AN ECHO OF FOOTFALLS
Chapter Seven: Bludgeonings of Chance
Author: Kidders
Fandom: Lord Of The Rings
Rating: Back to PG-13 for some violence and slightly less graphic ickiness
Genre: Angst, h/c
Summary: Set after Bilbo leaves but before Frodo departs the Shire
Disclaimer: See Chapter One
POV: Frodo
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed ~W.E. Henley
It feels like a long time passes before I desire to wake again. Sound is the first sense to call me back to awareness, breaking the bounds of my quiet, peaceful refuge in a startlingly loud clamor of what seems to be cooking pans banging together. A ribald oath is uttered, followed by a softer spoken, "Drat this mess! Look what you've gone an' done, ya silly ninnyhammer!"
Sam. I smile, not yet opening my eyes, content to listen to my friend puttering around in the kitchen, cleaning up whatever disaster he's inadvertently brought down. Curiosity finally tempts me to open my eyes, and see I am in my bedroom at Bag End. Candlelight flickers steady and bright along the walls, the early morning sun painting a pleasant yellow glow at the other end of the hall. Comfortably ensconced on pillows and under blankets, I am initially too drowsy to lend my worries much thought.
Quickly enough, though, the memory of the darkness which tainted my mind resurfaces, and I wonder if I am dreaming. My room does feel like my own again, warm and inviting, a place not scary in the least. However, I have recently learned that everything is not always as it appears. To that end, I raise myself up, but the movement is too fast and too abrupt, and suddenly I can't see properly. Sliding sideways, my balance is off, and I cry out in alarm when I feel myself falling. My flailing hand catches on the edge of a basin perched atop the bedside table and sends it flying with a spectacular crash, the water it contained splashing everywhere. Oh dear, I've made a mess of my own.
Sam comes running, and acts delighted to see me, in spite of the fact I am soaked from the knees down, as is the floor. "Mr. Frodo, yer awake! Might I ask how yer feelin'?"
Other than wet? Pushing back to sit comfortably with my legs dangling over the edge of the bed, I take stock of my feelings. It is with some surprise that I admit I feel.rested. For the first time since the voices invaded my dreams, I don't feel as if the weight of the Shire is strapped upon my back. My fear is lessened, I decide, more of a lingering bad taste in my mouth than a towering nightmare of evil imperiling me to scream even whilst awake. I feel light, like my cares have been plucked away and wounds all but healed. But what I recall of that bleak night still seems clear, it was so horrible, how can this be?
"I don't understand, Sam," I murmur in wonder. "How can I feel so much better with the passing of a single night? I almost feel as if none of it actually happened, that it was all.just a dream."
"Well, you've slept, for starters. Almost two days solid."
My eyes round in disbelief. "I can't possibly have stayed in bed that long."
"Assuredly, ya did." I notice the worry lines on Sam's brow have eased much since last I saw him, and that his eyes now shine with enormous relief. "Except for takin' water and getting up a few times, yer sleep's been deep indeed. Ya didn't even wake yesterday when my gaffer tended to yer hand."
I quickly inspect my right hand. Bruises that 'twere so blue and dark have faded to a duller brown. The bandage is smaller, wrapped only about my finger. And while the finger itself remains stiff and swollen, it doesn't hurt anymore. In fact, all my aches and pains seem to have vanished. Even the darkness clinging to my mind has been shuttered, remaining behind as only a memory. A memory that no longer has the power to hurt me.
Sobering, I shake my head. "This doesn't ring true, Sam. I should not have been able to accomplish so much on my own."
"No, not alone, you 'ad 'elp-" Sam suddenly flushes, brown eyes dropping evasively to the floor.
It is obvious he is hiding something. "What are you talking about?" I ask sternly. Vague, scattered recollections whirl in my head. The voices, following me in ceaseless discord, they sound so loud.overpowering. Then a single voice rises above all the others, Sam's voice. And another.familiar.too distant for me to discern. "Who else has been here?"
He squirms for half a minute, then blows out a rueful sigh. "Oh, I've blabbed when I shouldn't 'ave. I suppose it's too late now, I'll 'ave to tell ya."
My heart races faster, and I stiffen and lean forward. There had been someone else.a voice in the night. "Tell me what, Sam?"
Hesitantly, his glance meets my own. "Gandalf, he dropped by for a visit."
