Chapter Three: An Ill-Fated Rescue

Thunder growled discontentedly in the middle distance as Fedorian scowled at the black sky, his golden hair whirling about his face in the high wind. Brushing it out of his eyes, he leapt down the uneven blood-speckled rocks. He had pulled his men back a safe distance until he was certain the orcs were gone into the darkness and even the sounds of their dreadful cries had receded into the promise of a starless night.

With an unheard sigh of weariness, the elven commander wiped his black-handled knife clean on the hem of his cloak and sheathed it. He grimaced in disgust as he bent down and tossed aside the grinning cadaver of the felled orc at his feet. With another deep now pain-filled sigh, he carefully pressed closed the eyes of a young archer which stared through sightless eyes at the darkening heavens.

As he straightened his aching back, Fedorian turned his own gaze to the thunderous clouds roiling and boiling overhead, massive columns twisting thousands of feet into the air. He could smell the storm coming as surely as the blood upon the air and it did little to encourage him. They could not hope to make it home tonight in this weather- not with the wounded they had to carry. Scanning the trees and rocks for what remained of his command, he caught sight of Déorian walking slowly towards him. A frown furrowed his brow as he stepped forward to meet the tracker.

"What happened?" he demanded. "Where is Haldir?" He looked over Déorian's shoulder, expecting to see his lieutenant. A sharp claw of fear seized his chest when he did not.

"He… he fell, sir," Déorian said hoarsely, his eyes glittering strangely.

An instant's shock registered on his commander's implacable features before it quickly disappeared under the emotionless façade of a well-trained officer.

His remaining soldiers stood quiet and grim around him, white-faced and bloodied from the close fighting. Groans of the wounded and the mournful silence of the dead surrounded them. He had to break the stillness.

'The orcs are still about. We must regroup," Fedorian said, mastering himself again as he strode across the bloodied rocks. In silence, he looked down at his battle-weary command. A few half-heartedly met his eyes. Others had cast themselves upon the ground in weariness or covered their faces with sorrow, grieving for their slain companions at their sides. No few had been lost and their captain felt those losses heavily as his own failure.

Burying those harsh feelings, he looked up as Rúmil and Orophin all but bolted towards him, their faces stricken as sweat streamed down their temples. The younger of the brothers, Rúmil, ran up and laid a hand on his elder's shoulder, panting for breath.

"Haldir… We found… We have to go look for him!" he gasped, scarcely able to string his words together, his fair features pallid with panic. Fedorian gently but firmly disentangled himself from the elf's impulsive grasp and seized him by the shoulders.

"We must tend to our wounded first. The orcs have fled now but they will return- and in greater numbers," he stated, his tone stern but his eyes belaying it.

Rúmil stared at him as though he had never heard of such a ridiculous order. "Never leave a man behind. Sir, you taught us that!"

"I did. And I also cautioned you to use your heads and not your hearts in battle," Fedorian rejoined tersely. "You are reckless and not thinking clearly!"

"We are thinking clearly!" Rúmil retorted defensively.

"He is our brother! We will not leave him behind!" Orophin said at the same time, coming up behind his younger brother. Fedorian shook his head adamantly.

"I must dissuade you from this path." He eyed the two soldiers steadily. "Your father was brave- like his sons. But he was also reckless and that is what got him killed."

"With all due respect, sir," Orophin replied coolly. "Please, leave our father out of this."

Fedorian held up his hands to pacify the younger elf. "All I ask of you is to wait. Wait until daylight- for reinforcements." His deep eyes were concerned. He had taken the brothers into his command at a young age, after the death of their father at the hands of orcs and their mother at the hand of grief. He had trained them and taught them most if not all that he knew. They had risen quickly among the ranks. But, they were impulsive and brash when it came to the safety of their little tight-knit family.

"Daylight?" Rúmil looked nothing short of outraged. "Our brother could be dead by then!"

Fedorian straightened to his not inconsiderable height, knowing full well the reaction his next words would bring. "A worthy sacrifice if those we know are alive are given the chance to live."

He received the full brunt of two dagger-edged glares.

"I will not let Haldir die!" Orophin interjected passionately, perspiration making his hair cling to his cheeks. Fedorian's face grew stern and cold, his verdant eyes flashing as lightning seared overhead followed by a warning rumble.

"You would disobey a direct order?"

