remember clearly."
Enough talk of dwarves and wizards! You need to figure out where they are keeping Carca!
"It has been very kind of you to show me around your city, Daeron." The Elf gives a graceful bow in reply, and I am silent for a moment as I fumble for more words. "You don't happen to have… I don't know, maybe someplace darker that might provide an escape from the, um…" I pause awkwardly and fling my arm up to gesture at the sky. "The, um… the sun? I have begun to feel quite flushed."
"If you wish for me to take you back to your room, you need only-"
"No!"
The Elf recoils a bit at my powerful tone, and I smile in an attempt to lessen it.
"What I mean to say is, I was wondering if you have any caves around here?"
"By caves, do you speak of the forge?"
The forge, I think. Would the Elves consider keeping Carca locked in there?
"You have a forge?" I ask, widening my eyes in an attempt to appear curious.
"Yes," Daeron replies somewhat uneasily. "But it is currently in use by some of our, erm, blacksmiths. Perhaps we can visit some other-?"
"Why not now?" I interrupt. The Elf frowns at my rudeness, and I giggle in an attempt to lighten the mood. "I am sorry I interrupted you; where are my manners?"
"You are forgiven," says Daeron, quickly waving me off. I smile gratefully before continuing.
"But in all seriousness, Daeron, I do not know how long I will be staying here. If the Wood-Elves were to arrive again tomorrow, and I hadn't seen the forges it would quite nearly break my heart!"
"It is a five day journey from Mirkwood to Rivendell. It would be impossible for them to return so quickly."
Elves. Always count on them to give you the blunt truth.
"Well, what if Elrond decided to send me off to some human settlement? Have a heart, Daeron; at least give me a glimpse of them?"
The Elf gives a long and heavy sigh before shooting me an irritated look.
"Fine, but we cannot stay long. Lord Elrond would want you resting."
And with that the Elf turns on heel and strides back through the archway.
Is Carca there, perhaps? Is that why Daeron acts so reluctant to show me?
Despite my fear of the wolf, curiosity has begun to get the best of me. Carca is not to be trusted, but he is not entirely evil, either. There must be some part of him that is still good. After all, he strove to protect his people just as much as my father did the residents of Brunsfarrow. That must amount for something, at least. The wolf may be a beast, but does that necessarily make him the murderer I dreamt of all those nights ago?
Would Carca kill me if he had the chance? Maybe that's why the Elves brought him here in the first place; maybe he has killed someone.
Could that someone be one of their kin?
I want to know. I need to know, and finding Carca is the only answer. No rest will come to me until I know.
Sighing warily, I gather up my courage and follow after the blond-haired Elf.
Daeron's silver eyes seem to glow as he leads me down a narrow pathway that opens into a small grove of trees. The sun can barely reach through the thick canopy of grey-leaved trees surrounding us, which is both a blessing and a curse. It is a relief to be away from its constant glare, but I also know that far more dangerous things can lurk in the dark places of the world.
"Watch your step," Daeron says absentmindedly as he steps over a tree root. "The ground is not even here."
Taking the Elf's words into consideration, I am careful to avoid the obstacles along the pathway. Then, after a long few minutes of trekking down the path, we come across a flat section of ground. The trail ahead leads into a dark cave that appears to have been carved into the mountainside. Two torches decorate the walls on either side of it, and the air drifting out of the opening smells hot and stale compared to the freshness of the forest.
"Is that it?" I ask. Upon realizing how my comment might be misinterpreted, I quickly add, "It is very impressive. The Elves must have worked many long months in order to carve this out."
"It was not the Elves who created this cave," Daeron says as he slides one of the torches from its holster. "Nature was the only force at work here. Now take that torch in hand; the caves are quite dark." I obediently grab hold of the opposite torch and follow the Elf into the depths of the cave.
Sounds of metal clanging against metal begin to fill me ears as Daeron leads me deep into the rock-walled tunnel. The torch proves to be the only significant form of light source, and I am glad that Daeron instructed me to take it.
"So," I begin, "how long does this tunnel go on for?"