"Gandalf?" I nearly leap to my feet, my jaw slackening with shock. "Gandalf came here?" Livid with an unreasonable anger, my tone affronts with everything I have held in for so long. "Why did you not tell me? Why did you wait and not wake me? I should have liked to see him!" My throat tightens. "I needed to see him."
"'Cause he told me not to!" Sam blurts, voice climbing. "It was that terrible night you were seein' things.things that weren't there.but things such that could 'urt ya somethin' awful all the same!" He stares at me, brown eyes dulled by unshed tears. "I've never 'eard anyone scream like that, Mr. Frodo. I think I shall 'ear the echo of those terrifyin' cries for a long time to come."
All the anger drains out of me like tea through a sieve, and I exhale shakily. "Me also, Sam," I whisper.
He offers me a sad smile, a ghost of his earlier joy. "After ya tried to put yer hand in the fire, I didn't know what else ta do. So I slung ya over my shoulder an' took ya outside." He shudders, his gaze turned inward, remembering. I am frozen like a statue on the edge of my mattress, testing how long I can hold my breath. "You were in a bad way, Mr. Frodo. Cryin' in yer sleep, mumblin' things.awful things.and even with me holdin' ya, you didn't know where ya was. How long we sat like that, I don't rightly know, for then Gandalf came, an' when he gathered ya up, you went limp an' quiet. 'Twas like a babe solaced in its mother's arms." Sam drops beside me on the bed, a choked sigh leaving his lips. "I was so grateful, I can't tell ya how much.yer sleep was peaceful from then on. Gandalf left at first light, an' he made me promise not to tell ya he'd been 'ere. But me an' my big mouth.can't keep it shut, as usual."
"I'm glad you told me, Sam. I should have liked to visit with Gandalf." I draw a hard breath, for this is what hurts the most. ".but since he did not wish to speak to me, I understand." Or at least, will strive to. I feel my face begin to crumple, the cold knot in my belly threatening to bring fresh tears to my eyes. I swallow convulsively, for I cannot help but feel Gandalf has abandoned me, tossed me aside like a worn, hackneyed cloak no longer useful for countermanding the cold. Just as in my dream, he does not care.
"No, that's not it at all!" Sam half-turns to face me, mouth set in a determined line. "I think Gandalf was worried 'bout ya, worried enough as to what was causin' yer sickness that 'e felt 'e 'ad to rush off. No matter what 'e wanted.an' what Gandalf wanted was to stay an' tend to you." I blink rapidly, a lump lodging in my throat. "There 'twas a desperate quality in 'is look, Mr. Frodo. He was afraid." Sam's voice drops to a lower register, though it loses none of its passion. "I've never seen 'im so frantic before."
It's plain Sam is quite disturbed by this. For myself, I feel much the same. If Gandalf is fearful, what fate is consigned to me? I flounder on the sharp point of panic as I digest the news, only to be slowly calmed by the strange serenity I have acquired since waking. I do not believe such emanations originate from my own causing. I am not that strong, especially now so collied by my company of inherited troubles.
"Sam-" I start to say, and have to think a tic before I can ask. "Did Gandalf attend me with any restorative spells or show of wizardry before he departed? I can't recall anything after you brought me outside."
Sam's usual compulsion to talk is tempered by uncharacteristic dalliance. His eyes narrow slightly, and I can almost see him sifting through events, trying to decide how much I'm well enough to hear. "Mr. Gandalf, he did hold ya close and mutter a few foreign words in yer ear. You was greatly eased by 'is touch, I could tell. An' thereafter ya slept without any of those dreams unsettlin' yer rest. That's all I reckon to know."
I suddenly long to return to the comfortable ignorance I enjoyed under Bilbo's fostering, when I was unaware of the evils lurking beyond Shire borders. It is a hollow desire, no longer within my grasp. "Did Gandalf speak any of his travels, of why he had to leave again?"
My question seems to startle Sam, and I watch while he shakes his head slowly, eyes widening a fraction as though the answer just came to him. "'E spent most of 'is time 'ere by this bed, quiet an' broodin' over what 'ad 'appened, I guess. Didn't say much, an' his countenance was such I knew better than to pester 'im with silly questions. I must've dozed off as well, 'cause the next thing I knew, the sun 'ad risen an' he was biddin' me goodbye."