The older brother lifted his chin proudly and Rúmil beside him glared steadily into his commander's face.

"If it meant my brother's life… Yes, sir, I would."

Their commander sighed deeply in frustration.. Then with what looked like a supreme effort forced himself to speak calmly and rationally. "There are wounded here who need help now. We do not even know if Haldir yet lives- after a fall like that…" He trailed off with a shake of his head, forcing back the emotion from his voice.

He looked up as Rameil and Ancadal appeared beside him.

"I cannot believe he is dead until I see his body," the dark-haired elf said determinedly, addressing Fedorian. "If you cannot spare the men then I shall go myself and take Ancadal with me." The younger elf in question stood stone-faced as he nodded his agreement. He turned to Rúmil and Orophin.

"We will go with you."

Fedorian couldn't believe what he was hearing. Refusing a direct command could easily garner every one of them a court martial at the very least if not expulsion from the guard itself. And yet, they were wiling to risk all of that for the sake of their friend and brother.

Raking a hand agitatedly through his hair and brushing it across his face, Fedorian abruptly turned to his second in command, Arenath who stood by. "Get those wounded and dead onto our remaining horses and get them back to the borders for care. Déorian- you too."

"I will not." the smart-mouthed elf shot back. "Haldir is my friend too. I will help you find him."

Fedorian threw his hands up in despair. "Will no one heed my counsel anymore?" he growled. Déorian merely crossed his arms stubbornly.

"Arenath, get the wounded back home as quick as you can!" Fedorian snapped, his patience stretched to the very brink with the insubordination of his troops.

"Sir." Arenath saluted sharply and scurried away from his irate captain.

"Commander?" Rameil inquired hesitantly as Fedorian turned back to them, a steely glint in his eye.

"If you are resolved to this path, I am going with you."

"You're coming with us?" Rúmil repeated incredulously.

"Well, you're not going to look after yourselves," Fedorian said somewhat tartly as he tightened the strap that held his knives securely to his back. He would be needed here he knew but Arenath was a capable enough officer to handle the dead and wounded and to see them safely back to the borders. Besides, if he didn't look after these young elves, they would get themselves killed.

"I've sent enough men to their deaths for one day," he said grimly. Rúmil looked at him, his forehead creased with sadness and worry as he hustled along in his elder's wake.

As the small group made their way towards the steep drop below, the rain began to fall.


The fury of the summer storm steadily aspens down in the shadowy cleft whipped back and forth in paroxysms of agony as the wind ripped and tore at their branches. Fifteen feet above the tree line upon a stone ledge lashed by the rain stood a lone figure, dark hair plastered flat against her head. After a moment, Khiris pulled her head back into the stone aperture.

"They're getting closer. Rain's not slowin' them down," she said, selecting a good sized chuck of rock and tossing it into the haphazard pile she had already gathered near the edge of the prominence.

Haldir took this without comment. Long minutes of silence had already passed and a cool, relieving numbness had swept through his body, chilled by the rain. His shoulder was numb; he could no longer feel the pain but he could also not move it either. In fact, he would much rather have not moved his entire body but he knew that was not an option.

They needed a plan.

"How far away are they?"

"We have only minutes."

Haldir found the strength to slowly get to his feet, his injuries stiff. "We have to slow them down."

She nodded determinedly and hefted a large, palm-sized rock in one hand. With deadly accuracy, she hurled it out into the storm. The stone struck one of the orcs who had nearly reached their hiding place squarely in the forehead, throwing it from the cliff ledge with an angry, pain-filled shriek. Startled, the others looked up, taken aback by the sudden resistance from their quarry. More stones rattled down in quick succession, not all of them hitting their mark but some finding their aim, cracking solidly against the elbows and knees of their predators.

One after another the rocks clattered down the cliff, knocking others loose as they thundered down the hillside. The stones bounced and crashed down the mountainside, gathering speed and momentum: a mini-avalanche unleashed upon the savage creatures below. Hurled from their perches, two of the orcs plunged over backwards, buried beneath a hail of jagged rocks as they smashed into the stricken aspens far below.

They did not stir again.

But several of the orcs had gained handholds upon the cliff ledge and Haldir forced himself to meet them, his saber striking among them like a viper, cleaving hands from wrists and heads from shoulders as he battled away at them before they had a chance to swarm the ledge.

