Chapter 37: A spark in darkness

Éowyn saw the rope fray as she stepped off the swimming bridge, and while she was relieved though she might be having firm ground beneath her feet again, she also saw the immediate danger. The entire bridge was a contraption of ropes and wood, swimming on the river, and with the main rope fraying, it was in danger of breaking and maybe even drifting away. "Stay where you are, Brithonin!" she called out to her faithful right hand, who had guided a whole group of the girls over the wobbly crossing. "Tell the others to not move." She hoped that would take enough strain off the rope to buy her time.

Only that she had no idea how to fix the bridge and she wondered who in the world had come by the idea to string pieces of wood through loops or ropes and span them across the great river. No sensible man should come by such idea… Her thoughts came to an abrupt halt when she saw the ferry with the horses pull onto the sandbank to unload her cargo. The ancient river ship too ran on ropes to prevent her from drifting into the bridges and Éowyn could see several dwarves using the unloading time to check the vessel for damage. Dwarves, they were everywhere along the shore, assisting with the transport and doing repairs. They might know what to do with that bridge.

She looked around and spotted one of them: Anvari. With him were Raedan and Haleth and they were discussing something, it seemed. "Anvari." Éowyn approached them hastily. "The second bridge has a fraying rope and I doubt it can hold for much longer."

All three followed her toward the shore at once. "We'll take a look, my Lady," Anvari replied. "With the army crossing that swiftly, it is a miracle we didn't lose one of the bridges to overuse already. When Boromir says hurry, he certainly means it."

Éowyn laughed softly; the cheerful mood of the dwarf infected her. "There is no 'my Lady' here, Anvari," she told him. "And certainly not from a Prince of foreign lands. It will simply be Éowyn or Dernhelm, until this war is over." Titles did not belong in an army camp. Rank was unimportant when fighting for one's life, and the highest son might be placed under the command of a sheepherder if necessary.

They reached the shore and Anvari deftly jumped on the stones, reaching out into the water to take a look at the damaged portion of the bridge. "You are right, Éowyn. The main rope must have been cut by something during a previous crossing. It is slowly coming apart."

"Can it be stabilized somehow, through another rope maybe?" Haleth had squatted down ashore, studying the frayed portion close to the water's edge. Éowyn noticed how much the youth had grown from the shy boy he had been in Helm's Deep. Two battles, a war… it was shaping him into a man before his time, and he seemed well at ease with the dwarf Éomer had put in charge of them.

"I think so. Can you get the ropes from Bifur?" Anvari called back. "I will try to get those warriors still trapped off the bridge, just in case." While Haleth headed off to procure the ropes necessary for the repairs, Anvari went onto the bridge, leading the girls towards the damaged part, and then helped them to jump onto the rocks like he had done before, to reach the shore. Éowyn watched, surprised at the sense of balance the dwarf displayed on the uneven stones. More than once it was his strong grip that saved one of the girls from falling into the rushing water.

Raedan had gone out onto the rocks as far as his own balance allowed, helping as well. By the time Haleth returned with a pony carrying ropes, all of Éowyn's people were off the bridge. Silently she watched as Haleth threw the first rope to Anvari, who began to sling it into the construction, to hold it. The process was repeated five times, until there was a fan of ropes holding the failing construction in place again. While Haleth and Raedan secured the ropes ashore, Anvari began to weave a second rope along the damaged main rope. He had begun to whistle a tune while he worked, a happy sounding, cheerful tune in the rhythm of a light march or a dance. Éowyn noticed that the young warriors knew it too, for Haleth began to hum it along as he pulled the last rope towards the pole holding it.

She handed him another pole to stabilize the hold of the rope. "I don't think I ever heard that song before," she said. A part of her was glad that those youngsters had come through the nightmare of two battles still able to know the joy of a song, and another part in her could not stop worrying for them.

"It is one of Anvari's." Raedan had cut two more pegs for the ropes. "I think dwarves have more songs than us, sometimes." He fell in with the tune, adding the words that went with it.

We follow the road, where the wind might fall,

We climb the mountains, be they low or tall,

And we turn our horse, when we hear the call,

To fight the Lord of Shadows.

Beyond the old road, we follow a star,

Through wood and waste, no matter how far,

And we come home when called for war,

To fight the Lord of Shadows.