"So he mentioned nothing of what tasks had occupied him since his prior departure?" I venture, moistening my lips. "Or of Bilbo, and the reason f-for my." The stammer creeps unwillingly into my speech, and I clutch nervously at the pillowcase. ".m-my illness?"
Sam purses his lips, and shrugs. "'E did promise to return within a fortnight."
Oh, Gandalf, I needed your counsel.why could you not have waited? Dejected, I glance at Sam. A new thought suddenly occurs to me. I have no idea what Sam thinks of my strange behavior these past few days and nights. Whether he believes I was acting oddly in the same cracked manner as Bilbo had often fallen into, gaining ill-favor from most shirefolk for having bold adventures far from home. After all, I was his relation, Bilbo's chosen heir. A great many here would not be surprised if I followed in my uncle's footsteps.disappeared.to never be heard from again. Or does Sam simply think I am cracked in the head, conjuring up phantoms out of thin air and screeching in terror over nothing? He doesn't know of Bilbo's ring, of the terrible power is seems able to wield. Not directly. Not unless I mumble of if in my sleep. Gripped by this different sort of fear, my throat goes so dry I can hardly swallow. Because I find it matters to me a great deal what Sam thinks, more than I first realized.
"It's not yer fault, Mr. Frodo." Gratitude warms my heart at these earnestly spoken words. It is like Sam knows what I am thinking merely from my look. "You didn't ask for any of this to 'appen.whatever this is, 'tis not of yer doin'. I don't pretend to understand what yer goin' through, where these past few days might lead us, but if there's anything ya need, you just ask, an' I'll see it's done." He slaps his thighs and hops off the bed, throwing me one last glance as he moves to leave.
"You've done all I asked, and more," I blurt quickly. He stops, turning to face me. "You are becoming a good friend, Sam."
"Friend?" His brows knit together, his head shaking a slight denial.
I lose the battle to keep a solemn tone, for a smile tugs at my lips. "Yes, friend," I repeat emphatically. "Agreeable companion, unselfish ally, an acquaintance who sticks with you through thick and thin."
"But, Mr. Frodo." Sam protests, gazing about like he's afraid someone is eavesdropping, ".that's not altogether proper. I mean." He eyes me, torn between doubt and the sake of appearance, and ultimately his desire to comply with what I am asking. Not just for me, but because he's also finding the connection between us worth encouraging.
"You'll not be rid of me that easy, Samwise Gamgee. I have a say in who are my friends, and who are not," I state clearly. "And I say you are most definitely my friend." Sam lowers his head, though not before I see the pleased smile lurking around his mouth. "Propriety does not matter, and if anyone tries to say otherwise, they shall be answerable to me."
"Aye, Mr. Frodo, that I'll 'ave no trouble seein' to." He again makes for the door, explaining, "I'll just go and find somethin' to clean that water up. Don't you be tryin' anything like walkin' 'til I get back."
I sit and stare at my feet, fixating on the right one. Swollen and not healed completely, it still bears the ring of bruises from my fall. Idly, I wonder if it will bear my weight now, only I determine not to test it just yet. It would be a sad state if I were to re-injure the ankle due to clumsy recklessness and impatience. These feet are going to have to carry me long and far someday. Soon perhaps.sooner than I should want.
"Mr. Frodo, what's wrong?"
Sam has an old rag, and is mopping the floor around my feet. I don't know what he sees in my face, enough evidently to realize my mood has darkened. "Oh, Sam, I fear this won't last. I probably shall have to leave soon, and thinking about it brings a heaviness to dwell in my heart."
"Don't be silly, Mr. Frodo," Sam maintains, "yer not goin' anywhere. Leastways, not without me yer not." He sounds so positive and upbeat, I find I nearly believe it without question. "Oh, I forgot-Mr. Gandalf left a letter for ya. Said it was to be put in a safe place, so I tossed it in that old chest, laid it under some of Bilbo's scrolls."
I think I stop breathing. I know in reality I do not, but it feels that way. The fear is there all at once, stalking my thoughts from a distance like a fierce predator. Whatever spell of protection remains, it succeeds in staying the influence of welling darkness, but for how much longer I can only guess. I wrap my arms about my middle, and say softly, "It is not a letter."
To Be Continued.
A/N: I think there will be one more chapter, possibly two. A question for Ariel-is there a site you would recommend for posting my story other then ff.net (which always seems to be down lately) or nidaiwe (now closed, darn it!)?