"Not far," he states blandly.
And there goes my attempt at conversation…
The Elf is right. We have been walking for only a minute or two when we suddenly emerge into a large cavern. Its enormous stone walls tower up on either side, and I glance up at them in awe. A clattering sound suddenly alerts me, and I look to my right and see two Elves hammering together the broken pieces of a sword. The metal glows an angry red as their anvils strike it multiple times, sending showers of sparks onto the floor. The table on which they work is decorated with scorch marks, and I watch as one of the Elves strides over to a stout rack of swords lining the walls nearest to them. He singles out a particular blade and strides over to the far side of the cavern. A large fire pit burns in an opening in the wall, and I watch in awe as the Elf thrusts the broken blade into the flames. The process is repeated by several more Elves bustling about the large area.
"It looks as if they are preparing for something," I comment. "Why else would you have need for so many weapons?"
"Orcs have begun to grow braver," Daeron says quietly. "It will not be long before they infiltrate our borders, and we must be ready when that happens."
There is a brief silence as I continue to admire the sight before me. None of the Elves appear to have taken notice of us; either that or they pay us no mind.
I am just about to ask Daeron another question when something else captures my attention. On the wall to my right lies a wide-mouthed tunnel. As if on cue, a strong gust of hot air blows out from the yawning black jaws, and a deep rumbling sound shakes the ground beneath my feet.
"Where does that lead?" I ask, gesturing to the opening. Daeron's body tenses as his gaze comes to rest on the tunnel, and he abruptly turns on heel.
"Nothing of importance," he says stiffly. "Come now; you have seen the forges. Let us go back to the city."
Somewhat reluctantly, I allow the Elf to lead me back up the tunnel from whence me came, making sure to memorize every one of its twists and turns.
This may be my first time venturing into the forges, but it will not be my last. While the Elf was skilled at trying to hide it from me, I know full well that something inhabits that tunnel in the forges. Something that Daeron didn't want me knowing about.
Something that bears the name of Carca.
"Keira."
Two hands grip my shoulders and jostle me gently.
"Keira, wake up!"
My eyes flutter open and, blinking sleep from my eyes, I take in the face of Faelwen hovering above mine.
"What… what is it?" I ask with a frown. "What's going on?"
"Listen to me," she says sternly, green eyes blazing. "We must get out of here."
"Excuse me? What are you talking about?"
The Elf opens her mouth to reply when the sharp blast of a horn cuts her off. I sit bolt upright just in time to catch a glimpse of several dark figures bustling past the archway. They are all armor-clad and bear silver long-bows.
"Rivendell is under attack?" I ask bleakly, looking up at my mother; there is fear in her eyes.
"Yes."
I hurriedly swing my legs over the side of the bed and allow the she-elf to hoist me to my feet.
"Orcs?"
Faelwen nods.
"How many of them?"
"Dozens," she replies gravely. "And they are no regular Orc, either. They are the black Uruk-Hai of Mordor."
Chills race down my spine as my mother continues.
"I fear that there is a much darker force at work here." Faelwen takes my hands in her own and tugs gently. "Come now. We must leave."
Something about the she-elf's demeanor makes me suspicious, and I narrow my eyes.
"What are you hiding, mother? Why is there guilt in your eyes?"
Faelwen gazes back at me before letting out a long sigh.
"There is something that I must tell you, Keira. Something I should have told you when you first arrived here. But right now we must go."
"Not until you tell me what you are hiding!" I raise my eyebrows, willing her to go on. "Please, Faelwen."
My mother hesitates reluctantly, but she must catch onto the intensity of my tone, for eventually she gives in.
"Let it be said that I would not tell you this under normal circumstances." The she-elf's grip tightens around my palms. "But if the Orcs were to breach our borders and claim me, I will not die with these words still in my mouth. You are… not the only child I bore."
My face registers betrayal and shock, and I take a step back until my calves are pressed against the bedframe.
"What?" I gasp.
