Gil woke with a start at the sound of the rising wail. "Mother?" she
questioned into the dark. Then she remembered. Her mother was not there.
Gil had woken in the night and slipped off to the nearby creek for a drink.
The low murmurings of the water had lulled her back to sleep on it's mossy
banks.
The sounds of battle grew louder. She could hear harsh, angry voices, mingled with the surprised cries of the Elves. Her heart beat faster in fear. What could it be? Was it those horrible monsters, Orcs, that she had heard so much about? But they had been run off long ago. Could it be Trolls? Surly Trolls would not attack them, they had to large a group. Wargs? The sharp eyes and ears of the Elves would have detected them long ago.
Gil hunched behind a tree, trying to block the noise from her ears. It was to no avail, however. She could not close her sharp ears to the gut wrenching sounds of rending flesh and crunching bones.
She could feel each blow as if it landed on her own tiny frame. Tears overflowed as she heard voices-- familiar voices, crying out to dead and dying loved ones. Sobs racked her body, but she didn't notice them. The only sounds she could hear were the pathetic wails of the still living victims, and the harsh victory song of some unknown enemy, loud and drunk with blood lust.
Gil could not say if she fell asleep moments later or hours later. The same images that plagued her in wakefulness haunted her nightmares all night long.
Ozga looked at the dead child in her arms in disgust. They had few enough people without losing another babe to sickness. The men would return tired and angry after their night of fun, and Baroc would not be pleased to find his son dead. No father's love would influence his feelings, simple logic would. Until the Orcs had regained their former numbers, every life was costly.
Ozga feared the beating she would receive upon her husband's return. She swore and cast the still form into the bushes. Maybe, if she was lucky, Baroc would not notice the child's absence for a few days.
Gil awoke to silence. For a moment, she forgot the events of the night before and sighed happily. Her small hand reached out to where her Mother should be-- and found instead the rough bark of a tree. Her memory rushed back to her in a flood.
Gil fought to hold back her tears as she made her way to the clearing where her people had danced and sung only a few hours before. The sight that greeted her eyes made her turn and wretch, her whole body shook with revulsion. She forced herself to turn back, and dashed angrily at the tears flowing freely down her face. She surveyed the carnage before her, forcing herself to hold her eyes on each still body. She willed each one to breath, to open their eyes, to give any sign of life. Her eyes moved from one Elf to the next, halting on each for a few seconds, then moving on.
Gil's eyes glazed over, and horror coursed through her. She wanted to scream, but no sound would come. Her eyes lingered on one last, still shape for a long minute, then she turned and ran. As she ran, she could not see the trees and rocks in her path, the obstacles that tripped her and slashed at her. She could not feel the pain of her many falls, or the blood oozing from her arms and legs. All she could feel was numbness. And all she could see was her Mother's severed head.
The sounds of battle grew louder. She could hear harsh, angry voices, mingled with the surprised cries of the Elves. Her heart beat faster in fear. What could it be? Was it those horrible monsters, Orcs, that she had heard so much about? But they had been run off long ago. Could it be Trolls? Surly Trolls would not attack them, they had to large a group. Wargs? The sharp eyes and ears of the Elves would have detected them long ago.
Gil hunched behind a tree, trying to block the noise from her ears. It was to no avail, however. She could not close her sharp ears to the gut wrenching sounds of rending flesh and crunching bones.
She could feel each blow as if it landed on her own tiny frame. Tears overflowed as she heard voices-- familiar voices, crying out to dead and dying loved ones. Sobs racked her body, but she didn't notice them. The only sounds she could hear were the pathetic wails of the still living victims, and the harsh victory song of some unknown enemy, loud and drunk with blood lust.
Gil could not say if she fell asleep moments later or hours later. The same images that plagued her in wakefulness haunted her nightmares all night long.
Ozga looked at the dead child in her arms in disgust. They had few enough people without losing another babe to sickness. The men would return tired and angry after their night of fun, and Baroc would not be pleased to find his son dead. No father's love would influence his feelings, simple logic would. Until the Orcs had regained their former numbers, every life was costly.
Ozga feared the beating she would receive upon her husband's return. She swore and cast the still form into the bushes. Maybe, if she was lucky, Baroc would not notice the child's absence for a few days.
Gil awoke to silence. For a moment, she forgot the events of the night before and sighed happily. Her small hand reached out to where her Mother should be-- and found instead the rough bark of a tree. Her memory rushed back to her in a flood.
Gil fought to hold back her tears as she made her way to the clearing where her people had danced and sung only a few hours before. The sight that greeted her eyes made her turn and wretch, her whole body shook with revulsion. She forced herself to turn back, and dashed angrily at the tears flowing freely down her face. She surveyed the carnage before her, forcing herself to hold her eyes on each still body. She willed each one to breath, to open their eyes, to give any sign of life. Her eyes moved from one Elf to the next, halting on each for a few seconds, then moving on.
Gil's eyes glazed over, and horror coursed through her. She wanted to scream, but no sound would come. Her eyes lingered on one last, still shape for a long minute, then she turned and ran. As she ran, she could not see the trees and rocks in her path, the obstacles that tripped her and slashed at her. She could not feel the pain of her many falls, or the blood oozing from her arms and legs. All she could feel was numbness. And all she could see was her Mother's severed head.