Still alive

Suddenly Eomund was aware. It was as if he was ripped out of a sweet dream, fast and without warning. His head ached like hell and the biting smell of smoke lingered in the air. It took him a few seconds before he noticed that his eyes were wide open. And instead of pure darkness he saw stars shining. A few more moments he lay disoriented - floating in a world without below or above, now and then. Lost in the huge wideness of the nothing. But then he blinked and, as if he had broken a spell, the world around him began to move. He heard the grass rustling and voices speaking.

That had to be the other warriors, although their voices still sounded strangely distorted to Eomunds ears. Slowly a picture began to form in front of his inner eye: They had detected a group of foul orcs, roaming around, plundering and pillaging. His horse had staggered and fallen. A jagged blade had raced towards him. He had fended it off! But then...somehow he must have lost his consciousness afterwards. But his comrades were victorious. They were burning the corpses of the monsters. Oh how they will be glad, that he still was alive! Now he shivered in the hindsight - how near he had been to death! And what was with his horse? With Greyfur his loyal steed? Was she dead - sliced by an orcish blade? This new thought brought tears to his eyes - but he was a warrior of Rohan and so he held them back and sat up.

The first thing that caught his sight was the little pile, that emanated the ever present smoke. The fire was already burnt down an darkness surrounded the figures wich seemed ready to set off. A rather strange time to leave. Non the less Eomund tried to spring to his feet and run towards them. No way he wanted to stay behind. But he instantly fell back on the ground. His body unable or unwilling to obey him. He didnt let this fact stop him. It was likely that he had a concussion - and therefore he should be careful with his movements- but it was from far greater importance to gain the attention of his comrades. Slower now he sat up again. He cleared his dry throat and then he cried out as loud as he was able to: " Hey! Over there!" His voice sounded as rough as his throat felt. But his comrades - thank Eru- seemed to hear him. They stopped in their movements and one figure broke out of the group and approached. It was this moment, that Eomund recognized, that there were no horses to be seen. And as the bulky silouhette neared with powerful steps, a great fear began to rise in the heart of the young warrior. It was such a gruesome premonition that he literally felt sick and choking he vomited in the grass besides him. The figure stopped mere centimeters before Eomund. Its crudely made boots well for him to see. Incomprehensible, abhorrent words came out of its mouth, followed by a short, bellowing laughter. Labored Eomund lifted his heavy head and brave he looked the beast into the eye. Red they gleamed in a terrible, grotesque face. Eomund swallowed hard and felt for his sword. If he had to die, then at least heroic! His hand closed around the strangely plump sword knob and without elegance but enormous effort, he managed to pull the weapon out of the the scabbard. Sadly the horrifying orc took it out of his hand before he could make any damage. The beast laughed again. It seemed to have its fun. Then it mumbled further foul words, bended down and helped Eomund carefully to his feet. Eomunds body didnt fight back. His spirit was to occupied by the rusty sword with the sharp hook on its end, that lay in the hand of the orc. A typical weapon for the children of Mordor. He looked down on himself and cried out loud... for what he saw was the body of an orc.

Suddenly Eomund was aware. It was as if he was ripped out of a nightmare, fast and without warning. But nothing had changed. His world swayed back and forth as he dangled from the strong shoulders of the orc, a company full of plundering orcs behind, an unknown destination ahead.