Chapter Seven: Bludgeonings of Chance
Author: Kidders
Fandom: Lord Of The Rings
Rating: Back to PG-13 for some violence and slightly less graphic ickiness
Genre: Angst, h/c
Summary: Set after Bilbo leaves but before Frodo departs the Shire
Disclaimer: See Chapter One
POV: Frodo
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed ~W.E. Henley
It feels like a long time passes before I desire to wake again. Sound is the first sense to call me back to awareness, breaking the bounds of my quiet, peaceful refuge in a startlingly loud clamor of what seems to be cooking pans banging together. A ribald oath is uttered, followed by a softer spoken, "Drat this mess! Look what you've gone an' done, ya silly ninnyhammer!"
Sam. I smile, not yet opening my eyes, content to listen to my friend puttering around in the kitchen, cleaning up whatever disaster he's inadvertently brought down. Curiosity finally tempts me to open my eyes, and see I am in my bedroom at Bag End. Candlelight flickers steady and bright along the walls, the early morning sun painting a pleasant yellow glow at the other end of the hall. Comfortably ensconced on pillows and under blankets, I am initially too drowsy to lend my worries much thought.
Quickly enough, though, the memory of the darkness which tainted my mind resurfaces, and I wonder if I am dreaming. My room does feel like my own again, warm and inviting, a place not scary in the least. However, I have recently learned that everything is not always as it appears. To that end, I raise myself up, but the movement is too fast and too abrupt, and suddenly I can't see properly. Sliding sideways, my balance is off, and I cry out in alarm when I feel myself falling. My flailing hand catches on the edge of a basin perched atop the bedside table and sends it flying with a spectacular crash, the water it contained splashing everywhere. Oh dear, I've made a mess of my own.
Sam comes running, and acts delighted to see me, in spite of the fact I am soaked from the knees down, as is the floor. "Mr. Frodo, yer awake! Might I ask how yer feelin'?"
Other than wet? Pushing back to sit comfortably with my legs dangling over the edge of the bed, I take stock of my feelings. It is with some surprise that I admit I feel.rested. For the first time since the voices invaded my dreams, I don't feel as if the weight of the Shire is strapped upon my back. My fear is lessened, I decide, more of a lingering bad taste in my mouth than a towering nightmare of evil imperiling me to scream even whilst awake. I feel light, like my cares have been plucked away and wounds all but healed. But what I recall of that bleak night still seems clear, it was so horrible, how can this be?
"I don't understand, Sam," I murmur in wonder. "How can I feel so much better with the passing of a single night? I almost feel as if none of it actually happened, that it was all.just a dream."
"Well, you've slept, for starters. Almost two days solid."
My eyes round in disbelief. "I can't possibly have stayed in bed that long."
"Assuredly, ya did." I notice the worry lines on Sam's brow have eased much since last I saw him, and that his eyes now shine with enormous relief. "Except for takin' water and getting up a few times, yer sleep's been deep indeed. Ya didn't even wake yesterday when my gaffer tended to yer hand."
I quickly inspect my right hand. Bruises that 'twere so blue and dark have faded to a duller brown. The bandage is smaller, wrapped only about my finger. And while the finger itself remains stiff and swollen, it doesn't hurt anymore. In fact, all my aches and pains seem to have vanished. Even the darkness clinging to my mind has been shuttered, remaining behind as only a memory. A memory that no longer has the power to hurt me.
Sobering, I shake my head. "This doesn't ring true, Sam. I should not have been able to accomplish so much on my own."
"No, not alone, you 'ad 'elp-" Sam suddenly flushes, brown eyes dropping evasively to the floor.
It is obvious he is hiding something. "What are you talking about?" I ask sternly. Vague, scattered recollections whirl in my head. The voices, following me in ceaseless discord, they sound so loud.overpowering. Then a single voice rises above all the others, Sam's voice. And another.familiar.too distant for me to discern. "Who else has been here?"
He squirms for half a minute, then blows out a rueful sigh. "Oh, I've blabbed when I shouldn't 'ave. I suppose it's too late now, I'll 'ave to tell ya."
My heart races faster, and I stiffen and lean forward. There had been someone else.a voice in the night. "Tell me what, Sam?"
Hesitantly, his glance meets my own. "Gandalf, he dropped by for a visit."