Behind him, Khiris still flung her stony missiles, a wild fierce joy in her battle-dark eyes.

Unable to defend themselves from the missiles overhead, the orcs fell back a few paces, covering their faces from the stinging projectiles, yammering in helpless rage at their violent prey.

"Come on! We've got to get out of here before they regroup!" Khiris shouted urgently above a deafening crack of thunder.

Had he been alone or perhaps not so grievously injured, Haldir would never have retreated. But his shoulder spiked with renewed pain from the yet un-removed arrow and he decided now came the time for a wise withdrawal. They could not hope to win this battle with her swiftly dwindling supply of loose stones and only the full use of his one arm. The orcs would soon overwhelm them.

They could not go deeper into the cave for a hastened exploration had revealed far-too-narrow an aperture for them to squeeze through. Stepping back from the ledge, they determinedly clambered out into the storm, trusting the rain and darkness to hinder their enemies. Quickly the unlikely pair searched for a way to escape. They were no more than twelve feet or so from the top of the ridge but it was a difficult climb over the rain-soaked rocks in the pitch-blackness.

Pulling himself relentlessly up onto the next ridge, it seemed to Haldir as though they were climbing a giant stone staircase. He felt no pain from his shoulder anymore, the agony forced from his body by the flood of fear and adrenaline pumping through his system as he scrambled up the wet stones. Suddenly his foot slipped and he lost his hold; his injured side jarred sharply against the cliff side. A bolt of pain sharp and sudden flashed through his awareness, nearly dropping him from his perch. But a strong brown hand seized his wrist and tugged upwards, hauling him slowly up onto the lip of the cleft.

"All right there?" Khiris inquired lightly through the sweat and filth on her face as she clapped him on the shoulder. He nodded with a wince, a hand pressed tightly to his side. He hoped the stitches weren't broken but he couldn't tell. Too many things hurt to tell which one needed attention more but he forced himself to his feet nonetheless as they took off across the blue-misted meadowlands.

Khiris stumbled in exhaustion but regained her footing quickly, swiping water from her eyes. Rain sleeted down upon them, no longer protected by stone or tree, tearing at their faces and ragged tunics as they ran. The raging tempest lashed their weary sodden bodies mercilessly as they fled the bloodied ground, leaving behind the scent of death and cleansing rain.


A long, difficult hour later found the Lórien platoon at the bottom of the midnight black ravine in the rain, their golden hair plastered dark to their necks and cheeks. Rúmil looked around in amazement at the carven canyon walls that reared high above his head, blocking out almost all sight of the sky. His heart shuddered at the thought of his brother falling from this height and hoped they would find him soon. And that he would be all right.

A wide copse of trees stretched out in either direction. On their left, it ended abruptly with the sheer cliff face they had just climbed down while the poplars stretched away to the river edge a few yards off. Of any living thing, no sign could be seen.

"Where do we look?" Rúmil asked, his damp hair sweeping across his face in the howling wind.

Orophin's sharp eyes had already spotted something. "There!" he pointed off through the trees. Following his indication, the others caught sight of the splintered remnants of twigs and shattered branches of a nearby tree where the limbs had broken off as though something had fallen through them. Together the small company picked their cautious way forward, searching the ground for any sign of their friend.

Rameil leapt up amidst the branches of the broken tree to gain a better perspective of the surrounding land. Squinting against the rain dripping into his eyes, he searched the banks of the river on the hither shore. Nothing. The forest of trees stretched onward as far as elven eyes could see and not a living thing stirred among them save the stream swiftly swelling to a river chattering along its stony bed. The dark-haired elf turned about, searching the cliff face absently for any of the signs that his long-honed tracking skills had taught him to search for.

The twigs had snapped haphazardly, splinters of wood hanging crazily at odd angles. Rameil moved gingerly among them, careful to evade the grasping limbs that snagged in his hair and tunic. Disentangling his cloak which had caught on a jagged branch, his keen eyes caught sight of something and he stretched a hand forward to pluck the small scrap of grey cloth cradled in a nest of small shattered branches. He examined it carefully before he dropped back to the ground in time to hear Orophin's disheartened words.

"-rain has washed all traces away."

"Not all," the dark-haired elf countered softly as he held up the grey strip. Rúmil all but snatched it from his hands, his face flooding with mingled horror and relief as he cast his eyes upon the dark ground.