We ride across mountains under the moon,

We follow the wind's perpetual tune,

And we go back, for the call comes soon,

To fight the Lord of Shadows.

There's hope and happiness under the light,

There is believe in a warrior's might,

But my oath, my oath is forever tied

To fight the Lord of Shadows.

The song went on, and Éowyn could not help but shiver. It was too cheerful, too happy, for something like this, for the war it spoke of. The last rope was affixed and bridge was stable again. Anvari came back ashore, greeting his two comrades with a light clap to the shoulder. "And the High King of the Elves said: Gather an army like this world has not seen before, for we will ride East and bring the Dark Lord to justice." His words sounded much like the quote of a legend, though there was a grin sparkling in Anvari's eyes. "And there three heroes here better get to the upper ferry for their horses. They will long be across and we'll never hear the end of it from Althaine." All three laughed. They gathered up the pack pony and headed on.

Thoughtfully Éowyn watched after them. Songs and legends were the way her people remembered their history. Stories passed on through generations and songs were sung for even longer after. Either the dwarves were not so much different in that regard or Anvari had swiftly understood that fact about his new comrades.

"Éowyn?" The voice had come unannounced from her side. Her hand fell to the sword as she spun around, only to realize it was Faramir who had approached her. She had never heard his soft step.

"Faramir." Éowyn made herself relax and let go of her sword. "If you are looking for Éomer, he still is on the other side, to see all the éoreds sent across without chaos." Though she would swear her brother disliked those wobbly bridges more than he would ever admit.

"I know. He will not be across until after nightfall." Faramir smiled slightly; maybe he shared her observations about her brother. "It was you I was seeking. Gondor lost almost two thirds of the Rangers during the battle in Minas Tirith, leaving us deprived of archers for the battle to come and your brother told me that you have a large number of archers under your command."

"That is correct and wrong all the same," Éowyn replied as they walked towards the place where her girls were gathering. "Many of mine are indeed archers primarily, but they are not a regular archer force. Their bows range from a short rider's bow to pinewood curved bows and a few woodland composite bows that came to us through trade. I believe I even saw a number of northern yew longbows with the girls from Westmarch, even if I have no idea how these bows ever came to Rohan, and their training is just as diverse. Shortbow and curved bow archers are normally used to shoot while riding. The others should be foot archers, but use the bows as secondary weapons after dismounting." She looked to Faramir who had followed her words without any hint of impatience. "Though we may be able to turn them into archery auxiliaries if that's what we need."

"Rangers too are rarely used as an open battle force," Faramir replied, looking around in the gathering camp. If the sight of so many girls in arms fazed him, he did not show it. "But we all will be needed as a field archer force in the battles ahead." And together they began to plan out how to mesh the remaining archers of Gondor with the Rohan archers. Their discussion and organization lasted till late into the night.

TRB

Night fell along the river when the last horses were led onto a ferry to bring them across. Elrohir watched the vessel push off and make its way out onto the great river. While many things had changed for him, his eyesight had luckily remained the same, though the darkness seemed deeper somehow. "That was the last of them," he observed as the vessel was not much more but a dark spot on the waters, and the lantern of the ferry the only bright spot on the river. "I doubt there are many left on this side still, apart from the supplies and they will be shipping all night."

"With Boromir set on marching come sunrise, they better hurry," Éomer replied. "I never saw anyone push a troop that hard and still make it work. Which bridges are still open?"

Elrohir heard a slight tension on Éomer's voice. There had been many warriors who disliked the makeshift crossings they were to use, but Éomer tried harder than others not to show his trepidation. "The first bridge is still there, as is the Elven bridge."

"Water or heights." Éomer shook his head. "Let us take the first bridge. I think I heard Fion say that the elves are moving supplies across the high bridge now."

Together they went to the last of the swimming bridges still there. To Elrohir the bridge presented little trouble, and yet… He noticed how different his own balance was, like all his senses were that much stronger grounded in their surroundings, affecting almost everything that he did. He had never felt stronger or more whole than this, but nevertheless the changes went deeper than he had ever expected. Behind him he heard Éomer curse as he almost lost his footing on the slippery wood. Elrohir turned around to assist him.

"Dwarves!" Éomer grumbled. "Only they can think of a construction as wildly unstable as this one. Do they think we are all elves who never slip or fall?"