"Gandalf?" I nearly leap to my feet, my jaw slackening with shock. "Gandalf came here?" Livid with an unreasonable anger, my tone affronts with everything I have held in for so long. "Why did you not tell me? Why did you wait and not wake me? I should have liked to see him!" My throat tightens. "I needed to see him."
"'Cause he told me not to!" Sam blurts, voice climbing. "It was that terrible night you were seein' things.things that weren't there.but things such that could 'urt ya somethin' awful all the same!" He stares at me, brown eyes dulled by unshed tears. "I've never 'eard anyone scream like that, Mr. Frodo. I think I shall 'ear the echo of those terrifyin' cries for a long time to come."
All the anger drains out of me like tea through a sieve, and I exhale shakily. "Me also, Sam," I whisper.
He offers me a sad smile, a ghost of his earlier joy. "After ya tried to put yer hand in the fire, I didn't know what else ta do. So I slung ya over my shoulder an' took ya outside." He shudders, his gaze turned inward, remembering. I am frozen like a statue on the edge of my mattress, testing how long I can hold my breath. "You were in a bad way, Mr. Frodo. Cryin' in yer sleep, mumblin' things.awful things.and even with me holdin' ya, you didn't know where ya was. How long we sat like that, I don't rightly know, for then Gandalf came, an' when he gathered ya up, you went limp an' quiet. 'Twas like a babe solaced in its mother's arms." Sam drops beside me on the bed, a choked sigh leaving his lips. "I was so grateful, I can't tell ya how much.yer sleep was peaceful from then on. Gandalf left at first light, an' he made me promise not to tell ya he'd been 'ere. But me an' my big mouth.can't keep it shut, as usual."
"I'm glad you told me, Sam. I should have liked to visit with Gandalf." I draw a hard breath, for this is what hurts the most. ".but since he did not wish to speak to me, I understand." Or at least, will strive to. I feel my face begin to crumple, the cold knot in my belly threatening to bring fresh tears to my eyes. I swallow convulsively, for I cannot help but feel Gandalf has abandoned me, tossed me aside like a worn, hackneyed cloak no longer useful for countermanding the cold. Just as in my dream, he does not care.
"No, that's not it at all!" Sam half-turns to face me, mouth set in a determined line. "I think Gandalf was worried 'bout ya, worried enough as to what was causin' yer sickness that 'e felt 'e 'ad to rush off. No matter what 'e wanted.an' what Gandalf wanted was to stay an' tend to you." I blink rapidly, a lump lodging in my throat. "There 'twas a desperate quality in 'is look, Mr. Frodo. He was afraid." Sam's voice drops to a lower register, though it loses none of its passion. "I've never seen 'im so frantic before."
It's plain Sam is quite disturbed by this. For myself, I feel much the same. If Gandalf is fearful, what fate is consigned to me? I flounder on the sharp point of panic as I digest the news, only to be slowly calmed by the strange serenity I have acquired since waking. I do not believe such emanations originate from my own causing. I am not that strong, especially now so collied by my company of inherited troubles.
"Sam-" I start to say, and have to think a tic before I can ask. "Did Gandalf attend me with any restorative spells or show of wizardry before he departed? I can't recall anything after you brought me outside."
Sam's usual compulsion to talk is tempered by uncharacteristic dalliance. His eyes narrow slightly, and I can almost see him sifting through events, trying to decide how much I'm well enough to hear. "Mr. Gandalf, he did hold ya close and mutter a few foreign words in yer ear. You was greatly eased by 'is touch, I could tell. An' thereafter ya slept without any of those dreams unsettlin' yer rest. That's all I reckon to know."
I suddenly long to return to the comfortable ignorance I enjoyed under Bilbo's fostering, when I was unaware of the evils lurking beyond Shire borders. It is a hollow desire, no longer within my grasp. "Did Gandalf speak any of his travels, of why he had to leave again?"
My question seems to startle Sam, and I watch while he shakes his head slowly, eyes widening a fraction as though the answer just came to him. "'E spent most of 'is time 'ere by this bed, quiet an' broodin' over what 'ad 'appened, I guess. Didn't say much, an' his countenance was such I knew better than to pester 'im with silly questions. I must've dozed off as well, 'cause the next thing I knew, the sun 'ad risen an' he was biddin' me goodbye."