"If his body is not here then he must be alive," Orophin said, trying to inject some hope into his voice. "He must be nearby, gon," he addressed Fedorian. He turned to his commander when he did not answer. "Sir?"

Fedorian stood rigid, his keen eyes narrowed against the rain and shrill wind battering the canyon walls. Rameil noticed his look and came to his side.

"What is it?"

The commander did not answer but with a question of his own. "How long has it been raining?"

The dark-haired elf glanced disdainfully at the sky and shrugged.

"Well, that's too long .Come on. We must get to higher ground!" Fedorian ordered, his green eyes falling to the rushing stream hurtling past at great speed. He did not allow the alarm to show on his face as he began to stride purposefully upslope.

"But-" Rúmil began to protest silenced by a look from his captain.

"If Haldir is still alive in this mess then we can only hope he had the sense to move as well."

He had spoken none too soon. The Elves realized rapidly rising water now swirled perilously close to their location. Already it was inching up the trunks of the trees at the bottom of the valley and rising still further as the rain beat the already racing torrent into frothing foam. As one, the elves leapt briskly into the tree, moving with the swift and fluid assurance of those who have spent their entire lives in them.

Lifting his gaze above the water-logged branches Rúmil's eyes widened in horror, a strange rushing in his ears.

A massive wall of water thundered towards them with unstoppable fury, pouring down the sides of the gorge in foaming rivers which the driving rains had created. With a suddenness that stole their breath away, the new river tore through age-old trees as though they were matchsticks, ripping chunks of rock right off the canyon walls. Below their fragile shelter, hefty branches snapped like twigs as the brown surge rolled relentlessly under them, the churning water mounting ever higher so that it brushed the undersides of the tree limbs which groaned desperately under the onslaught of the hurrying water.

Fedorian shouted something above the din but his words were lost in the bellowing of the water. Gesturing, he indicated a point through the copse, a shallow, cloven shelf safer than the unstable trees. They made towards it, groping the slippery bark frantically as they tore through the branches that slapped at their arms and faces. Their hair clung to their necks and shoulders in stringy tendrils as they climbed still higher, the muddy deluge raging beneath them.

Panting, they scrambled onto the relative safety of the ledge and huddled against the lee that provided little protection from the violence of the storm. Rúmil shrank back against his brother, unnerved by the sight of the crushing brown oblivion that threatened to sweep them from their perch.

Rúmil lay upon the slippery rocks, gasping for breath, as rivulets of water coursed along the rocks from the overhang directly above where they stood. Stretching out perilously over the tumult he paused at the edge of the brink to peer down into the roiling chaos with a mesmerized fascination.

A rushing noise thundered in his ears and he twisted around to look up. A sharp stream of water, fed by the flooded mountain streams at the top of the cleft, hit him full in the chest and swept him right off the ledge. His stomach jolted with panic before he hit the water. The raging current pulled him under instantly before he had a chance to take a breath.

Dark water filled his vision. The world tumbled formless and furious around him. He could see nothing, hear nothing save the water roaring in his flooded ears. Immediately, his lungs began to burn for lack of oxygen as he twisted about frantically uncertain which way was up. The sheer power of the water terrified him and a sharp edge of pure fear drove the last of the air from his lungs. He sucked in water and the grey-blue world flickered blurrily around him.

Suddenly, an eddy caught him up and his head broke the surface. He breathed in a short sharp gasp of air before the current tugged him under once more. His elbow knocked sharply against something he could not see, causing a spike of pain to race up to his shoulder. Then a sharp agony stabbed through his back as it collided with something solid halting his headlong rush as though he had slammed into a concrete wall. Grasping desperately at whatever it was, he clung to it for dear life.

Wooden splinters dug into his fingers but he didn't care. Survival instincts took over as he fought to keep his head somehow above the vengeful water. It was the only thing he could think of as wave after wave breached over his head, threatening to push him under again. He winced as a branch torn loose by the torrent struck him across the face, half-stunning him. Black spots exploded in front of his eyes and he lost his precious hold on the tree, slipping ever further downstream.

In that instant before the current dragged him away, a strong hand encircled the younger elf's arm in a pincer-grip. Pain shot through his wrist as it was yanked taut, hoisting him partially up out of the water to save him from being swept to his death. Sputtering and coughing he blinked rapidly to clear the spots from his vision as he looked up at his rescuer. Rúmil could have cried in relief.