"You should see the contraptions they build underground or what they do with Orc constructions." Elrohir kept on walking backwards, keeping an eye on Éomer, even as he tried to distract him. "Above ground dwarves are more careful, for it is not their natural surroundings."

Éomer snorted. "I saw Kíli in Orthanc, Elrohir, and what he and Boromir did with those bridges was insane. And he certainly was not fazed by being above ground most of the time. Anvari does not seem to, either."

"Kíli was born on the surface during the wandering years and Anvari…." Elrohir vividly recalled the small dwarfling, tainted by a poison he could not even name. "Anvari's path led elsewhere."

They reached the other side and Elrohir stepped off the bridge. His balance was askew for a moment, but he prevented a full stumble by swiftly finding hold in the trunk of a nearby tree. Éomer strode off the bridge, reaching him only a moment later. "Are you all right? Light, between being a healer and a warrior you cannot have seen much rest since the battle."

Elrohir straightened up, finding his balance again. "I am not that tired, Éomer. I had some sleep while we stayed in Minas Tirith. Let us find the éoreds before your sister takes command of them." He could see how the joke made Éomer's eyes light up with a laugh that would never be voiced.

But the Rohirrim became serious very swiftly again. "You are beginning to feel it, aren't you? The change?" he asked, his voice earnest, if slightly worried.

"How do you know?" Elrohir could not quite hide the surprise. He had been sure few had noticed the change in him. He had managed to keep it away from Estel for the time being.

"It is obvious," Éomer said. "Your change… You suddenly became real, like you were one of us. And then… you did sleep, though I believe you had to learn how to truly sleep and not just dream away, like the others elves do. You can tire, though you tire much more slowly than I do." He frowned, his brows forming a sharp V on his forehead. "And I am not stupid. There are stories, old songs, about Elves who became mortal and I think it is what happened to you."

Éomer truly kept surprising Elrohir. Compared to Theodred's thoughtful presence, he often appeared as the uneducated warrior, the fighter with little care beyond the war and his horses. However, there was more to him; he was a keen observer and, like many of his people, he had a wonderful memory for legends. Stories… If it was in a song, the Rohirrim might know of it and Elrohir wondered what form the tale of Lúthien or Idril might have taken in their songs. Maybe even part of Aegnor's tale had survived amongst them. "It was my choice," he replied. He had not spoken to anyone about it; it was strange to say out loud what was a truth of his soul.

"You chose to become mortal? It was not something Saruman did?" Éomer's surprise was palpable in his entire demeanor. "Why…?" He shook his head. "If there is anything Men envied the Firstborn for, it was the Immortality and you gave it up out of your own free will. Why?"

"Being and Elf… means being part of two worlds." Elrohir spoke slowly, searching for the words to describe what he only had felt for so long. "One part of you is here, in Arda, and another belongs to the Undying Lands. Many elves are so strongly drawn back to the Undying Lands that they wither here. And Arda's darkness is opposite to our very existence, fading away our substance over time. Many elves… they shy away from this world and seek to return to Valinor, to return to the Light." It was something he had never quite understood, the striving for that place beyond. "I… I belong to Arda, Éomer, with all that I am, with all that it means, war and sorrow, pain and loss. It where I belong and where I will remain for as long as I endure. There will be no ship for me, no fading into the Light. And maybe… maybe when my time comes, I will be permitted to see my friends again, in that world far away that they speak off."

He did not know what had brought this on, why he had spoken to honestly of it, but it made it easier, like there had been a silent burden resting on his shoulders for a long time, maybe since his mother had departed on that pale ship long ago. On that day he had known he'd never follow her, that he'd not see her again, and no allure, no matter how strong, could draw him towards these other shores.

TRB

Boromir had chosen the place for their small campfire purposefully on the eastern edge of the campsites. They were almost outside the regular circles of the guards, well hidden under the trees of Ithilien. The fire burned low and Boromir knew it would not go out as long as Kíli was close by. Somehow the fire itself seemed different if it was Kíli's. Maybe he imagined things, but it felt more familiar somehow. Light steps in the darkness alerted him to someone approaching; his hand sank to the sword and he saw Kíli reach for his blade as well.

"It is I," a familiar voice said in low tones, as Shakurán emerged from the shadows. He wore the same armor he had worn in battle; the dark scale mail armor of Minas Morgul that would allow him to easily pass for one of the many soldiers on the other side. "I had not expected you to be here so swiftly. You certainly startled Rogtar's scouts earlier in the day."