"So he mentioned nothing of what tasks had occupied him since his prior departure?" I venture, moistening my lips. "Or of Bilbo, and the reason f-for my." The stammer creeps unwillingly into my speech, and I clutch nervously at the pillowcase. ".m-my illness?"
Sam purses his lips, and shrugs. "'E did promise to return within a fortnight."
Oh, Gandalf, I needed your counsel.why could you not have waited? Dejected, I glance at Sam. A new thought suddenly occurs to me. I have no idea what Sam thinks of my strange behavior these past few days and nights. Whether he believes I was acting oddly in the same cracked manner as Bilbo had often fallen into, gaining ill-favor from most shirefolk for having bold adventures far from home. After all, I was his relation, Bilbo's chosen heir. A great many here would not be surprised if I followed in my uncle's footsteps.disappeared.to never be heard from again. Or does Sam simply think I am cracked in the head, conjuring up phantoms out of thin air and screeching in terror over nothing? He doesn't know of Bilbo's ring, of the terrible power is seems able to wield. Not directly. Not unless I mumble of if in my sleep. Gripped by this different sort of fear, my throat goes so dry I can hardly swallow. Because I find it matters to me a great deal what Sam thinks, more than I first realized.
"It's not yer fault, Mr. Frodo." Gratitude warms my heart at these earnestly spoken words. It is like Sam knows what I am thinking merely from my look. "You didn't ask for any of this to 'appen.whatever this is, 'tis not of yer doin'. I don't pretend to understand what yer goin' through, where these past few days might lead us, but if there's anything ya need, you just ask, an' I'll see it's done." He slaps his thighs and hops off the bed, throwing me one last glance as he moves to leave.
"You've done all I asked, and more," I blurt quickly. He stops, turning to face me. "You are becoming a good friend, Sam."
"Friend?" His brows knit together, his head shaking a slight denial.
I lose the battle to keep a solemn tone, for a smile tugs at my lips. "Yes, friend," I repeat emphatically. "Agreeable companion, unselfish ally, an acquaintance who sticks with you through thick and thin."
"But, Mr. Frodo." Sam protests, gazing about like he's afraid someone is eavesdropping, ".that's not altogether proper. I mean." He eyes me, torn between doubt and the sake of appearance, and ultimately his desire to comply with what I am asking. Not just for me, but because he's also finding the connection between us worth encouraging.
"You'll not be rid of me that easy, Samwise Gamgee. I have a say in who are my friends, and who are not," I state clearly. "And I say you are most definitely my friend." Sam lowers his head, though not before I see the pleased smile lurking around his mouth. "Propriety does not matter, and if anyone tries to say otherwise, they shall be answerable to me."
"Aye, Mr. Frodo, that I'll 'ave no trouble seein' to." He again makes for the door, explaining, "I'll just go and find somethin' to clean that water up. Don't you be tryin' anything like walkin' 'til I get back."
I sit and stare at my feet, fixating on the right one. Swollen and not healed completely, it still bears the ring of bruises from my fall. Idly, I wonder if it will bear my weight now, only I determine not to test it just yet. It would be a sad state if I were to re-injure the ankle due to clumsy recklessness and impatience. These feet are going to have to carry me long and far someday. Soon perhaps.sooner than I should want.
"Mr. Frodo, what's wrong?"
Sam has an old rag, and is mopping the floor around my feet. I don't know what he sees in my face, enough evidently to realize my mood has darkened. "Oh, Sam, I fear this won't last. I probably shall have to leave soon, and thinking about it brings a heaviness to dwell in my heart."
"Don't be silly, Mr. Frodo," Sam maintains, "yer not goin' anywhere. Leastways, not without me yer not." He sounds so positive and upbeat, I find I nearly believe it without question. "Oh, I forgot-Mr. Gandalf left a letter for ya. Said it was to be put in a safe place, so I tossed it in that old chest, laid it under some of Bilbo's scrolls."
I think I stop breathing. I know in reality I do not, but it feels that way. The fear is there all at once, stalking my thoughts from a distance like a fierce predator. Whatever spell of protection remains, it succeeds in staying the influence of welling darkness, but for how much longer I can only guess. I wrap my arms about my middle, and say softly, "It is not a letter."
To Be Continued.
A/N: I think there will be one more chapter, possibly two. A question for Ariel-is there a site you would recommend for posting my story other then ff.net (which always seems to be down lately) or nidaiwe (now closed, darn it!)?