Orophin smiled in mirrored relief as he struggled to pull his younger brother up onto the tree he had leapt into. His heart pounded in his chest at this near miss. He could not lose another brother. He would not. But a warning groan from the thin tree limb made him shift nervously and his hold on his brother's slick wrist slipped.

Fedorian was beside them in an instant, helping Orophin tug the half-drowned elf onto the branch. Together they supported the young soldier between them as they leapt from the rickety limb onto a spare stone foothold into the arms of their companions who reached out to assist them. Behind them, the frail old tree finally bent to the will of the terrible flood, cracking at its roots as the river thrust it ruthlessly downstream.

"What did I tell you about being reckless?" Fedorian shouted at Orophin as he hauled the younger elf up. But a thankful smile broke the sternness on his face. On his hands and knees on the stone, Rúmil swept his bedraggled hair from his face, still coughing out some of the river water from his lungs.

"Are you all right?" Orophin asked, ignoring his commander, his face still white at the near-loss of his other brother. Rúmil batted his elder brother away good-naturedly though his own mien was wan.

"I'll… be fine…" he rasped harshly between racking coughs that shook his slender frame.

Rameil, Déorian and Ancadal looked white-faced and scared as the other three rejoined them.

"Wither do we go now?" Déorian asked, his usual merriment evaporated.

"Up," Fedorian answered shortly. "Quick as you can." He laid a hand on Rúmil's back, his stern expression belying his concern. But the younger elf gave him a spare smile and followed after his brother and friends as they clambered up the rocks above the horrible flood still pounding beneath them.

Dashing the rain from his vision, Rúmil squinted upwards. Fear spiked through him as he narrowed his eyes at the slope above his head. A dark shape lay slumped across the rocks, indistinct through the rain-curtain.

"What's that?" he asked, trying to keep the tremble from his voice.

Orophin followed his brother's line of sight, his heart beating faster as he saw what Rúmil was indicating. "It can't be-" he gasped.

Horrible, gut-wrenching fear sliced through him. Ignoring the ache in his shoulders and legs, he sprang up the rocks with all the elven agility he possessed with Rúmil scrambling as fast as he was able behind him. The older brother reached it first and crouched beside the still form, rolling it onto its side. He recoiled immediately as the wide-eyed gaze of an orc leered up at him through the fog of death.

Black blood spattered by the rain poured from a head wound in the orc's bashed skull, pooling underneath the smelly sodden body. It looked as though its skull had been split with a rock. He sighed in deep relief and disappointment. The body was not Haldir. But his brother had not yet been found.

"It's not him," he breathed in relief. Rameil, beside him, did not comment. He did not have to ask who 'he' was.

"Of course not," Déorian scorned, his former humor firmly back in place. "Even Haldir's prettier than that."

"Orcs kill each other easily enough," the dark-haired elf replied, an unasked question in his voice. He brushed his lank hair back from his face while the two others caught up with them.

Leaving the body, they continued their determined climb upwards, searching for any other signs. When the ground finally leveled out a little, enough for them to halt, they stopped, pushed even to the limits of their extreme endurance by the hard climb in the tempest that still raged around them.

"There is blood here," Rameil reported wonderingly as he stooped beside the rocks. A dark streak smeared the cave wall as though someone had leaned against it in painful throes. Rúmil felt a sharp pang slice through him like a rogue bolt as he recognized elven blood.

"It is not more than an hour or two old," Fedorian added, peering over the other's shoulder.

"Then he is alive," Orophin said with certainty. He looked up at his commander, daring Fedorian to deny him.

The older elf merely offered a drawn smile but little more for he felt ill at ease still. The blood could be no other's for no elves dwelt this far from the wood so it was possible Haldir had passed this way to escape the flood or as seemed more likely now enemies. He had been alive then or so it seemed. But what now…?

There was still no sign of any living creature aside from themselves in this barren ghyll. Nothing but the wind and the rock and the pouring heavens. Even the orcs that they had chased down here earlier had been swept away by the angry river. Ignoring the questioning look in his soldiers' eyes, he spoke.

"Come on," he encouraged them. "A little further."