Boromir relaxed and let go of the sword. "Shakurán, I had hoped you might reach us soon, though I was not sure you could. So their scouts are already reporting to Udûn about our approach?"

"Udûn and Minas Morgul, given that Khamûl is in charge of the armies now," Shakurán replied, squatting down by the fire. "And now they are scrambling to move troops. When I flew over Udûn earlier in the day I saw mainly Orc camps down there. The Haradrim and other forces must still be standing in Morgai and Gorgoroth, as they were expected to march on Minas Tirith through the pass near Minas Morgul. By the time you arrive at Morannon, the first legions from Morgai could have reached Udûn, provided they do not collide with the legions from the Ered Lithui that are on their way as well. The Ashland legions are a nasty bunch, even amongst Orcs."

"They have seen us. Good." Boromir had hoped the Enemy would spot them early and begin to move his troops towards Udûn. "What of the land between us and Morannon?"

"There were still stragglers during the last days." Shakurán's eyes went to the surrounding woods. "The retreat from Pelennor got scattered somewhere at the Riverline, do not ask me why – Haradrim are bound to make a mess of clear orders. During the last day, though, Drakhár riders picked up most of the Haradrim stragglers and the Orcs were driven towards the Mountains by their own kind. There should be next to no troops between you and Morannon. Although I think that your Ranger hideout in Whispering Grove is still surviving. I found a good number of slain Orcs and Haradrim in the area, and almost all of them got shot as well."

There was an edge of grim humor in the Easterling's voice and Boromir could see the irony too well. "What could you find out about who holds command in Morannon?"

Shakurán had sat down cross-legged, leaning his arms on his upper legs as he spoke on. "Khamûl took charge of the army and named Idrakhán marshal of the legions, so he is bound to be in either Morgai or Udûn already, depending on how swiftly he whips the troops back into shape. Aringryl is still in command of the gate. You should remember him; he was the one you met at Amen Ford ten years ago. He never quite forgot how you twisted his plans around. Hagrán is in charge of the main Udûn garrisons. You cannot know him; he only came in from the Firelands a year ago. He is hard, fierce and very efficient. Since he was used to deal with the Fireland denizens, he holds the garrisons within a fierce drill and the Orcs are bound to hate him."

Boromir listened intently, storing away all the information on the various leaders, their quirks and problems. Within one hour Shakurán had answered many questions that had plagued him for years. When silence finally fell over their conversation, he exchanged a glance with Kíli, knowing the dwarf too had listened, even if he had said little.

"There is little else for now," Shakurán said. "I can sneak out again and see what else I can find out."

"No." Boromir held him back. "We know what we need to know. And there is something else…" It was harder to speak of than the war, or planning ahead for the battle to come. "I need your knowledge on something else and you are the only one who may know something about it, about what happened to me in Minas Morgul."

Shakurán's head titled in an almost alarmed gesture, reminiscent of a startled hawk. "What I know of that is of second hand only. I was never fully in on the plan. Though I did question Idrakhán about it, when you began to fight like…"

"Like one of you when they worked their magic on you?" Boromir finished the line. "Shakurán, I know there is something inside me, something dark and powerful. Sometimes I can almost feel it, like an echo ringing from afar. I doubt I understand it, I only let it happen so far."

"You… you let it happen?" Shakurán was short of jumping up. "Blessed ignorance. Only you could come up with such a plan, Son of the Sea Kings."

"So you know what it is?" It was the first time Kíli spoke up, but his deep voice was steady as ever. "I have been going over any bit of black artifact lore I know to try and explain it, without any success so far."

"That is because it did not come from any artifact." Shakurán looked forth and back between them. "What you were given, Boromir, is called a dark seed. It is a spark of pure darkness, of the greater night itself, and it was lodged into your soul. Such a spark can only be called forth through another soul or a wraith, and without the proper training to handle such a power, you should have gone mad within hours of the dark seed unfolding itself. The dark seed, once unfolding, takes shape according to the nature of its bearer. The signs you show – the restlessness, the greed to kill, the bloodlust and even some slight bouts of irrationality – would also show in someone trained to live with such a gift, but for someone untrained, it would cause a quick slide into madness."

"So it is like a taint of darkness directly lodged into the soul, like a forced awakening of powers?" Kíli asked, curiosity and care for Boromir overruling whatever he thought of the man he was talking to. "Like an exposure to the Well of Darkness, only it circumvented the body and went directly into his soul?"