"Many long years ago, there was another daughter bore to me. Her father was my first husband, Saeldur, a Wood-Elf. We were married for three hundred years before an Orc struck him down near Mirkwood's borders. My daughter was grief-stricken in the long months that followed his death and ultimately made the decision to live in the Woodland Realm." Faelwen's gaze softens, pain shining clear in her eyes. "Her name is Antiel."
"Why didn't you tell me this earlier?" I demand angrily.
"Because I feared that too much knowledge of the matter would bring harm to you. Please, do not hold this against me."
I have a half-sister that lives in Mirkwood.
Faelwen opens her mouth but I push by her before she has the chance to speak.
"Keira, would you just…"
"NO!" I roar, turning around to face her. There is fire in my eyes and venom on my tongue. "You had your chance to tell the truth, but now I see that you have forsaken it. All you have ever done is deceive me."
"I didn't tell you because I was afraid how you would react!" The she-elf's green eyes are ablaze with worry and grief. "Having been reunited with me was one thing, but to be told that you had a sister? I was fearful that you could not handle it all."
"Do you really believe me to be that weak?" I ask, shocked . Faelwen reaches out to touch my arm.
"Keira, please understand. It was for you own good."
My vision reddens with rage as I stare at the hand outstretched towards me. Tears have begun to pool in my eyes, but I don't blink them away. Instead, I allow them to spill over my cheeks as I look up at my mother once more.
"I will never understand," I whisper brokenly before turning away from her and fleeing from the room.
I don't know exactly how I end up in the caves again. Perhaps it was destiny that brought me back into their dark clutches, or maybe a cruel twist of fate. Either way, when I finally become coherent enough to think straight, that is where I find myself to be.
My cheeks are wet with tears as I sit crumpled on the floor of the tunnel, my back propped against the wall. A lit torch rests on the ground beside me.
How could this happen... How? Why did Faelwen have to keep so many secrets? What sort of mother would keep her daughter from knowing about her own sibling?
"A very, very horrid one," I mumble to myself.
Suddenly, my ears pick up on a deep rumbling sound from somewhere within the caves. Fear grips at my heart as I recall the last time I ventured in here.
That is the same noise I heard yesterday, I think, using my arms to push myself onto my feet. Head spinning, I find myself beginning to stumble forward through the dark tunnels of the cave. But, unlike the last time, I am alone now. Daeron and most of the other Elves are out fending off the Orcs that threaten to invade Rivendell, and Faelwen didn't dare follow after me. No doubt she could sense the rage coursing through my veins.
Now here I am, grief-stricken and terrified, as I venture deeper into the tunnel. The torch I hold clutched in my hand provides little light; though the flames are burning brightly, the blackness is simply too thick to penetrate. The feeling that something sinister lurks ahead has begun to cling to me as the condensation clings to the rock walls. And though my footsteps are soft and silent, I can't help but wonder if someone—or something—can hear them.
"Be brave," I whisper to myself. "What would Father do?"
A low growl emanates from somewhere up ahead, bouncing off of the walls before reaching my wary ears. My muscles tense up as the torch is abruptly snuffed out by a cold breeze snaking down the tunnel. A shudder trembles up my spine as I am left in total darkness.
Frustrated, I hurl the now useless torch into the cave wall. The mistake is evident as soon as the object collides with the stone. The noise of the impact echoes loudly in the relative quiet of the tunnel. The growling ceases abruptly.
Idiot! I scold myself.
The deep silence that follows is nerve-rackingly long. My heartbeat thunders, hammering in my ears.
Can he hear it, I wonder?
I force my legs to start moving forward once more as worry swirls around in my mind.
He heard me. He knows I'm here.
My arms are extended out on either side of my body, allowing my fingertips to brush against the stone walls of the tunnel. Touch is the only way I can navigate in the pitch black, though even that sense can sometimes deceive me. The walls are uneven in places, narrowing down the widening out the further I venture.
Minutes later, I can hardly stretch my arms out far enough to touch the stone. An irritated growl escapes my lips as I give up on my original tactic and resort to hugging close to the right wall. Relying on one wall alone is not at all logical, for if the tunnels were to branch out at some point, I would have no idea where I was going. It's not like I know where I am going anyway.