They obeyed mechanically, all on their last legs. They were bone-weary, soaked

to the skin and worn by toil and worry, a bad combination. A few more minutes of hard scrambling led them to a small cave, one of many that had been bored into the canyon by years of water pressure and orc traffic. It was an uncomfortable, hard place, stinking of stagnant water and damp stone. But any protection was acceptable to the stricken elves at this moment. They escaped into the niche, damp and hungry without the benefit of fire or comfort from their anxiety.

Their officer turned towards his dispirited command, taking in their battered haggard appearances. His keen gaze alighted on the youngest of his group.

"Sit down. Let me take a look at that head of yours."

Rúmil shrugged indifferently as he swiped blood from his forehead, wincing at the sharp pain as his fingertips encountered a painful swelling above his brow. "It's nothing, sir. Really, I'm fine."

Fedorian bent his piercing green eyes sternly upon the younger elf.

"Sit."

Rúmil sat.

Kneeling beside him, Fedorian looked over his shoulder at the rest of his disheartened group and tried to smile consolingly. "Try to get some sleep all of you. You'll need it."

They didn't need telling twice. Rameil, Ancadal, Déorian and Orophin pulled off their soaked cloaks and outer tunics and wrung as much water out of them as possible before laying themselves down in as comfortable a space as they could well find on the uneven floor. Despite their cares and discomfort, sleep swiftly claimed them in its gentle embrace.

Fedorian turned back to Rúmil and swiftly shrugged off his own cloak. He drew his knife and sliced a strip or two from it without speaking, his focus concentrated on his task.

Rúmil plucked absently at the water-drenched tunic that clung to his skin, cold and clammy. His head ached horribly and blood dripped into his eyes from his impromptu collision with that tree branch. His stomach roiled from the pain so he closed his eyes and leant his head back against the damp stone wall at his back. Fedorian looked at him sharply.

"Do you feel dizzy?"

Rúmil shook his head but Fedorian tested him nevertheless, holding his index finger up and making the elf follow it with his eyes. Satisfied that at least he did not have a concussion, Fedorian folded a strip of soaked fabric.

"Well at least one good thing came of it raining," Rúmil offered with a small smile, abruptly grimacing as his commander pressed the makeshift bandage to the open cut.

"You're lucky this is so shallow. Many a soldier has gotten worse for swimming in that particular river," Fedorian said with a wry smile as he sponged the blood from his subordinate's brow. He lifted Rúmil's hand and pressed it over the rag.

"Keep that pressure there until the bleeding stops." So saying the elven commander quickly checked the rest of him over. Rúmil had a nasty bruise on his left forearm near his elbow where something had struck him and the younger elf hissed in pain when the older elf ran his fingers gently over it.

"Do you hurt elsewhere?"

"Aside from everywhere?" Rúmil smiled mirthlessly. His back throbbed and every muscle in his body felt battered and bruised from his impromptu swim.

Fedorian smiled gently.

"Well, you were fortunate it wasn't worse." He glanced over at the rest of his command who already rested deep in elven dreams. "I don't think Orophin would have ever forgiven me if I had let him lose another brother."

He rose abruptly and took a guarded stance before the entrance of their shelter with a deep sigh, raking an agitated hand through his hair. The elven commander did not look at his youngest soldier as Rúmil seated himself beside his commander's legs, still clutching the bandage to his head.

"Sir…" the younger elf began uncertainly, craning his neck a little to look up at the tall figure silhouetted by flashes of lightning. "… today… it wasn't your fault."

Fedorian said nothing as he finished wiping the blood from his fingers.

"I should never have let him go," he muttered to himself, eyes lowered. Rúmil looked over at him, his brow furrowed in sympathetic concern though even that movement caused a momentary sting to slice through the fog of pain in his head.

"It was not your fault," he repeated obstinately. "My brother…" he laughed a little though that made his head hurt more. "Never knew what was good for him. Always stubborn."

At last, a small smile edged across Fedorian's hard features.

"Remind me to yell at him when we find him." He clapped the younger elf gingerly on the shoulder with as cheery a grin as he could muster. "Go on! Get some rest. I don't need you falling asleep on me. Tomorrow we'll be hard put."

Rúmil stifled another yawn and stretched himself out where he had been sitting.

"Good night, commander," he mumbled, rolling himself in his damp cloak on the hard cavern floor.

Fedorian did not answer, his verdant green eyes fixed on the rumbling storm outside. Silently he prayed that his friend was all right.

It was a long time before exhaustion finally claimed him.