Shakurán's gaze turned to the dwarf. "I keep forgetting I am talking to one of an ancient house. You would remember the tales of the dark from before the Rise of the First Sun," he said, a touch of fascination in his voice. "And yes, you are right on the principle. It is like a spark had been planted right into his soul, and there is no way to remove it. I am amazed that Denethor was able to tame it so far."

"My father had nothing to do with it," Boromir replied. The explanation felt right, it fit with what he sensed of himself. "And yes, there are times when I feel like I am losing myself, like the anger, the bloodlust are coming too close, but Kíli has been guiding me out of it. He was there the moment the darkness came, that day in…" He could not speak on; the memory came too close.

A shuffle was audible beside him and then Kíli squatted down beside him. "You are not alone in this, my friend," the dwarf said warmly, the echo of the bond reaching for Boromir, like a flame in the darkness. "And you never will be."

"Are you saying your minds were linked at the time the seed was planted?" Shakurán's dark eyes widened. "Night above, how could they not think of it? The dragon… That strange mark on your arm..." He looked at them. "The dragonbane seal? I had always thought it was a myth, a story from the Elder days."

"You know of it?" Boromir asked, expecting another friendly jab about the education of a citizen of the Empire, but instead he saw Shakurán shake his head.

"I know legends, Boromir, stories of Durin the Deathless and Turayne the Dark Elven Wanderer, stories of the Durin II and Talion, and of course there was Frérin Dragonsbane, who gave my people a few headaches that survive in the chronicles. But… the dragonbane seal was supposedly a legend, a story the dwarves came up with. To see it real…" He shook his head. "Damn it, Idrá. You had to make a mess of things, as usual."

"How would a dark seed react to such a bond?" Kíli asked, and there was the edge of a slight bemusement at Shakurán's reaction in his voice. "Could it integrate into both?"

"If I knew that, I'd deem myself wise indeed," Shakurán replied. "I doubt it was ever tried on people of linked minds, but you might truly be his balance, Kíli, the reason why he remained sane, why he was able to intuitively tap into the darkness without adverse effects."

"Is there a way to truly reach into that… seed?" Boromir asked. "To truly make use of it, unleash it, if you will? Or does that require other blessings to go ahead of it?"

"What Shakurán said, it sounded to me like you were given a dark version of the flame – a well of strength barely veiled inside your soul." Kíli looked at Boromir. "And your very nature might allow you to draw onto that power. It reminds me a little of what happened to Anvari, with the only difference that they went for your soul directly."

"Why would you even want to dig deeper into that power?" Shakurán asked. "You can be glad that you survived without insanity so far. And if you two are balancing out in such a way, you might stand a chance in the longer run… Digging deeper will only heighten the risk."

"Because we need every edge we can get when we reach the Black Gate," Boromir met Shakurán's eyes steadily. "The East might fear the Lord of the Morning, but to be effective in the battle to come, I need some control over what was given to me." He turned back to Kíli. The worry in his friend's eyes made him hesitate a little. "Kíli, if you do not want any part of this… You already bear too much of this and…"

"Stop it." Kíli shook his head. "I told you that you'd never be alone with what you bear, no matter where that path leads. No matter how far I have to go, I will go this way with you to the very end."

A warmth spread inside Boromir. Knowing that Kíli would be with him gave him confidence. Together they could tame whatever had happened to him. "So, how do you access the dark seed, Shakurán?"

"Through meditation mostly." Shakurán shook his head. "And I doubt you ever learned even the basics of that. The other would be the embrace of the spark, as one with the talent might do it."

"I think I know what you speak of," Kíli said. "I can try to show to Boromir how to do it, but you need to stay close, Shakurán, for you will be the only one to know if something goes wrong." Mahal help him, but he had to trust Shakurán on this, because the Easterling knew this kind of gift of darkness.

TRB

Idrakhán strode over the broad walls of Morannon. Down there chaos was abating, as the new legions were digging in or sent to their respective barracks. "Who in the name of that old demented beast in Moria put a Firelander in charge of Orcs, Tani? Who is so supremely stupid?" he growled towards the man walking by his side. He was glad that his new promotion had allowed him to call Tani back to his legion. While Tani was older than him, be brought an experience with Orcs few others had and he was not the least angry to see a younger man rise above himself.