Another deep growl echoes down the tunnel. This time, however, it is followed by a far more sinister sound. A howl, as sharp and cutting as the Elven blade I have tethered to my hip, slices its way through the tunnels. Fear strikes me in the heart, moving me to cower closer against the wall. He is close, now; surely his keen nose must have already picked up my familiar scent.
Then, suddenly, I feel it. The slight shift in the air that signifies I am no longer in the tunnels. An unpleasant rotting smell has begun to reach my nostrils, and I wrinkle my nose with distaste as I emerge into a dome-like room. The only way I am able to make out its shape is by the multiple cracks that line its tall ceiling. Thin rays of moonlight stream through them, illuminating the dust drifting off of the stone with my every footstep.
This isn't the forge, I think to myself before placing a hand on my forehead. Excellent, now you're really lost. How can you become lost at a time like this?
"Who goes there?"
The voice is as loud as thunder and weighs down on me as if it harbored some physical property. Chills race down to my fingertips, and I feel my body stiffen as I step out into the dark room.
I know the speaker of those words.
"You know who I am," I say strongly. "Do not pretend to be ignorant, Carca."
A deep silence follows my statement, followed by a grating noise that I soon realize to be laughter.
"Alas!" cries the beast. "Byron's daughter has chosen to venture into the dark. Tell me, do you regret your decision now?" I catch a glimpse of a dark shape moving through the shadows to my right, but it is gone before I can take a second glance. A small tingling sensation arises in the back of my neck as I feel the creature's eyes boring into me.
"Why are you here?" I hiss at him. "As far as I know, the Elves of Rivendell do not take prisoners often. Surely they must have good reason to bring you here."
"Bah! You think they brought me here?" Another flash of black fur, this time close enough that I can feel the small breeze from its movement. "Foolish girl; the Elves think that these puny chains can hold me, but I have deceived them of my true strength." A small rattling noise ensues; metal clanging against stone, I realize with a shudder. "I allowed them to capture me," he continues.
I smile at the lie in his voice.
"So you claim."
The wolf growls in reply to my snide comment. A faint glimmer of light appears in front of me as a ray of moonlight catches onto Carca's white fangs. One of his eyes comes into view for a brief second. It is menacing and predatory, its pupil formed into a thin slit as if it were a serpent's.
Perhaps that is all Carca is; a snake concealed in wolf skin.
"Are you scared, Keira?" Black saliva dribbles from his jowls as he speaks, but I refuse to give the monster the satisfaction of my fear.
"Not if I can help it."
Carca flashes me a glinting smile. "You should be. Not many dare venture into the dark recesses of the world, especially those of such..." He pauses briefly. "Fragility."
I clench my fists in anger and am prepared to shoot back a scathing comment when, suddenly, I have an epiphany. It is crazy and possibly insane, but I am out of options.
Perhaps coming here wasn't such a bad idea after all.
"If you dare speak to me of my 'fragility', than the least you can do is grant me a small favor."
The wolf throws back his head and howls in laughter.
"Me? Grant you a favor? What an idea!"
"I am serious, wolf."
Carca's laughter abruptly ceases. For a moment the creature is completely still before, slowly, his massive head angles downward to look at me. His golden eyes are narrowed suspiciously.
"If you are willing to ask for a favor, than allow me to request something of you." He steps closer, allowing the moonlight to fully illuminate his black face.
Carca's dark muzzle is blemished with countless scars, and the fur is thin and matted in places. A particularly vile looking wound decorates the flesh just above his right brow; blood stains the surrounding fur a violent maroon color. Red veins bulge out from the eye beneath the ghastly injury, signifying that it as well took damage from whatever attacked the wolf. The monster leans in close to my ear before shouting deafeningly, "LEAVE!"
His voice rattles the walls, stirring up more dust from the ceiling. He grinds his claws into the floor of the cave, leaving deep white abrasions in the otherwise smooth stone. I winch at the screeching sound it makes.
"Hear me out," I say. "I come to offer my help in exchange for yours. The Elves are preoccupied by an Orc attack. If we hurry, I can cut your bonds and free you without them realizing."
The beast's tall ears lay back flat against his head.
"And what is it that you ask for in return?"
"That you take me to the Woodland Realm."
Carca's thrusts his muzzle forward until our noses are nearly touching. His hot breath pants against my face, and I resist the impulse to gag. It smells of blood and death.
"And why," he begins. "would I be willing to do that?" I shoot him an annoyed look before glancing down at the chains encircling his neck.
"A favor for a favor," I say.
"Or so you think," the wolf chides. "What is there to stop me from tearing out your throat the moment you set me free?"
"Did I say I was finished?" Carca shoots me a curious look as I continue. "I have… acquaintances among the Wood-elves. After we arrive in Mirkwood, I will see to it that as long as you keep peace with the Elves, they will no longer strive to capture you." Pausing, I squint my eyes at the wolf. "Why did they capture you in the first place?"
"Grudges. Deep, age-old grudges. The Elves were not always on the best of terms with my kin."
I wonder why?
"The Elves will listen to me. As long as you prove to be nothing but my traveling companion, no further harm will come to you."
"What influence does a meager girl such as yourself have on the Wood-elves?"
Carca's words ring in my ears for a moment before I give a shaky reply.
"I saved the Elf Prince's life the last time I was in Mirkwood. He… I guess you could say that we are… friends."
"Friends? Ah, yes, friends you say. That is how it always begins, I am told. Is he the reason why you wish to go back?"
My tongue feels like it has turned to lead in my mouth as I struggle to reply. Could it be that Antiel is not entirely the reason I want to go back? After all, she could be just as deceitful as my mother—possibly worse. Is it really Legolas that moves me to return to the Woodland Realm?
"No," I say uneasily. "But right now, it does not matter."
"Then who is it?" he inquires. "Surely there must be someone else, if not the Elf Prince, that moves you to return to that dark forest?"
"I recently discovered that I have a half-sister who lives in the Woodland Realm. She is who I need to find."
"A sister?" Carca drawls, eyes glittering savagely. "How very interesting. I assume it was your mother who told you this?"
"We may be bound by blood, but Faelwen will never be my mother."
The wolf says no more and draws back several steps. He then begins to pace slowly around me. The heavy chains coiled around his neck clatter noisily as he does so. My eyes follow the length of the metal links until they come to rest upon the massive metal pole anchoring the chain into the ground.
"I do not trust you, Keira," he says blandly, catching my observation.
"Nor I you" I reply, "but we are out of options. I can't stay here, and neither can you." I unsheathe the sword strapped against my belt, and Carca recoils with a snarl. I had found the weapon by coincidence several nights ago, while I was searching the drawers of the nightstand. It was the very sword I had snagged on my way out of the Palace in Mirkwood. When I questioned Daeron about it, he claimed that the Elves had put it in the nightstand for safekeeping, at least until I was well again.
I had managed to grab the sword shortly after my confrontation with Faelwen.
"Relax," I sooth the wolf. "I'm not planning to use this on you. The blade will be used only to cut your bonds, but only if you accept my offer."
A long pause stretches out between us as the wolf ponders the thought for a moment. My heart rate quickens with every second that goes by until, finally, Carca turns to look at me.
"I will do it," he says. "But we must leave now. Mirkwood is a long trek from here; nearly five days, not to mention if we come across Orcs." The wolf wrinkles his nose in distaste, and my fingers drum across the hilt of the blade.
By the Valar, Faelwen had better not be lying about my sister, or I am about to make the biggest mistake of my life.
Raising the sword over my head, I force myself to brave the intense golden gaze of the wolf.
"Then let us be gone."
And with that I let the sword fall.
*insert suspenseful music here* Sorry to leave you all a bit on the edge, but what can I say? Un-resolved endings are kind of my thing ;) Welp, I hope everyone liked it! Thanks again to all who read, reviewed, favorited, and followed! It truly makes my day! Feel free to drop by some reviews, and have a great rest of the week!
- PC