"Someone who believed that Orcs can be led through some stupid Firelands drill." Tani's voice echoed wry amusement. The redhead stood out amongst the troops that were mainly Haradrim or true Easterlings, but he moved amongst them with the ease of a man long at home in the black lands. "Morgai is slowly coming with their legions and half the commanders are wondering why they should be digging in."

"Because they are ordered to dig in with their legions." Idrakhán shook his head, "What happened to putting intelligent people in charge of the legions, what happened to strategy? Do these fools really think that we will charge out of that gate and play a nice field battle with that little Númenoran King and his rabble?"

"That's what they expect. Whispers are that something is out there, something that Barad-Dûr wants, and thus we are going to get it." Tani repeated the rumors he had heard amongst the troops with the voice of a man long used to disregard the talk amongst the ranks. "Even the Orcs are whispering that some Elven Conspiracy is on, and that Menfolk has something that the High Ups want. And if the Orcs already know it, half Mordor is bound to believe it."

"What the Orcs are thinking today, Mordor is going to say tomorrow, is that so?" Idrakhán almost barked. "It is high time someone reduced their numbers significantly to teach them a lesson." His temper cooled down and he stopped on an empty passage of the long wall. "They are not wrong, Tani. Khamûl himself is saying the same. One of them out there has something, the very something we were hunting in Eriador, months ago."

Tani whistled appreciatively. "Do we know who has it, because I doubt there are any Halflings around that army, at least if what the scouts say is true."

"The Halflings were most likely killed by Saruman," Idrakhán shrugged. "My brother's report indicated as much, so it is very likely that either their little King or Boromir has IT now. My bet is on Boromir." He smiled, dark eyes shining. "And now finally all plans can come to fruition. Believing to fight us he will come here, and driven by the darkness he carries he will bear that very thing he has to the gates of the Tower itself. He will do our work, believing he is fighting us."

"Ingenious," Tani grinned at him. "Sounds like one of your better plans, Idrá. So, we do not come out, but let him come in? That's not going to sit well with a lot of legions, but if they don't dig in, they'll be amongst the losses. Maybe a hard lesson is needed here."

Idrakhán thought about it. Maybe Tani was right; legions not obeying the plan would most likely incur heavy losses, a lesson on discipline that would be sorely needed in days to come. "Very well, Tani, do not whip them into line. They have their orders. Let's see how they fare if they ignore them."

Together they stood high upon the wall of Morannon, the Black Gate, watching down into the land where far away the campfires of the Gondorian warcamp burned. "Not even the Elves stormed this gate easily," Idrakhán said with a grim smile. "Let us see how Boromir fares at it."

TRB

"Let go of yourself, relinquish all that you feel to the void around you. You are standing in a hall of stone so vast you cannot see the walls. There is nothing but an empty vastness around you." Kíli's voice had taken on a deep, though almost musical, quality as he spoke. "Bleed into the void, into the emptiness. You do not feel, you do not think… you are." Boromir could almost feel Kíli's presence there, like he could sense him, only separated through a barrier of mist. The exercise did not come easily to him, but it gave him a sense of control, of calm.

"Now, reach out into the darkness, find the spark…" In Boromir's mind he could see the spark, much like the flame he had seen back on the day in Minas Morgul when he had first seen Kíli in his mind. And even now when he reached for the dark spark inside his mind, he could also sense Kíli, the flame that anchored him. "You are the darkness given shape, you are the shadow becoming flame, guiding the wanderer…"

It almost felt like the rush of battle, but much, much more intense. Boromir felt the tendrils of darkness uncoil inside him, the bloodthirst surge up, the rage… the icy edge of insanity, but they could not reach him. They were barred from touching him by a bright flame, shielding him against the destruction. He opened his eyes and looked at Kíli, who sat opposite of him. He could hardly describe what he felt or what they might have unlocked, but for a moment he believed to see a layered star shining in the ground, surrounding them both.

Author's Note

This chapter comes again with big hugs and thanks to the wonderful LadyDunla who put lots of work into this chapter. I am amazed how you always put up with my weird sentences. Thanks, my friend, you rock! *hugs*

My head has decided to still give me troubles, I wrote parts of this during the night when the migraines wouldn't let me sleep. I hope it'll stop soon because I don't want to take a day's break from writing… but I might if things don't change.